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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Faces and Places</p> +<p>Author: Henry William Lucy</p> +<p>Release Date: May 27, 2008 [eBook #25624]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FACES AND PLACES***</p> +<br><br><center><h3>E-text prepared by Ruth Golding</h3></center><br><br> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p> </p> + +<table width="650" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"> + <tr> + <td> +<p class="bold"> </p> + <p class="bold"><span class="bigitalic">The Whitefriars Library of Wit + & Humour</span></p> + <p> </p> + <p class="image"><img src="images/henry_lucy.jpg" alt="Henry W. Lucy" width="485" height="629" class="image"> + </p></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><p> </p> + <p class="bold"><span class="bigitalic"> </span></p> + <p class="bigcap">FACES AND PLACES</p> + <p class="bigcap"> </p> + <p class="bold"> By </p> + <p class="bold">HENRY W. LUCY</p> + <p class="bold"><br> + <span class="smallcapcent">(AUTHOR OF "EAST BY WEST: A RECORD OF + A JOURNEY ROUND THE WORLD")</span></p> + <p class="bold"> </p> + <p class="bold"> <span class="bigitalic">WITH PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR AND + ILLUSTRATIONS</span></p> + <p class="bold"> </p> + <p class="bold"> </p> + <p class="smallcapcent"> LONDON:<br> + HENRY AND CO, BOUVERIE STREET, EC</p> + <p> </p> + <p> </p> + <p><br> + <span class="italic">To J.R. Robinson, Editor and Manager of the "Daily + News", at whose<br> + suggestion some of these articles were written, they are in their<br> + collected form inscribed, with sincere regard, by an old friend and<br> + colleague.</span></p> + <p class="main">London,<span class="italic"> February </span>1892.</p> + <p class="main"> </p> + <p class="main"> </p> + <p></p> + <table width="500" border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" class="main"> + <tr> + <td class="bold">CONTENTS</td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Chap. </td> + <td>Page</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><p><a href="#1">I. "FRED" BURNABY</a></p></td> + <td> <a href="#1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#23">II. A NIGHT ON A MOUNTAIN </a></td> + <td><a href="#23">23</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#35">III. THE PRINCE OF WALES </a></td> + <td><a href="#35">35</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#41">IV. A HISTORIC CROWD </a></td> + <td><a href="#41">41</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#52">V. WITH PEGGOTTY AND HAM</a></td> + <td> <a href="#52">52</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#62">VI. TO THOSE ABOUT TO BECOME JOURNALISTS </a></td> + <td><a href="#62">62</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#69">VII. A CINQUE PORT </a></td> + <td><a href="#69">69</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#77">VIII. OYSTERS AND ARCACHON</a></td> + <td> <a href="#77">77</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#86">IX. CHRISTMAS EVE AT WATTS'S </a></td> + <td><a href="#86">86</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#100">X. NIGHT AND DAY ON THE CARS IN CANADA </a></td> + <td><a href="#100">100</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#108">XI. EASTER ON LES AVANTS </a></td> + <td><a href="#108">108</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#125">XII. THE BATTLE OF MERTHYR </a></td> + <td><a href="#125">125</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#137">XIII. MOSQUITOES AND MONACO</a> </td> + <td><a href="#137">137</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#145">XIV. A WRECK IN THE NORTH SEA </a></td> + <td><a href="#145">145</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#152">XV. A PEEP AT AN OLD HOUSE OF COMMONS </a></td> + <td><a href="#152">152</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><a href="#XVI">XVI. SOME PREACHERS I HAVE KNOWN:--</a><br> </td> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><blockquote> + <p><a href="#170">Mr. Moody</a> </p> + </blockquote></td> + <td><a href="#170">170</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><blockquote> + <p><a href="#176">"Bendigo" </a></p> + </blockquote></td> + <td><a href="#176">176</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><blockquote> + <p><a href="#181">"Fiddler Joss"</a> </p> + </blockquote></td> + <td><a href="#181">181</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><blockquote> + <p><a href="#184">Dean Stanley</a> </p> + </blockquote></td> + <td><a href="#184">184</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><blockquote> + <p><a href="#187">Dr. Moffat </a></p> + </blockquote></td> + <td><a href="#187">187</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><blockquote> + <p><a href="#190">Mr. Spurgeon</a> </p> + </blockquote></td> + <td><a href="#190">190</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><blockquote> + <p><a href="#196">In the Ragged Church</a> </p> + </blockquote></td> + <td><a href="#196">196</a></td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> </p> + <p class="boldleft">FACES AND PLACES</p> + <p class="boldleft"> </p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="1"></a>CHAPTER I.</p> + <p class="boldleft">"FRED" BURNABY</p> + <p class="main">I made the acquaintance of Colonel Fred Burnaby in a balloon. + In such<br> + strange quarters, at an altitude of over a thousand feet, commenced a<br> + friendship that for years was one of the pleasantest parts of my life,<br> + and remains one of its most cherished memories.</p> + <p class="main">It was on the 14th of September, 1874. A few weeks earlier + two French<br> + aeronauts, a Monsieur and Madame Duruof, making an ascent from Calais,<br> + had been carried out to sea, and dropping into the Channel, had passed<br> + through enough perils to make them a nine days' wonder. Arrangements had<br> + been completed for them to make a fresh ascent from the grounds of the<br> + Crystal Palace, and half London seemed to have gone down to Sydenham to<br> + see them off. I was young and eager then, and having but lately joined<br> + the staff of the <span class="italic">Daily News </span>as special correspondent, + was burning for<br> + an opportunity to distinguish myself. So I went off to the Crystal<br> + Palace resolved to go up in the balloon.</p> + <p class="main">"No," said Mr. Coxwell, when I asked him if there + were a seat to spare<br> + in the car. "No; I am sorry to say that you are too late. I have + had at<br> + least thirty applications for seats, and as the car will hold only six<br> + persons, and as practically there are but two seats for outsiders, you<br> + will see that it is impossible."</p> + <p class="main">This was disappointing, the more so as I had brought with + me a large<br> + military cloak and a pair of seal-skin gloves, under a general but<br> + well-defined impression that the thing to do up in a balloon was to keep<br> + yourself warm. Mr. Coxwell's account of the position of affairs so<br> + completely shut out the prospect of a passage in the car that I<br> + reluctantly resigned the charge of the military cloak and gloves, and<br> + strolled down to the enclosure where the process of inflating the<br> + balloon was going on. Here was congregated a vast crowd, which increased<br> + in density as four o'clock rang out, and the great mass of brown silk<br> + into which the gas was being assiduously pumped began to assume a<br> + pear-like shape, and sway to and fro in the light air of the autumn<br> + afternoon.</p> + <p class="main">About this time the heroes of the hour, Monsieur and Madame + Duruof<br> + walked into the enclosure, accompanied by Mr. Coxwell and Mr. Glaisher.<br> + A little work was being extensively sold in the Palace bearing on the<br> + title-page, over the name "M. Duruof," a murderous-looking face, + the<br> + letter-press purporting to be a record of the life and adventures of<br> + the French aeronauts. Happily M. Duruof bore but the slightest<br> + resemblance to this portrait, being a young man of pleasing appearance,<br> + with a good, firm, frank-looking face.</p> + <p class="main">By a quarter to five o'clock the monster balloon was almost + fully<br> + charged, and was swaying to and fro in a wild, fitful manner, that could<br> + not have been beheld without trepidation by any of the thirty gentlemen<br> + who had so judiciously booked seats in advance. The wickerwork car now<br> + secured to the balloon was half filled with ballast and crowded with<br> + men, whilst others hung on to the ropes and to each other in the effort<br> + to steady it.</p> + <p class="main">But they could not do much more than keep it from mounting + into mid-air.<br> + Hither and thither it swung, parting in swift haste the curious throng<br> + that encompassed it, and dragging the men about as if they were ounce<br> + weights. The wind seemed to be rising and the faces of the experienced<br> + aeronauts grew graver and graver, answers to the constantly repeated<br> + question, "Where is it likely to come down?" becoming increasingly<br> + vague. At last Mr. Glaisher, looking up at the sky and round at the<br> + neighbouring trees bending under the growing blast, put his veto upon<br> + Madame Duruof's forming one of the party of voyagers.</p> + <p class="main">"We are not in France," he said. "The people + will not insist upon a<br> + woman going up when there is any danger. The descent is sure to be<br> + rough, will possibly be perilous, so Madame Duruof had better stay where<br> + she is."</p> + <p class="main">Madame Duruof was ready to go, but was at least equally + willing to stay<br> + behind, and so it was settled that she should not leave the palace<br> + grounds by the balloon. I cast a lingering thought on the military cloak<br> + and the seal-skin gloves, in safe keeping in a remote part of the<br> + building. If Madame was not going there might be room for a substitute.<br> + But again Mr. Coxwell would not listen to the proposal. There were at<br> + least thirty prior applicants; some had even paid their money, and they<br> + must have the preference.</p> + <p class="main">At five o'clock all was ready for the start. M. Wilfrid + de Fonvielle,<br> + a French aeronaut and journalist, took off his hat, and in full gaze of<br> + a sympathising and deeply interested crowd deliberately attired himself<br> + in a Glengarry cap, a thick overcoat, and a muffler. M Duruof put on<br> + his overcoat, and Mr. Barker, Mr. Coxwell's assistant, seated on the<br> + ring above the car, began to take in light cargo in the shape of<br> + aneroids, barometers, bottles of brandy and water, and other useful<br> + articles. M. Duruof scrambled into the car, one of the men who had been<br> + weighing it down getting out to make room for him. Then M. de Fonvielle,<br> + amid murmurs of admiration from the crowd, nimbly boarded the little<br> + ship, and immediately began taking observations. There was a pause, and<br> + Mr. Coxwell, who stood by the car, prepared for the rush of the Thirty.<br> + But nobody volunteered. Names were called aloud; only the wind, sighing<br> + amongst the trees made answer.</p> + <p class="main">"Il faut partir," said M. Duruof, somewhat impatiently. + Then a<br> + middle-aged gentleman, who, I afterwards learned, had come all the way<br> + from Cambridge to make the journey, and who had only just arrived<br> + breathless on the ground, was half-lifted, half-tumbled in, amid<br> + agonised entreaties from Barker to "mind them bottles." The + Thirty had<br> + unquestionably had a fair chance, and Mr. Coxwell made no objection as + I<br> + passed him and got into the car, followed by one other gentleman, who<br> + brought the number up to the stipulated half-dozen. We were all ready + to<br> + start, but it was thought desirable that Madame Duruof should show<br> + herself in the car. So she was lifted in, and the balloon allowed to<br> + mount some twenty feet, frantically held by ropes by the crowd below. + It<br> + descended again, Madame Duruof got out, and in her place came tumbling<br> + in a splendid fellow, some six feet four high, broad-chested to boot,<br> + who instantly made supererogatory the presence of half a dozen of the<br> + bags of ballast that lay in the bottom of the car.</p> + <p class="main">It was an anxious moment, with the excited multitude spread + round far as<br> + the eye could reach, the car leaping under the swaying balloon, and the<br> + anxious, hurried men straining at the ropes. But I remember quite well<br> + sitting at the bottom of the car and wondering when the new-comer would<br> + finish getting in. I dare say he was nimble enough, but his full arrival<br> + seemed like the paying out of a ship's cable.</p> + <p class="main">This was Fred Burnaby, only Captain then, unknown to fame, + with Khiva<br> + unapproached, and the wilds of Asia Minor untrodden by his horse's<br> + hoofs. His presence on the grounds was accidental, and his undertaking<br> + of the journey characteristic. He had invited some friends to dine<br> + with him that night at his rooms, then in St. James's Street. Hearing<br> + of the proposed balloon ascent, he felt drawn to see the voyagers off,<br> + purposing to be home in time to dress for dinner. The defection of the<br> + Thirty appearing to leave an opening for an extra passenger, Burnaby<br> + could not resist the temptation. So with a hasty <span class="italic">Au + revoir!</span> to his<br> + companion, the Turkish Minister, he pushed his way through the crowd<br> + and dropped into the car.</p> + <p class="main">I always forgot to ask him how his guests fared. As it turned + out, he<br> + had no chance of communicating with his servant before the dinner hour.