23 - Episodes Before Thirty by Algernon Blackwood

Penned by Blackwood in his later years, Episodes Before Thirty is a captivating recounting of his adventures as a nearly destitute Brit in Canada and New York during his first thirty years. Blackwoods story is a rollercoaster of failed investments, swindles, homelessness, and bizarre friendships, all set against the backdrop of the infamous criminality of Tammany Hall where he worked as a reporter for the Sun. Despite his tumultuous life, Blackwoods saving grace was his profound love for nature and writing, which served as his personal therapy. Eventually, he found his way back to England and began to establish himself as a notable writer of ghost stories. This gripping coming of age narrative is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the healing power of creative expression.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter twenty three of Episodes Before thirty by Algernon Blackwood.
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or volunteer, please visit
LibriVox dot org. Read by Dan Gerzinski Episodes Before thirty,

(00:20):
Chapter twenty three. It was on the Tuesday before Christmas
that I caught Boyd. The day also before the White
Star Steamers sailed. The cold was arctic, A biting east
wind swept the streets. There was no sun. If ever,
there was a black Tuesday for me. It was that

(00:40):
eighteenth of December eighteen ninety two, towards evening the doctor.
I knew you would expect me as usual. There was
nothing to prevent my going, And yet each time the
thought cropped up automatically in my mind. I was aware
of a vague and determinate feeling that somehow or other,
I should not go. This dim feeling also was automatic.

(01:02):
There was nothing I knew of to induce, much less
to support it. I did not mention it decay. I
could not understand whence it came, nor what caused it,
but it did not leave me. It kept tugging at
my nerves. You're not going to the doctor's tonight, it said,
You're going elsewhere after dark. This odd feeling became more

(01:24):
and more insistent, and then all at once it connected
itself with Boyd. Quite suddenly this happened. I had not
been thinking of Boyd at the moment. Now abruptly upcropped
his name and personality. I was to go out and
catch him. My mind resisted this idea. Several things besides

(01:45):
were against it. In the first place, we had voluntarily
given up the hunt, and I was resigned to his escape. Secondly,
and thirdly, I dreaded being out in the bitter cold,
and I badly needed the assuaging bomb of all old
Hubner's needle. If the first two negative inhibitions, the third
was decidedly positive, all three had to be conquered. If

(02:08):
I was to obey the strange prompting, which whispered and
kept on whispering, go out and look you'll find him.
There was an addition, the usual minor conflict to which
I had grown quite accustomed, the conflict between my desire
to be relieved of an unpleasant duty, yet the conviction
that it was a duty I had no right to shirk.

(02:31):
In spite of my resistance. At any rate, the prompting strengthened.
As night fell, I grew more and more restless and uneasy,
until at last the touch of an evitability that lay
behind it all declared itself, and the breaking point was reached.
I could resist no longer. It was impossible to contain myself.
I sprang out of my chair and told K I

(02:53):
was going out to catch Boyd. Don't go, he said,
waste of time. He skipped long ago been warned. He
muttered something more about the intense cold. You'll kill yourself.
The impulsion I felt was irresistible. It was as though
some inner power drove and guided me. As a matter
of fact, I went straight to the exact spot where

(03:17):
among the teeming millions of the great city Boyd was.
Fifteen minutes earlier or later, I should have missed him. Also,
but for a chance hesitation later, lasting sixty seconds at most,
you would have seen me and escaped. A calculation, whether
due to intelligence or to coincidence, was amazingly precise. I

(03:38):
left our room at nine o'clock. At a quarter to ten,
I stood face to face with Boyd. The wind was
driving a fine, dry dust of snow before it, and
all who could remained indoors. The streets were deserted. Despite
the nearness of Christmas, Signs of bustle and the usual
holiday crowd were absent. I walked very quickly to keep

(04:00):
warm and odd subconscious excitement in me. I seemed to
know exactly where I was going, though had anybody asked me,
I could not have told them. Up Fourth Avenue to
twenty third Street, then west across Broadway. I passed sixth
and seventh Avenues with only one pause of a moment.
At the corner of Seventh Avenue, I hesitated, uncertain whether