<br> + The arrival of Burnaby exceeded by one the stipulated number of<br> + passengers, and Coxwell was anxious for us to start before any more got<br> + in. For a minute or two we still cling to the earth, the centre of an<br> + excited throng that shout, and tug at ropes, and run to and fro, and<br> + laugh, and cry, and scream "Good-bye" in a manner that makes + our<br> + proposed journey seem dreadful in prospect. The circle of faces look<br> + fixedly into ours; we hear the voices of the crowd, see the women<br> + laughing and crying by turns, and then, with a motion that is absolutely<br> + imperceptible, they all pass away, and we are in mid-air where the echo<br> + of a cheer alone breaks the solemn calm.</p> + <p class="main">I had an idea that we should go up with a rush, and be instantly + in the<br> + cold current of air in view of which the preparation of extra raiment,<br> + the nature of which has been already indicated, had been made. But here<br> + we were a thousand feet above the level of the Palace gardens, sailing<br> + calmly along in bright warm sunlight, and no more motion perceptible<br> + than if we were sitting on chairs in the gardens, and had been so<br> + sitting whilst the balloon mounted. It was a quarter past five when we<br> + left the earth, and in less than five minutes the Crystal Palace<br> + grounds, with its sea of upturned faces, had faded from our sight.<br> + Contrary to prognostication, there was only the slightest breeze, and<br> + this setting north-east, carried us towards the river in the direction<br> + of Greenwich. We seemed to skirt the eastern fringe of London, St.<br> + Paul's standing out in bold relief through the light wreath of mist that<br> + enveloped the city. The balloon slowly rose till the aneroid marked a<br> + height of fifteen hundred feet. Here it found a current which drove it<br> + slightly to the south, till it hovered for some moments directly over<br> + Greenwich Hospital, the training ship beneath looking like a cockle boat<br> + with walking sticks for masts and yards. Driving eastward for some<br> + moments, we slowly turned by Woolwich and crossed the river thereafter<br> + steadily pursuing a north-easterly direction.</p> + <p class="main">Looking back from the Essex side of the river the sight + presented to<br> + view was a magnificent one. London had vanished, even to the dome of<br> + St. Paul's, but we knew where the great city lay by the mist that<br> + shrouded it and shone white in the rays of the sun. Save for this patch<br> + of mist, that seemed to drift after us far away below the car, there was<br> + nothing to obscure the range of vision. I am afraid to say how many<br> + miles it was computed lay within the framework of the glowing panorama.<br> + But I know that we could follow the windings of the river that curled<br> + like a dragon among the green fields, its shining scales all aglow in<br> + the sunlight, and could see where it finally broadened out and trended<br> + northward. And there, as M. Duruof observed with a significant smile,<br> + was "the open sea."</p> + <p class="main">There was no feeling of dizziness in looking down from the + immense<br> + height at which we now floated--two thousand feet was the record as<br> + we cleared the river. By an unfortunate oversight we had no map of<br> + the country, and were, except in respect of such landmarks as<br> + Greenwich, unable with certainty to distinguish the places over which<br> + we passed.</p> + <p class="main">"That," said Burnaby from his perch up in the + netting over the car,<br> + where he had clambered as being the most dangerous place immediately<br> + accessible, "is one of the great drawbacks to the use of balloons + in<br> + warfare. Unless a man has natural aptitude, and is specially trained<br> + for the work, his observations from a balloon are of no use, a<br> + bird's-eye view of a country giving impressions so different from the<br> + actual position of places."</p> + <p class="main">This dictum was illustrated by the scene spread out beneath + us. Seen<br> + from a balloon the streets of a rambling town resolve themselves into<br> + beautifully defined curves, straight lines, and various other highly<br> + respectable geometrical shapes.</p> + <p class="main">We could not at any time make out forms of people. The white + highways<br> + that ran like threads among the fields, and the tiny openings in the<br> + towns and villages which we guessed were streets, seemed to belong to<br> + a dead world, for nowhere was there trace of a living person. The<br> + strange stillness that brooded over the earth was made more uncanny<br> + still by cries that occasionally seemed to float in the air around us,<br> + behind, before, to the right, to the left, but never exactly beneath<br> + the car. We could hear people calling, and had a vague idea they were<br> + running after us and cheering; but we could distinguish no moving<br> + thing. Yes; once the gentleman from Cambridge exclaimed that there<br> + were some pheasants running across a field below; but upon close<br> + investigation they turned out to be a troop of horses capering about<br> + in wild dismay. A flock of sheep in another field, huddled close<br> + together, looked like a heap of limestone chippings. As for the<br> + fields stretched out in wide expanse, far as the eye could reach,<br> + they seemed to form a gigantic carpet, with patterns chiefly diamond<br> + shape, in colour shaded from bright emerald to russet brown.</p> + <p class="main">At six o'clock the sun began to drop behind a broad belt + of black<br> + cloud that had settled over London. The mist following us ever since<br> + we crossed the river had overtaken us, even passed us, and was<br> + strewed out over the earth, the sky above our heads being yet a<br> + beautiful pale blue. We were passing with increased rapidity over the<br> + rich level land that stretches from the river bank to Chelmsford, and<br> + there was time to look round at each other. Burnaby had come down from<br> + the netting and disposed his vast person amongst us and the bags of<br> + ballast. He was driven down by the smell of gas, which threatened to<br> + suffocate us all when we started. M. Wilfrid de Fonvielle, kneeling<br> + down by the side of the car, was perpetually "taking observations,"<br> + and persistently asking for "the readings," which the gentleman + from<br> + Cambridge occasionally protested his inability to supply, owing either<br> + to Burnaby having his foot upon the aneroid, or to the Captain so<br> + jamming him up against the side of the car that the accurate reading<br> + of a scientific instrument was not only inconvenient but impossible.</p> + <p class="main">When we began to chat and exchange confidences, the fascination + which<br> + balloon voyaging has for some people was testified to in a striking<br> + manner. The gentleman from Cambridge had a mildness of manner about him<br> + that made it difficult to conceive him engaged in any perilous<br> + enterprise. Yet he had been in half a dozen balloon ascents, and had<br> + posted up from his native town on hearing that a balloon was going up<br> + from the Crystal Palace. As for Burnaby, it was borne in upon me, even<br> + at this casual meeting, that it did not matter to him what enterprise<br> + he embarked upon, so that it were spiced with danger and promised<br> + adventure. He had some slight preference for ballooning, this being his<br> + sixteenth ascent, including the time when the balloon burst, and the<br> + occupants of the car came rattling down from a height of three thousand<br> + feet, and were saved only by the fortuitous draping of the half emptied<br> + balloon, which prevented all the gas from escaping.</p> + <p class="main">At half-past six we were still passing over the Turkey carpet,<br> + apparently of the same interminable pattern. Some miles ahead the level<br> + stretch was broken by clumps of trees, which presently developed into<br> + woods of considerable extent. It was growing dusk, and no town or<br> + railway station was near. Burnaby, assured of being too late for his<br> + dinner party, wanted to prolong the journey. But the farther the balloon<br> + went the longer would be the distance over which it would have to be<br> + brought back and Mr. Coxwell's assistant was commendably careful of his<br> + employer's purse. On approaching Highwood the balloon passed over a<br> + dense wood, in which there was some idea of descending. But finally the<br> + open ground was preferred, and, the wood being left behind, a ploughed<br> + field was selected as the place to drop, and the gas was allowed to<br> + escape by wholesale. The balloon swooped downward at a somewhat<br> + alarming pace, and if Barker had had all his wits about him he would<br> + have thrown out half a bag of ballast and lightened the fall. But after<br> + giving instructions for all to stoop down in the bottom of the car and<br> + hold onto the ropes, he himself promptly illustrated the action, and<br> + down we went like a hawk towards the ground.</p> + <p class="main">As it will appear even to those who have never been in a + balloon, no<br> + advice could have been worse than that of stooping down in the bottom + of<br> + the car, which was presently to come with a great shock to the earth,<br> + and would inevitably have seriously injured any who shared its contact.<br> + Fortunately Burnaby, who was as cool as if he were riding in his<br> + brougham, shouted out to all to lift their feet from contact with the<br> + bottom of the car, and to hang on to the ropes. This was done, and when<br> + the car struck the earth it merely shook us, and no one had even a<br> + bruise.</p> + <p class="main">Before we began to descend at full speed the grappling iron + had been<br> + pitched over, and, fortunately, got a firm hold in a ridge of the<br> + ploughed land. Thus, when the balloon, after striking the ground, leapt<br> + up again into the air and showed a disposition to wander off and tear<br> + itself to pieces against the hedges and trees, it was checked by the<br> + anchor rope and came down again with another bump on the ground. This<br> + time the shock was not serious, and after a few more flutterings it<br> + finally stood at ease.</p> + <p class="main">The highest altitude reached by the balloon was three thousand + feet, and<br> + this was registered about a couple of miles before we struck Highwood.<br> + For some distance before completing this descent we had been skimming<br> + along at about a thousand feet above the level of the fields, and the<br> + intention to drop being evident, a great crowd of rustics gallantly kept<br> + pace with the balloon for the last half-mile. By the time we were fairly<br> + settled down, half a hundred men, women, and children had converged upon<br> + the field from all directions, and were swarming in through the hedge.</p> + <p class="main">Actually the first in at the death was an old lady attired + chiefly in a<br> + brilliant orange-coloured shawl, who came along over the ridges with a<br> + splendid stride. But she did not fully enjoy the privilege she had so<br> + gallantly earned. She was making straight for the balloon, when Burnaby<br> + mischievously warned her to look out, for it might "go off." + Thereupon<br> + the old lady, without uttering a word in reply, turned round and, with<br> + strides slightly increased in length, made for the hedge, through which<br> + she disappeared, and the orange-coloured shawl was seen no more.</p> + <p class="main">All the rustics appeared to be in a state more or less dazed. + What with<br> + having been running some distance, and what with surprise at discovering<br> + seven gentlemen dropped out of the sky into the middle of a ploughed<br> + field, they could find relief only in standing at a safe distance with<br> + their mouths wide open. In vain Barker talked to them in good broad<br> + English, and begged them to come and hold the car whilst we got out.<br> + No one answered a word, and none stirred a step, except when the balloon<br> + gave a lurch, and then they got ready for a start towards the protecting<br> + hedges. At last Burnaby volunteered to drop out. This he did, deftly<br> + holding on to the car, and by degrees the intelligent bystanders<br> + approached and cautiously lent a hand. Finding that the balloon neither<br> + bit nor burned them, they swung on with hearty goodwill, and so we all<br> + got out, and Barker commenced the operation of packing up, in which<br> + task the natives, incited by the promise of a "good drink," + lent<br> + hearty assistance.</p> + <p class="main">We had not the remotest idea where we were, and night was + fast closing<br> + in. Where was the nearest railway station? Perhaps if we had arrived in<br> + the neighbourhood in a brake or an omnibus, we might have succeeded in<br> + getting an answer to this question. As it was, we could get none. One<br> + intelligent party said, after profound cogitation, that it was "over<br> + theere," but as "over theere" presented nothing but a vista + of<br> + fields--some ploughed and all divided by high hedges--this was scarcely<br> + satisfactory. In despair we asked where the high-road was, and this<br> + being indicated, but still vaguely and after a considerable amount of<br> + thought, Burnaby and I made for it, and presently succeeded in striking<br> + it.</p> + <p class="main">The next thing was to get to a railway station, wherever + it might be,<br> + and as the last train for town might leave early, the quicker we arrived<br> + the better. Looking down the road, Burnaby espied a tumble-down cart<br> + standing close into the hedge, and strode down to requisition it. The<br> + cart was full of hampers and boxes, and sitting upon the shaft was an<br> + elderly gentleman in corduroys intently gazing over the hedge at the<br> + rapidly collapsing balloon, which still fitfully swayed about like a<br> + drunken man awaking out of sleep.</p> + <p class="main">"Will you drive us to the nearest railway station, + old gentleman?" said<br> + Burnaby cheerily.</p> + <p class="main">The old gentleman withdrew his gaze from the balloon and + surveyed us,<br> + a feeble, indecisive smile playing about his wooden features; but he<br> + made no other answer.</p> + <p class="main">"Will you drive us to the nearest railway station?" + repeated Burnaby.<br> + "We'll pay you well."</p> + <p class="main">Still no answer came from the old gentleman, who smiled + more feebly than<br> + ever, now including me in his intelligent purview. After other and<br> + diverse attempts to draw him into conversation, including the pulling + of<br> + the horse and cart into the middle of the road, and the making of a<br> + feint to start it off at full gallop, it became painfully clear that the<br> + old gentleman had, at sight of the balloon, gone clean out of such<br> + senses as he had ever possessed, and as there was a prospect of losing<br> + the train if we waited till he came round again, nothing remained but + to<br> + help ourselves to the conveyance. So Burnaby got up and disposed of as<br> + much of himself as was possible in a hamper on the top of the cart. I<br> + sat on the shaft, and taking the reins out of the old gentleman's<br> + resistless hand, drove off down the road at quite a respectable pace.</p> + <p class="main">After we had gone about a mile the old gentleman, who had + been employing<br> + his unwonted leisure in staring at us all over, broke into a chuckle.<br> + We gently encouraged him by laughing in chorus, and after a brief space<br> + he said,--</p> + <p class="italic">"I seed ye coming."</p> + <p class="main">As I had a good deal to do to keep the pony up and going, + Burnaby<br> + undertook to follow up this glimmering of returning sense on the part + of<br> + the old gentleman, and with much patience and tact he succeeded in<br> + getting him so far round that we ascertained we were driving in the<br> + direction of "Blackmore." Further than this we could not get, + any<br> + pressure in the direction of learning whether there was a railway<br> + station at the town or village, or whatever it might be, being followed<br> + by alarming symptoms of relapse on the part of the old gentleman.<br> + However, to get to Blackmore was something, and after half an hour's<br> + dexterous driving we arrived at the village, of which the inn standing<br> + back under the shade of three immemorial oak trees appeared to be a fair<br> + moiety.</p> + <p class="main">We paid the old gentleman and parted company with him, though + not<br> + without a saddening fear that the shock of the balloon coming down<br> + under his horse's nose, as it were, had permanently affected his brain.<br> + At Blackmore we found a well-horsed trap, and through woods and long<br> + country lanes drove to Ingatestone, and as fast as the train could<br> + travel got back to civilisation.</p> + <p class="main">This was the beginning of a close and intimate friendship, + that ended<br> + only with Burnaby's departure for the Soudan. He often talked to me<br> + of himself and of his still young life. Educated at Harrow, he thence<br> + proceeded to Germany, where, under private tuition, he acquired an<br> + unusually perfect acquaintance with the French, Italian, and German<br> + languages, and incidentally imbibed a taste for gymnastics. At<br> + sixteen he, the youngest of one hundred and fifty candidates, passed<br> + his examination for admission to the army, and at the mature age of<br> + seventeen found himself a cornet in the Royal Horse Guards. At this<br> + time his breast seems to have been fired by the noble ambition to<br> + become the strongest man in the world. How far he succeeded is told<br> + in well-authenticated traditions that linger round various spots in<br> + Windsor and London. He threw himself into the pursuit of muscle with<br> + all the ardour since shown in other directions, and the cup of his<br> + joy must have been full when a precise examination led to the<br> + demonstration of the fact that his arm measured round the biceps<br> + exactly seventeen inches. He could put 'Nathalie' (then starring it<br> + at the Alhambra) to shame with her puny 56-lb. weight in each hand,<br> + and could 'turn the arm' of her athletic father as if it had been<br> + nothing more than a hinge-rusted nut-cracker. His plaything at<br> + Aldershot was a dumb-bell weighing 170 lbs., which he lifted straight<br> + out with one hand, and there was a standing bet of £10 that no<br> + other man in the Camp could perform the same feat. At the rooms of<br> + the London Fencing Club there is to this day a dumb-bell weighing 120<br> + lbs., with record of how Fred Burnaby was the only member who could<br> + lift it above his head.</p> + <p class="main">There is a story told of early barrack days which he assured + me was<br> + quite true. A horsedealer arrived at Windsor with a pair of beautiful<br> + little ponies he had been commanded to show the Queen. Before<br> + exhibiting them to her Majesty he took them to the Cavalry Barracks<br> + for display to the officers of the Guards. Some of these, by way of<br> + a pleasant surprise, led the ponies upstairs into Burnaby's room,<br> + where they were much admired. But when the time came to take leave an<br> + alarming difficulty presented itself. The ponies, though they had<br> + walked upstairs, could by no means be induced to walk down again. The<br> + officers were in a fix; the horsedealer was in despair; when young<br> + Burnaby settled the matter by taking up the ponies, one under each<br> + arm and, walking downstairs, deposited them in the barrack-yard. The<br> + Queen heard the story when she saw the ponies, and doubtless felt an<br> + increased sense of security at Windsor, having this astounding<br> + testimony to the prowess of her Household Troops.</p> + <p class="main">Cornet Burnaby was as skilful as he was strong. He was one + of the best<br> + amateur boxers of the day, as Tom Paddock, Nat Langham, and Bob Travers<br> + could testify of their well-earned personal experience. Moreover, he<br> + fenced as well as he boxed, and the turn of his wrist, which never<br> + failed to disarm a swordsman, was known in more than one of the capitals<br> + of Europe. Ten years before he started for Khiva, there was much talk + at<br> + the Rag of the wonderful feat of the young Guardsman, who undertook<br> + for a small wager to hop a quarter of a mile, run a quarter of a mile,<br> + ride a quarter of a mile, row a quarter of a mile, and walk a quarter + of<br> + a mile in a quarter of an hour, and who covered the mile and a quarter<br> + of distance in ten minutes and twenty seconds.</p> + <p class="main">Fred Burnaby had, whilst barely out of his teens, realised + his boyish<br> + dream, and become the strongest man in the world. But he had also begun<br> + to pay the penalty of success in the coin of wasted tissues and failing<br> + health. When a man finds, after anxious and varied experiments, that a<br> + water-ice is the only form of nourishment his stomach will retain, he + is<br> + driven to the conviction that there is something wrong, and that he had<br> + better see the doctor. The result of the young athlete's visit to the<br> + doctor was that he mournfully laid down the dumb-bells and the foil,<br> + eschewed gymnastics, and took to travel.</p> + <p class="image"><img src="images/fred_burnaby.jpg" alt="Col. Fred Burnaby" width="408" height="536"></p> + <p class="main">An average man advised to travel for his health's sake would + probably<br> + have gone to Switzerland or the South of France, according to the sort<br> + of climate held to be desirable. Burnaby went to Spain, that being at<br> + the time the most troubled country in Europe, not without promise of an<br> + outbreak of war. Here he added Spanish to his already respectable stock<br> + of languages, and found the benefit of the acquisition in his next<br> + journey, which was to South America, where he spent four months<br> + shooting unaccustomed game and recovering from the effects of his<br> + devotion to gymnastics. Returning to do duty with his regiment, he began<br> + to learn Russian and Arabic, going at them steadily and vigorously, as<br> + if they were long stretches of ploughed land to be ridden over. A second<br> + visit to Spain provided him with the rare gratification of being shut + up<br> + in Barcelona during the siege, and sharing all the privations and<br> + dangers of the garrison. Whilst in Seville during a subsequent journey<br> + he received a telegram saying that his father was seriously ill. France<br> + was at the time in the throes of civil war, with the Communists holding<br> + Paris against the army of Versailles. To reach England any other way<br> + than viâ Paris involved a delay of many days, and Burnaby determined + to<br> + dare all that was to be done by the Communists. So, carrying a Queen's<br> + Messenger's bag full of cigars in packets that looked more or less like<br> + Government despatches, he passed through Paris and safely reached<br> + Calais.</p> + <p class="main">A year later he set forth intending to journey to Khiva, + but on reaching<br> + Naples was striken with fever, spent four months of his leave in bed,<br> + and was obliged to postpone the trip. In 1874 he once more went to<br> + Spain, this time acting as the special correspondent of the Times with<br> + the Carlists, and his letters form not the least interesting chapter in<br> + the long story of the miserable war. In the early spring of 1875 he made<br> + a dash at Central Africa, hoping to find "Chinese Gordon" and + his<br> + expedition. He met that gallant officer on the Sobat river, a stream<br> + which not ten Englishmen have seen, and having stayed in the camp for + a<br> + few days, set out homeward, riding on a camel through the Berber desert<br> + to Korosko, a distance of five hundred miles. After an absence of<br> + exactly four months he turned up for duty at the Cavalry Barracks,<br> + Windsor, with as much nonchalance as if he had been for a trip to the<br> + United States in a Cunard steamer.</p> + <p class="main">It was whilst on this flight through Central Africa that + the notion of<br> + the journey to Khiva came back with irresistible force. It had been done<br> + by MacGahan, but that plucky journalist had judiciously started in the<br> + spring. Burnaby resolved to accomplish the enterprise in winter; and<br> + accordingly, on November 30th, 1875, he started by way of St.<br> + Petersburg, treating himself, as a foretaste of the joys that awaited<br> + him on the steppes, to the long lonely ride through Russia in midwinter.<br> + At Sizeran he left civilisation and railways behind him, and rode on a<br> + sleigh to Orenburg, a distance of four hundred and eighty miles. At<br> + Orenburg he engaged a Tartar servant, and another stretch of eight<br> + hundred miles on a sleigh brought him to Fort No. 1, the outpost of the<br> + Russian army facing the desert of Central Asia. After this even the<br> + luxury of sleigh-riding was perforce foregone, and Burnaby set out on<br> + horseback, with one servant, one guide, and a thermometer that<br> + registered between 70° and 80° below freezing point, to find Khiva<br> + across five hundred miles of pathless, trackless, silent snow.</p> + <p class="main">Two Cossacks riding along this route with despatches had + just before<br> + been frozen to death. The Russians, inured to the climate, had never<br> + been able to take Khiva in the winter months. They had tried once, and<br> + had lost six hundred camels and two-thirds of their men before they saw<br> + the enemy. But Fred Burnaby gaily went forth, clothed-on with<br> + sheepskins. After several days' hard riding and some nights' sleep on<br> + the snow, he arrived in Khiva, chatted with the Khan, fraternised with<br> + the Russian officers, kept his eyes wide open, and finally was invited<br> + to return by a telegram from the Commander-in-Chief, who had been<br> + brought to understand how this strange visitor from the Cavalry Barracks<br> + at Windsor had fluttered the military authorities at St. Petersburg.</p> + <p class="main">This adventure might have sufficed an ordinary man for a + lifetime. But<br> + in the very next year, whilst his <span class="italic">Ride to Khiva</span> + remained the most<br> + popular book in the libraries, he paid a second visit to the Turcomans,<br> + seeking them now, not on the bleak steppes round Khiva, but in the more<br> + fertile, though by Europeans untrodden, plains of Asia Minor. He had one<br> + other cherished project of which he often spoke to me. It was to visit<br> + Timbuctoo. But whilst brooding over this new journey he fell in love,<br> + married, settled down to domestic life in Cromwell Gardens, and took to<br> + politics. It was characteristic of him that, looking about for a seat + to<br> + fight, he fixed upon John Bright's at Birmingham, that being at the time<br> + the Gibraltar of political fortresses.