(04:22):
to turn north or to continue west towards eighth Avenue.
A policeman was standing outside a saloon side door, a
man I had known in the Tombs police court and irishman.
Of course I recognized him. He was friendly to me
because I had used his name in a story. You
remembered me. Now I produced the tin type photograph. He

(04:44):
inspected it under the nearest electric lake. Yep, he said,
I seen that Fowler only a few minutes back, half
an hour. Maybe only he's lifted his mustache, shaved his mustache. Yes,
that's what I said. As he handed back the tin
got a story. Inquired the same instant, anything big doing?

(05:05):
Which way did it go? Uptown? Said the policeman, jerking
his thumb in the direction north up eighth Avenue. And
he was traveling with a partner, a big feller, same
size as yourself, I guess, moved off to show he
had no more to say. Any story that might result
would be out of his beat. There was nothing in

(05:26):
it for him. His interest vanished. I hurried on to
the corner of Eighth Avenue, the edge of a bad neighborhood,
leading down through the Negro quarter towards the haunts of
the river front. And there I paused again for a
second or two. I was still in twenty third Street,
but I now turned up the avenue. It was practically deserted,

(05:48):
the street cars empty, few people on the pavements. The
side streets crossed at at right angles, poorly lit, running
right and left into a world of shadows. But at
almost every corn stood a brilliant saloon, whose windows and
glass doors poured out great shafts of light. Sometimes there
were four saloons, one at each corner, and the blaze

(06:10):
was dazzling. I passed twenty fourth, twenty fifth, twenty sixth,
and twenty seventh streets, there were little flurries of dry snow.
I saw no one, nothing but empty, silent sidewalks swept
by the icy wind. At twenty eighth Street, there were
four saloons, one at each corner, and the blaze of
light had a warm, enticing look through the blurred windows

(06:34):
of the one nearest to me. The heads of the
packed crowd inside, as they lined up to the bar,
were just visible. And while I stood a moment shivering
in the icy wind, the comforting idea of a hot
whiskey came to me. For the wind cut like glass,
and neither my excitement nor the exercise had warmed me.

(06:54):
I hesitated, standing against a huge electric light pole, in
whose black shadow I was invisible. A hot whiskey, I reflected,
And this neighborhood would cost twenty or twenty five cents.
I had thirty cents in my pocket. I needed the stimulant.
I was very weak, I felt cold to the bone,
but twenty five cents was a lot of money. I

(07:16):
might want a car fare home besides, And I was
still hesitating when two tall figures emerged suddenly out of
the dark side street into the flood of light, swung
sharp round the corner, and passed through the glass doors
into the saloon. The figures were two men, and the
first of them was buoyed. For a second. My heart

(07:37):
seemed to stop, then began immediately racing and beating violently.
In that brilliant light, I saw every detail sharply buoyed
and his companion both mercilessly visible. The man I wanted
wore a big horsey overcoat of light colored boxcloth with
large white buttons. The velvet collar turned up about his ears.

(07:58):
The other man I did not know. He was taller
than Boyd and wore no overcoat. He was the partner
traveling with him mentioned by the policeman. His gait was unsteady,
he reeled a little. The clamor of noisy voices blared
out a moment into the street before the door swung
to again, and I stood quite still for an appreciable time,

(08:21):
blotted out of sight in my black shadow. Had I
not hesitated a moment to reflect about that hot whiskey,
I should have passed my figure full in the blaze,
just in front of the two men who would have
waited in the dark side street till I was safely
out of sight. The state of my nerves, I suppose,
was pretty bad, and the lack of my customary evening

(08:43):
dose accentuated it. I know, anyhow, that at first I
realized one thing, only that I could never have the
heart to arrest the fellow. This quickly passed, However, the
racing of my blood passed too. Determination grew fixed. I
decided to act at once. But should I go in
or should I wait till they came out again. If

(09:05):
I went in, there would probably be a fight. Boyd's
hulking companion would certainly take his side the lightest blow
in my weak state, and I should be down out.
On the other hand, there was a side door. There
were several side doors, and the couple might easily slip out,
for I could not watch all the doors at once.