</p> + <p class="main">The last time I saw Fred Burnaby was in September 1884. + He was standing<br> + on his doorstep at Somerby Hall, Leicestershire, speeding his parting<br> + guests. By his side, holding on with all the might of a chubby hand<br> + to an extended forefinger, was his little son, a child some five years<br> + old, whose chief delight it was thus to hang on to his gigantic father<br> + and toddle about the grounds. We had been staying a week with Burnaby<br> + in his father's old home, and it had been settled, on the invitation<br> + of his old friend Henry Doetsch, that we should meet again later in<br> + the year, and set out for Spain to spend a month at Huelva. A few<br> + weeks later the trumpet sounded from the Soudan, and like an old<br> + war-horse that joyously scents the battle from afar, Burnaby gave up<br> + all his engagements, and fared forth for the Nile.</p> + <p class="main">At first he was engaged in superintending the moving of + the troops<br> + between Tanjour and Magrakeh. This was hard work admirably done. But<br> + Burnaby was always pining to get to the front. In a private letter<br> + dated Christmas Eve, 1884, he writes: "I do not expect the last boat<br> + will pass this cataract before the middle of next month, and then I<br> + hope to be sent for to the front. It is a responsible post Lord<br> + Wolseley has given me here, with forty miles of the most difficult<br> + part of the river, and I am very grateful to him for letting me have<br> + it. But I must say I shall be better pleased if he sends for me when<br> + the troops advance upon Khartoum."</p> + <p class="main">The order came in due course, and Burnaby was riding on + to the relief<br> + of Gordon when his journey was stopped at Abu-Klea. He was attached to<br> + the staff of General Stewart, whose little force of six-thousand-odd<br> + men was suddenly surrounded by a body of fanatical Arabs, nine<br> + thousand strong. The British troops formed square, inside which the<br> + mounted officers sat directing the desperate defence, that again and<br> + again beat back the angry torrent. After some hours' fighting, a<br> + soldier in the excitement of the moment got outside the line of the<br> + square, and was engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict with a cluster of<br> + Arabs. Burnaby, seeing his peril, dashed out to the rescue--"with + a<br> + smile on his face," as one who saw him tells me,--and was making<br> + irresistible way against the odds when an Arab thrust a spear in his<br> + throat, and he fell off his horse dead. He sleeps now, as he always<br> + yearned to rest, in a soldier's grave, dug for him by chance on the<br> + continent whose innermost recesses he had planned some day to explore.</p> + <p class="main">The date of his death was January 17th, 1885. His grave + is nameless,<br> + and its place in the lonely Desert no man knoweth.</p> + <blockquote> + <p class="smallquote">"Brave Burnaby down! Wheresoever 'tis spoken<br> + The news leaves the lips with a wistful regret<br> + We picture that square in the desert, shocked, broken,<br> + Yet packed with stout hearts, and impregnable yet<br> + And there fell, at last, in close mêlée, the fighter<br> + Who Death had so often affronted before;<br> + One deemed he'd no dart for his valorous slighter<br> + Who such a gay heart to the battle-front bore.<br> + But alas! for the spear thrust that ended a story<br> + Romantic as Roland's, as Lion-Heart's brief<br> + Yet crowded with incident, gilded with glory<br> + And crowned by a laurel that's verdant of leaf.<br> + A latter-day Paladin, prone to adventure,<br> + With little enough of the spirit that sways<br> + The man of the market, the shop, the indenture!<br> + Yet grief-drops will glitter on Burnaby's bays.<br> + Fast friend as keen fighter, the strife glow preferring,<br> + Yet cheery all round with his friends and his foes;<br> + Content through a life-story short, yet soul-stirring<br> + And happy, as doubtless he'd deem, in its close."</p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">Thus <span class="italic">Punch</span>, as it often does, + voiced the sentiments of the nation<br> + on learning the death of its hero.</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="23"></a>CHAPTER II.</p> + <p class="boldleft">A NIGHT ON A MOUNTAIN</p> + <p class="main">There are not many English abroad this morning on the top + of<br> + the hill. In fact, unless they had passed the night here it<br> + would not be easy for them to present themselves, seeing that<br> + San Salvatore, though a very modest mound, standing as it does<br> + in the neighbourhood of the Alps, is high enough to lift its<br> + crest out of the curtain of mist that lies over the lower world.<br> + Lugano, its lake, and its many small towns--as like each other<br> + when seen from a distance as if they had been turned out of a<br> + mould--are understood to lie at some uncertain depth beneath<br> + the mist. In truth, unless they have wholly disappeared in the<br> + night, we know that they are there, for we walked up in the<br> + late afternoon with intent to sleep here.</p> + <p class="main">The people of Lugano, more especially the hotel-keepers, + were much<br> + exercised at this undertaking. Nobody in recent recollection had been<br> + known to spend the night on San Salvatore, and if the eccentricity<br> + were permitted and proved enjoyable, no one could say that it might<br> + not spread, leaving empty beds at Lugano. There was, accordingly,<br> + much stress laid on possible dangers and certain discomforts.<br> + Peradventure there was no bed; assuredly it would be hard and damp<br> + and dirty. There would be nothing to eat, nor even to drink; and<br> + in short, if ever there was madness characteristic of the English<br> + abroad, here was the mid March of its season.</p> + <p class="main">But the undertaking was not nearly so mad as it looked. + I had been<br> + up Salvatore on the previous day and surveyed the land. It is a<br> + place that still holds high rank in the Romish calendar of Church<br> + celebrations. Many years ago a chapel was built on its summit, and<br> + pilgrimages instituted. These take place at Ascension and Pentecost,<br> + when the hillside swarms with devout sons and daughters of Italy, and<br> + the music of high mass breaks the silence of the mountains. Even<br> + pilgrims must eat and drink and sleep, and shortly after the chapel<br> + was built there rose up at its feet, in a sheltered nook, a little<br> + house, a chapel-of-ease in the sense that here was sold wine of the<br> + country, cheese of the district, and <span class="italic">jambon</span> + reputed to come across<br> + the seas from distant "Yorck." A spare bedroom was also established<br> + for the accommodation of the officiating priests, and it was on the<br> + temporary reversion of this apartment that I had counted in making<br> + those arrangements that Lugano held to be hopelessly heretical.</p> + <p class="main">When, on my first visit to the top of San Salvatore, I reached<br> + the pilgrimage chapel, I found an old gentleman standing at the<br> + door of the hostelry by which the pilgrim must needs pass on<br> + his way to the chapel--a probably undesigned but profitable<br> + arrangement, since it brings directly under his notice the<br> + possibility of purchasing "vins du pays, pain, fromage,<br> + saucissons, and jambon d'Yorck."</p> + <p class="main">When I broached the subject of the night's entertainment + the<br> + landlord was a little taken aback, and evidently inclined<br> + to dwell upon those inconveniences of which Lugano had made<br> + so much. But the more he thought of it, the more he liked the<br> + idea. As I subsequently learned, the hope of his youth, the<br> + sustenance of his manhood, and the dream of his old age was<br> + to see his little hut develop into a grand hotel, with a porter<br> + in the hall, an army of waiters bustling about, and himself in<br> + the receipt of custom. It was a very small beginning that two<br> + English people should propose to lodge with him for a night.<br> + Still, it was something, and everything must have a beginning.<br> + Monte Generoso, among the clouds on the other side of the lake,<br> + began in that way; and look at it now with its <span class="italic">chambres</span> + at<br> + eight francs a day, its <span class="italic">table d'hôte</span> + at five francs, and its<br> + <span class="italic">bougies</span> dispensed at their weight in silver!</p> + <p class="main">"Si, signor"; he thought it might be done. He + was sure--nay,<br> + he was positive.</p> + <p class="main">As the picture of the hotel of the future glowed in his + mind he<br> + became enthusiastic, and proposed that we should view the<br> + apartments. The bedroom we found sufficiently roomy, with both<br> + fireplace and one of the two windows bricked up to avoid<br> + draughts. The mattress of the bed, it is true, was stuffed with<br> + chopped straw, and was not free from suspicion of harbouring<br> + rats. But there was a gorgeous counterpane, whose many colours<br> + would have excited the envy of Joseph's brethren had their<br> + pilgrimage chanced to lead them in this direction. The floor<br> + was of cement, and great patches of damp displayed themselves<br> + on the walls. Over the bed hung a peaceful picture of a chubby<br> + boy clasping a crook to his breast, and exchanging glances of<br> + maudlin sentimentality with a sheep that skipped at his side.<br> + The damp had eaten up one of the legs of mutton, and the sheep<br> + went on three legs. But nothing could exceed the more than<br> + human tenderness with which it regarded the chubby boy with the<br> + crook.</p> + <p class="main">We soon settled about the bed, and there remained only<br> + the question of food. On this point also our host displayed<br> + even an increase of airy confidence. What would signor? There<br> + were sausage, ham of York, and eggs, the latter capable of<br> + presentation in divers shapes.</p> + <p class="main">This, it must be admitted, engendered a feeling of discouragement.<br> + We had two days earlier tasted the sausage of the country when<br> + served up in a first-class hotel as garnish to a dish of spinach.<br> + It is apparently made of pieces of gristle, and when liberated from<br> + the leather case that enshrines it, crumbles like a piece of old<br> + wall. Sausage was clearly out of the question, and the ham of York<br> + does not thrive out of its own country, acquiring a foreign flavour<br> + of salted sawdust. Eggs are very well in their way, but man cannot<br> + live on eggs alone.</p> + <p class="main">Our host was a man full of resources. Why should we not + bring the<br> + materials for dinner from Lugano? He would undertake to cook them,<br> + whatever they might be. This was a happy thought that clenched the<br> + bargain. We undertook to arrive on the following day, bringing our<br> + sheaves with us, in the shape of a supply of veal cutlets.</p> + <p class="main">The ostensible object of spending a night on San Salvatore + is to see<br> + the sun set and rise. The mountain is not high, just touching three<br> + thousand feet, an easy ascent of two hours. But it is a place<br> + glorious in the early morning and solemn in the quiet evening.<br> + Below lies the lake of Lugano, its full length visible. Straight<br> + before you, looking east, is the long arm that stretches to Porlezza,<br> + with its gentle curves where the mountains stand and cool their feet<br> + in the blue water. To the west, beyond a cluster of small and<br> + nameless lakes that lie on the plain, we see the other arm of the<br> + lake, with Ponte Tresa nestling upon it, and still farther west the<br> + sun gleams on the waters of Lago Maggiore. Above Porlezza is Monte<br> + Legnone, and far away on the left glint the snow peaks of the Bernina.<br> + High in the north, above the red tiles and white walls of the town of<br> + Lugano are the two peaks of Monte Camoghe, flanked by something that<br> + seems a dark cloud in the blue sky, but which our host says is the<br> + ridge of St. Gothard. The sun sets behind the Alps of the Valais<br> + among which towers the Matterhorn and gleam the everlasting snows of<br> + Monte Rosa.</p> + <p class="main">These form the framework of a picture which contains all + the softness<br> + and richness of the beauty of a land where the grape and the fig<br> + grow, and where in these October days roses are in full bloom, and<br> + heliotropes sweeten every breath of air. Yesterday had opened<br> + splendidly, the morning sun rising over the fair scene and bringing<br> + out every point. But as we toiled up the hill this afternoon,<br> + carrying the cutlets, the sun had capriciously disappeared. The<br> + mountains were hid in clouds, and the lake, having no blue sky to<br> + reflect, had turned green with chagrin. There was little hope of<br> + visible sunset; but there was a prospect of sunrise, and certainty<br> + of a snug dinner in circumstances to which the novelty of the<br> + surroundings would lend a strange charm.</p> + <p class="main">It was rather disappointing on arriving to find that our + acquaintance<br> + of yesterday had disappeared. I have reason to believe the excitement<br> + of our proposed visit had been too much for him, and that he had<br> + found it desirable to retire to rest in the more prosaic habitation<br> + of the family down in the town. He had selected as substitute the<br> + most stalwart and capable of his sons, a man of the mature age of<br> + thirty-five. This person had the family attribute of readiness of<br> + resource and perfect confidence. The enthusiasm which had been too<br> + dangerously excited in the breast of his aged parent had been<br> + communicated to him. He was ready to go anywhere and cook anything,<br> + and having as a preliminary arranged a napkin under his arm, went<br> + bustling about the table disturbing imaginary flies and flicking off<br> + supposititious crumbs, as he had seen the waiter do in the restaurant<br> + at the hotel down in the town.</p> + <p class="main">"Signor had brought the cutlets? Si, and beautiful + they were! How<br> + would signor like to have them done? Thus, or thus, or thus?" in + a<br> + variety of ways which, whilst their recital far exceeded my limited<br> + knowledge of the language, filled me with fullest confidence in<br> + Giacommetti.</p> + <p class="main">That was his name, he told me in one of his bursts of confidence;<br> + and a very pretty name it is, though for brevity's sake it may be<br> + convenient hereafter to particularise him by the initial letter.</p> + <p class="main">As I was scarcely in a position to decide among the various<br> + appetising ways of cooking suggested by G., I said I would leave it<br> + to him.</p> + <p class="main">But, then, the signor could not make a dinner of cutlets. + What else<br> + would he be so good as to like? Sausage, ham of York, and eggs--eggs<br> + <span class="italic">à la coque</span> or presented as omelettes. + No? Then signor would commence<br> + with soup? Finally <span class="italic">potage au riz</span> was selected + out of the<br> + embarrassment of riches poured at our feet by the enthusiastic G.</p> + <p class="main">There being yet an hour to dinner, we ascended the few steps + that<br> + led to the summit of the hill on which the chapel is perched, a<br> + marvel to all new-comers by the highway of the Lake. The door was<br> + open, and we walked in. There was no light burning on the altar,<br> + nor any water in the stone basin by the door. But there was all<br> + the apparatus of worship--the gaudy toyshop above the grand altar,<br> + the tiny side chapels, with their pictures of the dying Saviour,<br> + and the confessional box, now thick with dust, and echoless of<br> + sob of penitent or counsel of confessor. It was evidently a poorly<br> + endowed chapel, the tinsel adornments being of the cheapest and<br> + the candles of the thinnest. But in some past generation a good<br> + Catholic had bestowed upon it an altarcloth of richest silk,<br> + daintily embroidered. The colours had faded out of the flowers,<br> + and the golden hue of the cloth had been grievously dimmed. Still<br> + it remained the one rich genuine piece of workmanship in a chapel<br> + disfigured by an overbearing hankering after paper flowers and<br> + tinsel.</p> + <p class="main">Early the next morning, whilst reposing under the magnificent<br> + counterpane on the bed of chopped straw, I was awakened by hearing<br> + the chapel bell ring for mass. I thought it must be the ghost of<br> + some disembodied priest, who had come up through the darkness of<br> + the night and the scarcely more luminous mist of the morning to<br> + say a mass for his own disturbed soul. But, as I presently learned,<br> + they were human hands that pulled the bell-rope, and a living<br> + priest said mass all by himself in this lonely chapel whilst dawn<br> + was breaking over a sleeping world.</p> + <p class="main">I saw him some hours later sitting on the kitchen dresser, + in the<br> + sanctum where G. worked the mysteries of his art. He was resting<br> + his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, and had in his mouth<br> + a large pipe, from which he vigorously puffed. I found him a very<br> + cheerful old gentleman, by no means unduly oppressed with the<br> + solemnity of this early mass in the lonely chapel. He lived down<br> + at Barbeng, at the back of the hill, and had come up this morning<br> + purely as a matter of business, and in partial fulfilment of a<br> + contract entered into with one of his parishioners, whose husband<br> + had been lost at sea whilst yet they were only twelve months<br> + married. The widow had scraped together sufficient money to have<br> + a due number of masses said on San Salvatore for the repose of the<br> + soul of her young husband. So once a week, whilst the contract ran,<br> + the old priest made his way up through the morning mist, tolled the<br> + bell, said the mass, and thereafter comforted himself with a<br> + voluminous pipe seated on the dresser in G.'s kitchen.</p> + <p class="main">This is a digression, and I confess I have rather lingered + over it,<br> + as it kept the soup waiting.</p> + <p class="main">The preparation was brought in in a neat white bowl gracefully<br> + carried aloft by G., who still insisted upon going about with a<br> + napkin under his arm. Everything was in order except the soup. I<br> + like to think that the failure may have been entirely due to myself.<br> + G. had proposed quite a dozen soups, and I had ignorantly chosen<br> + the only one he could not make. The liquid was brown and greasy,<br> + smelling horribly of a something which in recognition of G.'s good<br> + intention I will call butter. The rice, which formed a principal<br> + component part, presented itself in conglomerate masses, as if G.,<br> + before placing it in the tureen, had squeezed portions of it in his<br> + hand.</p> + <p class="main">Perhaps he had, for he was not in the humour to spare himself + trouble<br> + in his effort to make the banquet a success.</p> + <p class="main">We helped ourselves plentifully to the contents of the tureen, + which<br> + was much easier to do than to settle the disposition of the soup. G.<br> + was in an ecstasy of delight at things having gone on so well thus<br> + far. He positively pervaded the place, nervously changing the napkin<br> + from arm to arm, and frantically flicking off imaginary crumbs. At<br> + length it happily occurred to him that it would be well to go and<br> + see after the cutlets. Whereupon we emptied the soup back into the<br> + tureen, and when G. returned were discovered wiping our lips with<br> + the air of people who had already dined.</p> + <p class="main">After all, there were the cutlets, and G. had not indulged + in<br> + exaggerated approval of their excellence when in a state of nature.<br> + They were those dainty cuts into which veal naturally seems to<br> + resolve itself in butcher's shops on the Continent. We observed<br> + with concern that they looked a little burned in places when they<br> + came to the table, and the same attraction of variety was maintained<br> + in the disposition of salt. There were large districts in the area<br> + of the cutlet absolutely free from savouring. But then you came upon<br> + a small portion where the salt lay in drifts, and thus the average<br> + was preserved. We were very hungry and ate the cutlets, which, with<br> + an allowance of bread, made up the dinner. There were some potatoes,<br> + fried with great skill, amid much of the compound we had agreed to<br> + call butter. But, as I explained to G. in reply to a deprecatory<br> + gesture when he took away the floating mass untouched, I have not<br> + for more than three years been able to eat a potato. One of my<br> + relations was, about that date, choked by a piece of potato, and<br> + since then I have never touched them, especially when fried in a<br> + great deal of butter.</p> + <p class="main">We had some cheese, for which Earl Granville's family motto + would<br> + serve as literal description. You might bend it, but could not<br> + break it. I never was partial to bent cheese, but we made a fair<br> + appearance with this part of the feast, owing to the arrival of<br> + G.'s dog, a miserable-looking cur, attracted to the banquet-hall<br> + by unwonted savours. He seemed to like the cheese; and G., when he<br> + came in with the coffee, was more than ever pleased with our<br> + appreciation of the good things provided for us.</p> + <p class="main">"Rosbif and chiss--ha!" he said, breaking forth + into English, and<br> + smiling knowingly upon us.</p> + <p class="main">He felt he had probed the profoundest depths of the Englishman's<br> + gastronomical weakness.</p> + <p class="main">With the appearance of the coffee the real pleasure of the + evening<br> + commenced. Along nearly the whole of one side of the banquet-hall<br> + ran a fireplace, a recess of the proportions of a spare bedroom in<br> + an ordinary English house. There were no "dogs" or other contrivance<br> + for minimising the spontaneity of a fire. There are granite quarries<br> + near, and these had contributed an enormous block which formed a<br> + hearth raised about six inches above the level of the floor. On this<br> + an armful of brushwood was placed; and the match applied, it began<br> + to burn with cheerful crackling laughter and pleasant flame,<br> + filling the room with a fragrant perfume. For all other light a<br> + feeble oil lamp twinkled high up on the wall, and a candle burned<br> + on the table where we had so luxuriantly dined.</p> + <p class="main">The fitful light shone on the oil paintings which partly + hid the<br> + damp on the walls. There was a picture (not a bad one) of St.<br> + Sebastian pierced with arrows, and in his death-agony turning<br> + heavenward a beautiful face. There was the portrait of another<br> + monk holding on to a ladder, each rung of which was labelled with<br> + a cardinal virtue. There was a crucifixion or two, and what<br> + elsewhere might well pass for a family portrait--an elderly lady,<br> + with a cap of the period, nursing a spaniel. The damp had spared<br> + the spaniel whilst it made grave ravages upon the lady, eating<br> + a portion of her cheek and the whole of her left ear.</p> + <p class="main">G. having the dinner off his mind, and having, as was gathered<br> + from a fearsome clattering in the back premises, washed up the<br> + dishes, wandered about the shadows in the background and showed<br> + a disposition for conversation. It was now he unfolded that dream<br> + of the hotel some day to be built up here, with the porter in the<br> + hall, the waiters buzzing round, the old man, his father, in the<br> + receipt of custom, and he (G.) exercising his great natural talents<br> + in supervising the making of soup, the frying of potatoes, and<br> + the selection of elastic cheeses. He showed, with pardonable pride,<br> + a visitors' book in which was written "Leopold, Prince of Great<br> + Britain and Ireland." His Royal Highness came here one rainy day<br> + in 1876, riding on a mule, and escorted by a bedraggled suite.</p> + <p class="main">Did they partake of any refreshments?</p> + <p class="main">No; the father, G. frankly admits, lost his head in the + excitement<br> + of the moment--a confession which confirms the impression that, on<br> + a much less auspicious occasion, it has been thought desirable that<br> + a younger and stronger man should assume the direction of affairs.<br> + To proffer Royalty <span class="italic">potage au riz</span> on such brief + notice was of course<br> + out of the question. But the fatuous old gentleman had permitted a<br> + Prince of Great Britain and Ireland to descend the mountain without<br> + having tasted any other of the comestibles which were doubtless on<br> + hand at the time, and portions of which most probably remain to<br> + this day.</p> + <p class="main">About eight o'clock there were indications from the shadowy<br> + portions of the banqueting chamber that G. was getting sleepy, and<br> + that the hour had arrived when it was usual for residents to retire<br> + for the night. Even on the top of a mountain one cannot go to bed<br> + at eight o'clock, and we affected to disregard these signals.<br> + Beginning gently, the yawns increased in intensity till they became<br> + phenomenal. At nine o'clock G. pointedly compared the hour of the<br> + day as between his watch and mine.</p> + <p class="main">It was hard to leave a bright wood fire and go to bed at + nine<br> + o'clock; but G. was irresistible. He literally yawned us out of<br> + the room, up the staircase, and into the bed-chamber. There was a<br> + key hanging by the outside of the door the size of a small club,<br> + and weighing several pounds. On the inside the keyhole, contrary to<br> + habitude, was in the centre of the door. From this point of approach<br> + it was, however, useful rather for ventilation than for any other<br> + purpose, since the key would not enter. Looking about for some means<br> + of securing the door against possible intrusions on the part of G.<br> + with a new soup, I discovered the trunk of a young tree standing<br> + against the wall. The next discovery was recesses in the wall on<br> + either side of the door, which suggested the evident purpose of the<br> + colossal bar. With this across the door one might sleep in peace,<br> + and I did till eight o'clock in the morning.</p> + <p class="main">G. had been instructed to call us at sunrise if the morning + were<br> + fair. As it happened, our ill luck of the evening was repeated in<br> + the morning. A thick mist obscured all around us, though as we<br> + passed down to civilisation and Lugano the sun, growing stronger,<br> + lifted wreaths of white mist, and showed valley, and lake, and<br> + town bathed in glorious light.</p> + <p><a name="35"></a></p> + <p class="boldleft">CHAPTER III.</p> + <p class="boldleft">THE PRINCE OF WALES</p> + <p class="main">We in this country have grown accustomed to the existence + of the<br> + Prince of Wales, and his personality, real and fabulous, is not<br> + unfamiliar on the other side of the Atlantic. But if we come to<br> + think of it, it is a very strange phenomenon. The only way to<br> + realise its immensity is to conceive its creation today, supposing<br> + that heretofore through the history of England there had been<br> + no such institution. A child is born in accidental circumstances<br> + and with chance connections that might just as reasonably have<br> + fallen to the lot of some other entity. He grows from childhood<br> + through youth into manhood, and all the stages, with increasing<br> + devotion and deference, he is made the object of reverential<br> + solicitude. All his wants are provided for, even anticipated. He<br> + is the first person to be considered wherever he goes. Men who<br> + have won renown in Parliament, in the camp, in literature, doff<br> + their hats at his coming, and high-born ladies curtsey.