(09:25):
I decided to go in, and the moment the decision
was taken, complete calmness came over me, so that I
felt myself merely an instrument of fate. It was horrible,
but it had to be. Boyd was to get the
punishment he deserved. I could not fail. The way the
little scene was stage managed seemed curious to me when

(09:46):
it was all over. For as I moved out into
the light, a couple of policemen came across the broad
avenue behind and looked inquisitively at what must have seen
my queer behavior. I immediately crossed to me them well,
never taking my eye off the swing doors. A man
who had just gone into that saloon, I told him

(10:06):
was to be arrested. That's so, they asked, with a grin,
thinking me drunk, of course, and what's he done to
get all that? I told him I was a reporter
on the Sun, that I was the complainant in the case,
and that Detective Lawlor of the ninth District had the
warrant at headquarters. They could telephone to him if they liked.

(10:28):
They listened, but they would not do anything. I could
telephone to Lawler myself. They weren't going to act without
a warrant. They finally agreed to wait outside and see
fair play. If I would go in and fetch the
guy out into the street, we'll stop any trouble, they said,
and take him to the station if you make a complaint.

(10:52):
I agreed to this and walked in through the swing doors.
The saloon was crowded, the heat wonderful, the bars thronged
with men in all stages of intoxication. Bartenders and white
jackets flew to and fro. Business was booming, and at
the least sign of a row, everybody more or less
would have joined in. This general impression, however, was only

(11:14):
in the background of my mind. What filled it was
the fact that Boyd was looking at me, staring straight
into my eyes. But in the mirror. The instant the
doors swung to, I had caught his reflection in the
long glass behind the bar. Across this bar a little
space on either side of him, he was leaning on

(11:35):
both elbows, his face resting in one hand. The eyeglass
it was asking for trouble to wear it in such
a place. I had been discarded. He was alone. His back,
of course, was towards me. For a few seconds we
stared at one another in this way, And then as
I walked down the long room, pushing between the noisy crowd,

(11:56):
he slowly turned. I reached him. Saint smile appeared on
his face. He evidently did not know quite what to do,
but a hand began to move towards me. He thought
it seemed I was going to shake hands, whereas I
thought he was probably going to hit me instead. My
hand went to his shoulder, Boyd, I said, keeping my

(12:18):
voice low, I want you you're going to be arrested.
The smile died out, and an awful look rushed into
his eyes. His face turned the color of chalk. At first,
I felt sure he was going to lad me a
blow in the face, but the abrupt movement of his
body was merely that he tried to steady himself against

(12:39):
the bar Fry. Saw his hand gripped the rail and
cling to it. The same second, his features began to work.
I've got to arrest you, I repeated. It's karma. You
had better come quietly. Karma, he repeated in a dazed way,
and stared. He was bewildered, incredulous still. The same second, however,

(13:02):
he grasped that it was serious. My face and voice
and manner doubtless warned him this at least was real.
He suddenly knew it. The expression of appeal poured up
instantly into his eyes, those big, innocent blue eyes where
I had so often seen it before, Only now there
was no mustache, and the brutal, cunning mouth was bare.

(13:25):
He began to speak at once, keeping his voice low,
for several people were already interested in us. He used
his softest and most pleading tone with that too, I
was thoroughly familiar Blackwood. For God's sake, let me go.
I'm off to England tomorrow on a white star boat.
I'm working my passage over for the love of God,

(13:46):
for my mother's sake. I cut him short. The falseness,
the cowardice, the treachery, all working in his face at
once sickened me. At the same time, an aching pity rose.
I felt miserable. You must come out with me at once.
He turned quickly and looked about him, his eyes taking
in everything. Some men beside us had heard our talk

(14:09):
and were ready to interfere. What's your trouble, one of
the masks thickly. I realized we must get away at once,
out into the street. Though the scene had barely lasted
two minutes. Yet there's a policeman waiting outside. I went on,
you'd better come quietly. A row won't help you. But
I said it louder than I thought. For several heads

(14:31):
turned towards the swing doors. The effect on Boyd, however,
was hardly what I expected, and seemed strange. He wilted suddenly.
I believe all thought of resistance or escape went out
of him. When he heard the word police. His jaw dropped.
There was suddenly no expression in his eyes at all.