</p> + <p class="main">It is all very strange; but so is the rising of the sun + and the<br> + sequence of the moon. We grow accustomed to everything and take<br> + the Prince of Wales like the solar system as a matter of course.</p> + <p class="main">Reflection on the singularity of his position leads to sincere<br> + admiration of the manner in which the Prince fills it. Take it for<br> + all in all, there is no post in English public life so difficult<br> + to fill, not only without reproach, but with success. Day and night<br> + the Prince lives under the bull's-eye light of the lantern of a<br> + prying public. He is more talked about, written about, and pulled<br> + about than any Englishman, except, perhaps, Mr. Gladstone. But Mr.<br> + Gladstone stands on level ground with his countrymen. If he is<br> + attacked or misrepresented, he can hit back again. The position of<br> + the Prince of Wales imposes upon him the impassivity of the target<br> + used in ordinary rifle practice. Whatever is said or written about<br> + him, he can make no reply, and the happy result which in the main<br> + follows upon this necessary attitude suggests that it might with<br> + advantage be more widely adopted.</p> + <p class="main">Probably in the dead, unhappy night when the rain was on + the roof<br> + and the Tranby Croft scandal was on everybody's tongue, the Prince<br> + of Wales had some bad quarters of an hour. But whatever he felt or<br> + suffered, he made no sign. To see him sitting in the chair on the<br> + bench in court whilst that famous trial was proceeding, no one, not<br> + having prior knowledge of the fact, would have guessed that he had<br> + the slightest personal interest in the affair. There was danger of<br> + his even over-doing the attitude of indifference. But he escaped it,<br> + and was exactly as smiling, debonair and courtly as if he were in<br> + his box at the theatre watching the development of some quite other<br> + dramatic performance. He has all the courage of his race, and his<br> + long training has steeled his nerves.</p> + <p class="main">It would be so easy for the Prince of Wales to make mistakes + that<br> + would alienate from him the affection which is now his in unstinted<br> + measure. There are plenty of precedents, and a fatal fulness of<br> + exemplars. Take, for example, his relations with political life. It<br> + would not be possible for him now, as a Prince of Wales did at the<br> + beginning of the century, to form a Parliamentary party, and<br> + control votes in the House of Commons by cabals hatched at<br> + Marlborough House. But he might, if he were so disposed, in less<br> + occult ways meddle in politics. As a matter of fact, noteworthy and<br> + of highest honour to the Prince, the outside public have not the<br> + slightest idea to which side of politics his mind is biassed. They<br> + know all about his private life, what he eats, and how much; how he<br> + dresses, whom he talks to, what he does from the comparatively<br> + early hour at which he rises to the decidedly late one at which he<br> + goes to bed. But in all the gossip daily poured forth about him<br> + there is never a hint as to whether he prefers the politics of Tory<br> + or Liberal, the company of Lord Salisbury or Mr. Gladstone.</p> + <p class="main">In a country where every man in whatever station of life + is a keen<br> + politician, this is a great thing to say for one in the position of<br> + the Prince of Wales.</p> + <p class="main">This absolute impartiality of attitude does not arise from<br> + indifference to politics or to the current of political warfare.<br> + The Prince is a Peer of Parliament, sits as Duke of Cornwall, and<br> + under that name figures in the division lists on the rare occasions<br> + when he votes. When any important debate is taking place in the<br> + House, he is sure to be found in his corner seat on the front Cross<br> + Bench, an attentive listener. Nor does he confine his attention to<br> + proceedings in the House of Lords. In the Commons there is no more<br> + familiar figure than his seated in the Peers' Gallery over the<br> + clock, with folded hands irreproachably gloved, resting on the<br> + rail before him as he leans forward and watches with keen interest<br> + the sometimes tumultuous scene.</p> + <p class="main">Thus he sat one afternoon in the spring of the session of + 1875. He<br> + had come down to hear a speech with which his friend, Mr. Chaplin,<br> + was known to be primed. The House was crowded in every part, a<br> + number of Peers forming the Prince's suite in the gallery, while<br> + the lofty figure of Count Munster, German Ambassador, towered at<br> + his right hand, divided by the partition between the Peers'<br> + Gallery and that set apart for distinguished strangers. It was a<br> + great occasion for Mr. Chaplin, who sat below the gangway visibly<br> + pluming himself and almost audibly purring in anticipation of<br> + coming triumph. But a few days earlier the eminent orator had the<br> + misfortune to incur the resentment of Mr. Joseph Gillis Biggar.<br> + All unknown to him, Joseph Gillis was now lying in wait, and just<br> + as the Speaker was about to call on the orator of the evening,<br> + the Member for Cavan rose and observed,--</p> + <p class="main">"Mr. Speaker, Sir, I believe there are strangers in + the house."</p> + <p class="main">The House of Commons, tied and bound by its own archaic<br> + regulations, had no appeal against the whim of the indomitable<br> + Joey B. He had spied strangers in due form, and out they must go.<br> + So they filed forth, the Prince of Wales at the head of them, the<br> + proud English Peers following, and by another exit the Envoy of the<br> + most potent sovereign of the Continent, representative of a nation<br> + still flushed with the overthrow of France--all publicly and<br> + peremptorily expelled at the raising of the finger of an uneducated,<br> + obscure Irishman, who, when not concerned with the affairs of the<br> + Imperial Parliament, was curing bacon at Belfast and selling it at<br> + enhanced prices to the Saxon in the Liverpool market.</p> + <p class="main">The Prince of Wales bore this unparalleled indignity with + the good<br> + humour which is one of his richest endowments. He possesses in rare<br> + degree the faculty of being amused and interested. The British<br> + workman, who insists on his day's labour being limited by eight<br> + hours, would go into armed revolt if he were called upon to toil<br> + through so long a day as the Prince habitually faces. Some of its<br> + engagements are terribly boring, but the Prince smiles his way<br> + through what would kill an ordinary man. His manner is charmingly<br> + unaffected, and through all the varying duties and circumstances of<br> + the day he manages to say and do the right thing. It is not a heroic<br> + life, but it is in its way a useful one, and must be exceedingly hard<br> + to live.</p> + <p class="main">Watching the Prince of Wales moving through an assemblage, + whether<br> + it be as he enters a public meeting or as he strolls about the<br> + greensward at Marlborough House on the occasion of a garden party,<br> + the observer may get some faint idea of the strain ever upon him. You<br> + can see his eyes glancing rapidly along the line of the crowd in<br> + search of some one whom he can make happy for the day by a smile or a<br> + nod of recognition. If there were one there who might expect the<br> + honour, and who was passed over, the Prince knows full well how sore<br> + would be the heart-burning.</p> + <p class="main">There is nothing prettier at the garden party than to see + him walking<br> + through the crowd of brave men and fair women with the Queen on his<br> + arm. Her Majesty used in days gone by to be habile enough at the<br> + performance of this imperative duty laid upon Royalty of singling<br> + out persons for recognition. Now, when he is in her company, the<br> + Prince of Wales does it for her. Escorting her, bare-headed,<br> + through the throng; he glances swiftly to right or left, and when he<br> + sees some one whom he thinks the Queen should smile upon he whispers<br> + the name. The Queen thereupon does her share in contributing to the<br> + sum of human happiness.</p> + <p class="main">It is, as I began by saying, all very strange if we look + calmly at it.<br> + But, in the present order of things, it has to be done. It is the<br> + Prince of Wales's daily work, and it is impossible to conceive it<br> + accomplished with fuller appearance of real pleasure on the part of<br> + the active agent.</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="41"></a>CHAPTER IV.</p> + <p class="boldleft">A HISTORIC CROWD.</p> + <p class="main">"I very much regret that so much of your valuable time + has been<br> + absorbed," said the Lord Chief Justice, speaking to the Tichborne<br> + Jury, as the massive form of the Claimant vanished through the side<br> + door, never more to enter the Court of Queen's Bench; "but it will<br> + be a consolation to you to think that your names will be associated<br> + in history with the most remarkable trial that has ever occurred in<br> + the annals of England."</p> + <p class="main">There was another jury outside Sir Alexander Cockburn's + immediate<br> + observation that always struck me, and I saw a good deal of it, as<br> + not the least notable feature in the great trial that at one time<br> + engrossed the attention of the English-speaking race. That was the<br> + crowd that gathered outside the Courts of Justice, then still an<br> + adjunct of Westminster Hall.</p> + <p class="main">As there never was before a trial like that of the Claimant, + so<br> + there never was a crowd like this. It had followed him through all<br> + the vicissitudes of his appeal to the jury of his countrymen, and<br> + of his countrymen's subsequently handing him over to another jury<br> + upon a fresh appeal. It began to flood the broad spaces at the<br> + bottom of Parliament Street in far-off days when the case of<br> + Tichborne <span class="italic">v.</span> Lushington was opened in the + Sessions House, and it<br> + continued without weariness or falling-off all through the progress<br> + of the civil suit, beginning again with freshened zeal with the<br> + commencement of the criminal trial.</p> + <p class="main">Like the Severn, Palace Yard filled twice a day whilst the + blue<br> + brougham had its daily mission to perform, the crowd assembling in<br> + the morning to welcome the coming Claimant, and foregathering in<br> + the evening to speed him on his departure westward. It ranged in<br> + numbers from 5000 down to 1000. Put the average at 3000, multiply<br> + it by 291, the aggregate number of days which the Claimant was<br> + before the Courts in his varied character of plaintiff and<br> + defendant, and we have 873,000 as the total of the assemblage.</p> + <p class="main">As a rule, the congregation of Monday was the largest of + the week.<br> + Why this should be, students of the manners of this notable crowd<br> + were not agreed. Some held that the circumstance was to be accounted<br> + for by the fact that two days had elapsed during which the Claimant<br> + was not on view, and that on Monday the crowd came back, like a<br> + giant refreshed, to the feast, which, by regular repetition, had<br> + partially palled on Friday's appetite. Others found the desired<br> + explanation in the habit which partly obtains among the labouring<br> + classes of taking Monday as a second day of rest in the week, and<br> + of devoting a portion of it to the duty of going down to Westminster<br> + Hall to cheer "Sir Roger."</p> + <p class="main">Probably both causes united to bring together the greater + crowd of<br> + Monday afternoons. It must not be supposed that the mob was composed<br> + wholly or principally of what are called the working classes. When<br> + an hon. member rose in the House of Commons, and complained of the<br> + inconvenience occasioned to legislators by the "Tichborne crowd,"<br> + another member observed that, relative numbers considered, the House<br> + of Commons contributed as much to swell the throng as any other<br> + section of the people. During the last months of the trial, if any<br> + class predominated it was that which came from the provinces. The<br> + Claimant was undoubtedly one of the sights of London and before his<br> + greater attraction the traditional Monument which elsewhere--</p> + <blockquote> + <p class="smallquote">"Lifts its tall head and like a bully lies,"</p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">sank into absolute insignificance. Not to have seen the + Claimant,<br> + argued the London of the period unknown. Fashionably dressed ladies<br> + and exquisitely attired gentlemen battled for front places upon the<br> + pavement with sturdy agriculturists who had brought their wives and<br> + daughters to see "Sir Roger," and who had not the slightest<br> + intention of going back till they had accomplished their desire.</p> + <p class="main">It came to pass that there were some two hundred faces in + the crowd<br> + familiar to the police as daily attendants at the four o'clock<br> + festival in Palace Yard. Day after day, they came to feast their<br> + eyes on the portly figure of "Sir Roger," and, having gazed + their<br> + fill, went away, to return again on the morrow. There was one aged<br> + gentleman whose grey gaiters, long-tailed coat, and massive umbrella<br> + were as familiar in Palace Yard as are the features on the clock-face<br> + in the tower. He came up from somewhere in the country in the days<br> + when Kenealy commenced his first speech, and, being a hale old man,<br> + he survived long enough to be in the neighbourhood when the learned<br> + gentleman had finished his second. At the outset, he was wont to<br> + fight gallantly for a place of vantage in the ranks near the arch-way<br> + of the Hall. Then, before the advances of younger and stouter<br> + newcomers, he faded away into the background. Towards the end, he<br> + wandered about outside the railings in Bridge Street, and, as the<br> + clock struck four, got the umbrella as near as its natural<br> + obstructiveness would permit to the carriage-gate whence the<br> + Claimant's brougham was presently to issue.</p> + <p class="main">At first the police authorities dealt with the assembly + in the<br> + ordinary manner, a more or less sufficient force being told off for<br> + the duty of keeping the thoroughfare clear. It soon became manifest<br> + that the Tichborne crowd, like everything else in connection with<br> + the trial, required especial treatment, and accordingly a carefully<br> + elaborated scheme was prepared. Superintendent Denning had under his<br> + command, for the preservation of peace and order in Palace Yard and<br> + the adjacent thoroughfares, not less than sixty men. One or two were<br> + stationed in the justice-chamber itself, and must by the time the<br> + verdict had been delivered have got pretty well up in the details of<br> + the case. Others guarded the entrance-door; others lined the passage<br> + into the yard, others were disposed about the yard itself; whilst,<br> + after three o'clock, two strong companies stood in reserve in the<br> + sheds that flank the entrance to the Hall. At half past three the<br> + crowd began to assemble, building itself up upon the little nucleus<br> + that had been hanging about all day. The favourite standpoint,<br> + especially in the cold, uncertain winter weather that marked the<br> + conclusion of the trial, was inside Westminster Hall, where the<br> + people were massed on the far side of a temporary barricade which<br> + the Tichborne case called into being, the railing of which was worn<br> + black by the touch of the hands of the faithful.</p> + <p class="main">Outside, in the yard, the crowd momentarily thickened till + it formed<br> + a dense lane, opening out from the front of the Hall, and turning to<br> + the left down to the south carriage-gate. The railings in Bridge<br> + Street and St. Margaret's Street were banked with people, and ranks<br> + were formed on the pavement in front of the grass-plot. At a quarter<br> + to four the policemen under the shed received the word of command,<br> + and marched out into St. Margaret's Street, some filing off to take<br> + charge of the gates, whilst the rest were drawn up on the pavement<br> + opposite and at the corner of Bridge Street, with the mission of<br> + preventing rushes after the Claimant's carriage as it drove through.<br> + A few minutes later the distinguished vehicle itself--a plain,<br> + dark-blue brougham, drawn by a finely bred bay mare--drove into the<br> + yard, and, taking up its position a little on one side of the entrance<br> + to the Hall, became the object of curious and respectful consideration.<br> + As the great clock boomed four strokes, the doors of the Court opened,<br> + and the privileged few who had been present at the day's proceedings<br> + issued forth.</p> + <p class="main">The excitement increased as the Court emptied, culminating + when,<br> + after a brief lull, the Claimant himself appeared, and waddled down<br> + the living lane that marked the route to his carriage. There was<br> + much cheering and a great amount of pocket-handkerchief waving,<br> + which "Sir Roger" acknowledged by raising his hat and smiling + that<br> + "smile of peculiar sweetness and grace" which Dr. Kenealy brought<br> + under the notice of the three judges and a special jury. As the<br> + Claimant walked through the doorway, closely followed by the<br> + Inspector, the policemen on guard suddenly closed the doors, and<br> + the public within Westminster Hall found themselves netted and<br> + hopelessly frustrated in what was evidently their intention of<br> + rushing out and sharing the outside crowd's privilege of staring<br> + at the Claimant, as he actually stepped into his carriage.</p> + <p class="main">The outside throng in Palace Yard, meanwhile, made the most + of<br> + their special privilege, crowding round "Sir Roger" and cheering<br> + in a manner that made the bay mare plunge and rear. With the least<br> + possible delay, the Claimant is got into the brougham, the door is<br> + banged to, and the bay mare is driven swiftly through the Yard, the<br> + crowd closing in behind. But when they reach the gates, and essay<br> + to pass and flood the streets beyond, where the gigantic umbrella<br> + of the aged gentleman looms uplifted over the shoulders of the line<br> + of police like the section of a windmill sail, the iron gates are<br> + swung to, and this, the second and larger portion of the crowd, is<br> + likewise safely trapped, and can gaze upon the retreating brougham<br> + only through iron bars that, in this instance at least, "do make + a<br> + cage." There are not many people outside, for it is hard to catch<br> + even a passing glimpse of the occupant of the carriage as it drives<br> + swiftly westward to Pimlico, finally pulling up in a broad street of<br> + a severely respectable appearance, not to be marred even by the near<br> + contiguity of Millbank convict prison.</p> + <p class="main">Here also is a crowd, though only a small one, and select + to wit,<br> + being composed chiefly of well-dressed ladies, forming part of a<br> + band of pilgrims who daily walked up and down the street, waiting<br> + and watching the outgoing and incoming of "Sir Roger." They + are<br> + rewarded by the polite upraising of "Sir Roger's" hat, and a + further<br> + diffusion of the sweet and gracious smile; and having seen the door<br> + shut upon the portly form, and having watched the brougham drive<br> + off, they, too, go their way, and the drama is over for the day.</p> + <p class="main">But the crowd in and about Palace Yard have not accomplished + their<br> + mission when they have seen the blue brougham fade in the distance.<br> + There is the "Doctor" to come yet, and all the cheering has + to be<br> + repeated, even with added volume of sound. When the Claimant has<br> + got clear away, and the crowd have had a moment or two of<br> + breathing-time, the "Doctor" walks forth from the counsels'<br> + entrance, and is received with a burst of cheering and clapping<br> + of hands, which, "just like Sir Roger", he acknowledges by raising<br> + his hat, but, unlike him, permits no trace of a smile to illumine<br> + his face. Without looking right or left, the "Doctor" walks<br> + northward, raising his hat as he passes the caged and cheering<br> + crowd in Palace Yard. With the same grave countenance, not moved in<br> + the slightest degree by the comical effect of the big men in the<br> + crowd at his heels waving their hats over his head, the "Doctor"<br> + crosses Bridge Street, and walks into Parliament Street, as far as<br> + the Treasury, where a cab is waiting. Into this he gets with much<br> + deliberation, and, with a final waving of his hat, and always with<br> + the same imperturbable countenance, is driven off, and Parliament<br> + Street, subsiding from the turmoil in which the running, laughing,<br> + shouting mob have temporarily thrown it, finds time to wonder<br> + whether it would not have been more convenient for all concerned if<br> + the "Doctor's" cab had picked him up at the door of Westminster + Hall.</p> + <p class="main">Slowly approached the end of this marvellous, and to a succeeding<br> + generation almost incredible, and altogether inexplicable,<br> + phenomenon. It came about noon, on Saturday, the final day of<br> + February, 1874.</p> + <p class="main">A few minutes before ten o'clock on that morning the familiar + bay<br> + mare and the well-known blue brougham--where are they now?--appeared<br> + in sight, with a contingent of volunteer running footmen, who<br> + cheered "Sir Roger" with unabated enthusiasm. As the carriage + passed<br> + through into the yard, a cordon of police promptly drew up behind it<br> + across the gateway, and stopped the crowd that would have entered<br> + with it. But inside there was, within reasonable limits, no<br> + restraint upon the movements of the Claimant's admirers, who lustily<br> + cheered, and wildly waved their hats, drowning in the greater sound<br> + the hisses that came from a portion of the assemblage. The Claimant<br> + looked many shades graver than in the days when Kenealy's speech<br> + was in progress. Nevertheless, he smiled acknowledgment of the<br> + reception, and repeatedly raised his hat. When he had passed in,<br> + the throng in Palace Yard rapidly vanished, not more than a couple<br> + of hundred remaining in a state of vague expectation. Westminster<br> + Hall itself continued to be moderately full, a compact section of<br> + the crowd that had secured places of vantage between the barricade<br> + and the temporary telegraph station evidently being prepared to see<br> + it out at whatever hour the end might come.</p> + <p class="main">For the next hour there was scarcely any movement in the + Hall, save<br> + that occasioned by persons who lounged in, looked round, and either<br> + ranged themselves in the ranks behind the policemen, or strolled<br> + out again, holding to the generally prevalent belief that if they<br> + returned at two o'clock they would still have sufficient hours to<br> + wait. In the Yard a thin line extended from the side of the Hall<br> + gateway backwards to the railings in St. Margaret's Street, with<br> + another line drawn up across the far edge of the broad carriage-way<br> + before the entrance. There was no ostentatious show of police, but<br> + they had a way of silently filing out from under the sheds or out<br> + of the Commons' gateway in proportion as the crowd thickened, which<br> + conveyed the impression that there was a force somewhere about that<br> + would prove sufficient to meet any emergency. As a matter of fact,<br> + Mr. Superintendent Denning had under his command three hundred men,<br> + who had marched down to Westminster Hall at six o'clock in the<br> + morning, and were chiefly disposed in reserve, ready for action as<br> + circumstances might dictate.</p> + <p class="main">At half-past eleven, there being not more than three or + four hundred<br> + people in Palace Yard, a number of Press messengers, rushing<br> + helter-skelter out of the court and into waiting cabs, indicated the<br> + arrival of some critical juncture within the jealously guarded<br> + portals. Presently it was whispered that the Lord Chief Justice had<br> + finished his summing up, and that Mr. Justice Mellor was addressing<br> + the jury. A buzz of conversation rose and fell in the Hall, and the<br> + ranks drew closer up, waiting in silence the consummation that could<br> + not now be far distant.</p> + <p class="main">The news spread with surprising swiftness, not only in Palace + Yard,<br> + but throughout Bridge Street and St. Margaret's Street, and the<br> + railings looking thence into the yard became gradually banked with<br> + rows of earnest faces. Little groups formed on the pavement about<br> + the corners of Parliament Street. Faces appeared at the windows of<br> + the houses overlooking the Yard, and the whole locality assumed an<br> + aspect of grave and anxious expectation. A few minutes after the<br> + clock in the tower had slowly boomed forth twelve strokes it was<br> + known in the Bail Court, where a dozen rapid hands were writing out<br> + words the echo of which had scarcely died away in the inner court,<br> + that the Judges had finished their task, and that the Jury had<br> + retired to consider their verdict. It was known also in the lobbies,<br> + where a throng of gowned and wigged barristers were assembled,<br> + hanging on as the fringe of the densely packed audience that sat<br> + behind the Claimant, and overflowed by the opened doorway. Thence<br> + it reached the crowd outside, and after the first movement and hum<br> + of conversation had subsided, a dead silence fell upon Westminster<br> + Hall, and all eyes were fixed upon the door by which, at any moment,<br> + messengers might issue with the word or words up to the utterance of<br> + which by the Foreman of the Jury the great trial slowly dragged its<br> + length.</p> + <p class="main">Half an hour later the door burst open, and messengers came + leaping<br> + in breathless haste down the steps and across the Hall, shouting as<br> + they ran,--</p> + <p class="main">"Guilty! Guilty on all counts!" The words were + taken up by the<br> + crowd, and passed from mouth to mouth in voices scarcely above a<br> + whisper. It was a flock of junior barristers, issuing from the<br> + court, radiant and laughing, who brought the next news.</p> + <p class="main">"Fourteen years! Fourteen years!" they called + out.</p> + <p class="main">This time the crowd in Westminster Hall took up the cry + in louder<br> + tones, and there was some attempt at cheering, but it did not<br> + prevail. The less dense crowd in the Yard received the intelligence<br> + without any demonstration and after a brief pause made off with one<br> + consent for the judges' entrance in St. Margaret's Street, where,<br> + peradventure, they might see the prisoner taken away, or at least<br> + would catch a glimpse of the judges and counsel.