(14:52):
A complete blankness came into his features. It was horrible.
He's got no soul, I thought. He merely stared at me. Me.
Whose is that overcoat? I asked, feeling sure it was
not his own. I already had him by the arm. Roper's,
he said, quietly, his voice gone quite dead. Here he is.

(15:12):
His face was still like a ghost's. It was blank
as stone. I had quite forgotten the companion. But at
that same moment I saw Roper hovering up beside me.
His attitude was threatening. He was three parts drunk. A
glance showed me he was an Englishman, and obviously by
birth a gentleman. Roper, if you want your coat, you'd

(15:35):
better take it. Boyd is under arrest. Arrest, be damned,
Roper cried, in a loud voice that everybody heard. There
was already a crowd about us, but this increased it.
Roper was looking me over. He glared with anger. You're
that Cad Blackwood, I suppose are you. I've heard about you,

(15:55):
I know your whole damn rotten story and the way
you've treated Boyd. But boy he's a friend of mine.
No one can do anything to him while I'm here.
He roared and shouted in that crowd at bar room,
while the whole place looked on and listened, ready to interfere.
At the first sign of a fuss, a blow, a
little push even would have laid me out, and then

(16:16):
the general scuffle or free fight that was bound to follow.
Boyd could have got clear away. But neither he nor
Roper thought of this. Apparently, Roper went on pouring out
his drunken abuse, lurching forward but never actually touching me,
while Boyd stood perfectly still and listened in silence. He
made no attempt to shake off my hand, even I

(16:39):
suddenly then leaned over and spoke into his ear. If
you come quietly at once, it's only petty larsony stealing
the money. Otherwise it's forgery. It acted like magic. An
expression darted back into his face. He turned, told Roper
to shut up, said something to the crowd about its
being only a little misunderstanding and walked without another word

(17:01):
towards the doors. I walked beside him. The men made away.
A few seconds later we were in the street. Roper,
who had waited to finish his drink and was puzzled
besides by the quick maneuver, lurched at some distance after us.
The two policemen, who had watched the scene through the windows,

(17:21):
stood waiting. Boyd swayed against me when he saw them.
I marched him up to the nearest one. I make
a charge of larceny against this man, and the warrant
is at Mulberry Street with Detective Lawlor. I am the complainant.
They told him he was under arrest, and we began
our horrible little procession to the station in West twenty

(17:43):
first Street. Boyd was between the two policemen. I was
next to the outside one on the curb. Roper came
reeling in the rear, shouting abuse and threats into my face.
The next time I saw Roper was in the Court
of General session weeks later, when Boyd was brought up
for trial. By that time he had learned the truth.

(18:05):
He came up and apologized. Boyd, he told me, had
swindled him even more completely than he had swindled me.
The search in the station made me sick at heart.
Every pocket was turned out, there was eighty dollars in cash.
The sergeant used filthy language. Boyd was taken down to
a cell, and I, as a newspaper reporter, was allowed

(18:29):
to go down with him. I stayed for two hours,
talking through the bars. There was two in the morning
when the sergeant turned me out after a dreadful conversation,
And when I reached home to find Kay sitting up
anxiously still, I was too exhausted from cold, excitement and
hunger to tell him more than a bare outline of

(18:49):
it all. I had to appear at eight o'clock next
morning and make my formal charge against Boyd in the
Tombs Police Court, the Tombs of all places, And with
that thought in my mind, I fell asleep. End of
Chapter twenty three.