</p> + <p class="main">From this hour up to nearly four o'clock the crowd, in numbers + far<br> + exceeding those present at the first intimation of the verdict and<br> + sentence, hung about St. Margaret's Street and Palace Yard waiting<br> + for the coming forth of the prisoner, who had long ago been safely<br> + lodged in Newgate. They did not know that as soon as the convict<br> + was given in charge of the tipstaff of the court he was led away by<br> + Inspector Denning, along a carefully planned and circuitous route<br> + that entirely baffled the curiosity of the waiting crowd. Through the<br> + Court of Exchequer the prisoner and his guards went, by the members'<br> + private staircase, across the lobby, along the corridor, through the<br> + smoking-room into the Commons Courtyard, where a plain police<br> + omnibus was in waiting with an escort of eleven men. In this the<br> + prisoner took his seat, and was driven through the Victoria Tower<br> + gate <span class="italic">en route</span> for Newgate. He accompanied + his custodians as quietly<br> + as if they were conducting him to his brougham, and only once broke<br> + the silence of the journey to Newgate.</p> + <p class="main">"It's very hot," he said, as he panted along the + passages of the<br> + House of Commons, "and I am so fat."</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="52"></a>CHAPTER V.</p> + <p class="boldleft">WITH PEGGOTTY AND HAM.</p> + <p class="main">A careful survey of the map of Kent will disclose Lydd lying + within<br> + four miles of the coast, in the most southerly portion of the<br> + promontory tipped by Dungeness. Lydd has now its own branch line<br> + from Ashford, but when I first knew it the nearest point by rail on<br> + one hand was Folkestone, and on the other Appledore. Between these<br> + several points lies a devious road, sometimes picking its way<br> + through the marshes, and occasionally breaking in upon a sinking<br> + village, which it would probably be delightful to dwell in if it<br> + did not lie so low, was not so damp, and did not furnish the<br> + inhabitants with an opportunity for obtaining remarkably close<br> + acquaintance with the symptoms of the ague. Few of the marsh towns<br> + are more picturesque than Lydd, owing to the sturdy independence<br> + shown by the architects of the houses, and to the persistent and<br> + successful efforts made to avoid anything like a straight line in<br> + the formation of the streets. The houses cluster "anyhow" round + the<br> + old church, and seem to have dropped accidentally down in all sorts<br> + of odd nooks and corners. They face all ways, and stand at angles,<br> + several going the length of turning their backs upon the streets and<br> + placidly opening out from their front door into the nearest field.</p> + <p class="main">In the main street, through which her Majesty's cart passes, + and<br> + along which all the posting is done, a serious attempt has made at<br> + the production of something like an ordinary street. But even here<br> + the approach to regularity is a failure, owing to some of the houses<br> + along the line putting forth a porch, or blooming into a row of<br> + utterly unnecessary pillars before the parlour windows. In short,<br> + Lydd, being entirely out of the tracks of the world, cares little for<br> + what other towns may do, and has just built its houses where and how<br> + it pleased. Between Dungeness and Lydd there is an expanse of shingle<br> + which makes the transit an arduous undertaking, and one not to be<br> + accomplished easily without the aid of "backstays" (pronounced<br> + "backster"), a simple contrivance somewhat upon the principle + of<br> + snowshoes. When the proneness to slip off the unaccustomed foot has<br> + been overcome, backstays are not so awkward as they look. A couple of<br> + flat pieces of inch-thick wood, four inches wide by six long, with a<br> + loop of leather defectively fastened for the insertion of the foot<br> + went to make up the pair of "backsters" by whose assistance + I<br> + succeeded in traversing two miles of rough, loose shingle that<br> + separates the southern and eastern edge of Lydd marsh from the sea.</p> + <p class="main">The lighthouse stands on the farthest point, jutting into + the sea,<br> + and has at the right of it West Bay, and on the left East Bay. A<br> + signboard on the top of a pole stuck in the shingle, almost within<br> + hail of the lighthouse, announces the proximity of "The Pilot." + "The<br> + Pilot" is a small shanty run up on the shingle, and possessed of<br> + accommodation about equal in extent to that afforded by the<br> + residence of the Peggottys. Reminiscences of the well-known abode on<br> + the beach at Yarmouth are further favoured, as we draw nearer, by<br> + the appearance of the son of the house, who comes lounging out in a<br> + pilot-cloth suit, with a telescope under his arm, and a smile of<br> + welcome upon his bright, honest face. This must be Ham, who we find<br> + occupies the responsible position of signalman at this station, and<br> + frequently has the current of his life stirred by the appearance of<br> + strange sail upon the horizon. Peggotty, his father, is the proprietor<br> + of "The Pilot," which hostelry drives a more or less extensive + trade<br> + in malt liquor with the eight men constituting the garrison of a<br> + neighbouring fort, supplemented by such stray customers as wind and<br> + tide may bring in.</p> + <p class="main">I made the acquaintance of the Peggotty family and was made + free of<br> + the cabin many years ago, in the dark winter time when the <span class="italic">Northfleet</span><br> + went down off Dungeness, and over three hundred passengers were lost.<br> + All the coast was then alive with expectancy of some moment finding<br> + the sea crowded with the bodies of the drowned. The nine days during<br> + which, according to all experience at Dungeness, the sea might hold<br> + its dead were past, and at any moment the resurrection might<br> + commence. But it never came, and other theories had to be broached<br> + to explain the unprecedented circumstance. The most generally<br> + acceptable, because the most absolutely irrefragable, was that the<br> + dead men and women had been carried away by an under-current out<br> + into the Atlantic, and for ever lost amid its wilds.</p> + <p class="main">My old friend Peggotty tells me, in a quiet, matter-of-fact + manner,<br> + a story much more weird than this. He says that after we watchers<br> + had left the scene, the divers got fairly to work and attained a<br> + fair run of the ship. They found she lay broadside on to a bank of<br> + sand, by the edge of which she had sunk till it overtopped her<br> + decks. By the action of the tide the sand had drifted over the ship,<br> + and had even at that early date commenced to bury her. The bodies<br> + of the passengers were there by the hundred, all huddled together<br> + on the lee-side.</p> + <p class="main">"The divers could not see them," Peggotty adds, + "for what with the<br> + mud and sand the water is pretty thick down there. But they could<br> + feel them well enough--an arm sticking out there, and a knee sticking<br> + out here, and sometimes half a body clear of the silt, owing to lying<br> + one over another. They could have got them all up easy enough, and<br> + would, too, if they had been paid for it. They were told that they<br> + were to have a pound apiece for all they brought up. They sent up<br> + one, but there was no money for it, and no one particularly glad to<br> + see it, and so they left them all there, snug enough as far as<br> + burying goes. The diving turned out a poor affair altogether. The<br> + cargo wasn't much good for bringing up, bein' chiefly railway iron,<br> + spades, and such like. There were one or two sales at Dover of odd<br> + stores they brought up, but it didn't fetch in much altogether, and<br> + they soon gave up the job as a bad un."</p> + <p class="main">The years have brought little change to this strange out-of-the-way<br> + corner of the world, an additional wreck or two being scarcely a<br> + noteworthy incident. The section of an old boat in which, with<br> + fortuitous bits of building tacked on at odd times as necessity has<br> + arisen, the Peggottys live is as brightly tarred as ever, and still<br> + stoutly braves the gales in which many a fine ship has foundered<br> + just outside the front door. One peculiarity of the otherwise<br> + desirable residence is that, with the wind blowing either from the<br> + eastward, westward, or southward, Mrs. Peggotty will never allow<br> + the front door to be opened. As these quarters of the wind<br> + comprehend a considerable stretch of possible weather, the<br> + consequence is that the visitor approaching the house in the usual<br> + manner is on eight days out of ten disturbed by the apparition of<br> + Peggotty at the little look-out window, violently, and to the<br> + stranger, mysteriously, beckoning him away to the northward,<br> + apparently in the direction of the lighthouse.</p> + <p class="main">This means, however, only that he is to go round by the + back, and<br> + the <span class="italic">détour</span> is not to be regretted, + as it leads by Peggotty's garden,<br> + which in its way is a marvel, a monument of indomitable struggle<br> + with adverse circumstances. It is not a large plot of ground, and<br> + perhaps looks unduly small by reason of being packed in by a high<br> + paling, made of the staves of wrecked barrels and designed to keep<br> + the sand and grit from blowing across it. But it is large enough<br> + to produce a serviceable crop of potatoes, which, with peas and<br> + beans galore occupy the centre beds, Peggotty indulging a weakness<br> + for wallflowers and big red tulips on the narrow fringe of soil<br> + running under the shadow of the palings. The peculiarity about the<br> + garden is that every handful of soil that lies upon it has been<br> + carried on Peggotty's back across the four-mile waste of shingle<br> + that separates the sea-coast from Lydd. That is, perhaps, as severe<br> + a test as could be applied to a man's predilection for a garden.<br> + There are many people who like to have a bit of garden at the back<br> + of their house. But how many would gratify their taste at the expense<br> + of bringing the soil on their own backs, plodding on "backstays"<br> + over four miles of loose shingle?</p> + <p class="main">One important change has happened in this little household + since I<br> + last sat by its hearthstone. Ham is married, and is, in some<br> + incomprehensible manner, understood to reside both at Lydd with<br> + Mrs. Ham and at the cabin with his mother. As for Mrs. Peggotty,<br> + she is as lively and as "managing" as ever--perhaps a trifle + smaller<br> + in appearance, and with her smooth clean face more than ever<br> + suggestive of the idea of a pebble smoothed and shaped by the action<br> + of the tide.</p> + <p class="main">I find on chatting with Peggotty that the old gentleman's + mind is in<br> + somewhat of a chaotic state with respect to the wrecks that abound<br> + in the bay. He has been here for forty-eight years, and the fact is,<br> + in that time, he has seen so many wrecks that the timbers are, as it<br> + were, floating in an indistinguishable mass through his mind, and<br> + when he tries to recall events connected with them, the jib-boom of<br> + "the <span class="italic">Rhoda</span> brig" gets mixed up with + the rigging of "the <span class="italic">Spendthrift</span>,"<br> + and "the <span class="italic">Branch</span>, a coal-loaded brig," + that came to grief thirty years<br> + ago, gets inextricably mixed up with the "Rooshian wessel." + But,<br> + looking with far-away gaze towards the Ness Lighthouse, and sweeping<br> + slowly round as far east as New Romney, Peggotty can tot off a number<br> + of wrecks, now to be seen at low water, which with others, the names<br> + whereof he "can't just remember," bring the total past a score.</p> + <p class="main">The first he sees on this side of the lighthouse is the + <span class="italic">Mary</span>, a bit<br> + of black hull that has been lying there for more than twenty years.<br> + She was "bound somewheres in France," and running round the + Ness,<br> + looking for shelter in the bay, stuck fast in the sand, "and broke<br> + up in less than no time." She was loaded with linseed and<br> + millstones, which I suspect, from a slight tinge of sadness in<br> + Peggotty's voice as he mentioned the circumstance, is not for people<br> + living on the coast the best cargo which ships that <span class="italic">will</span> + go down in<br> + the bay might be loaded with. Indeed, I may remark that though<br> + Peggotty, struggling with the recollections of nearly fifty years,<br> + frequently fails to remember the name of the ship whose wreck shows<br> + up through the sand, the nature of her cargo comes back to him with<br> + singular freshness.</p> + <p class="main">Near the <span class="italic">Mary</span> is another French + ship, which had been brought to<br> + anchor there in order that the captain might run ashore and visit<br> + the ship's agent at Lydd. Whilst he was ashore a gale of wind came<br> + on "easterdly"; ship drifted down on Ness Point, and knocked + right<br> + up on the shore, the crew scrambling out on to dry land as she went<br> + to pieces. Another bit of wreck over there is all that is left of the<br> + <span class="italic">Westbourne</span>, of Chichester, coal-laden. She + was running for Ness Point<br> + at night, and, getting too far in, struck where she lay, and all the<br> + crew save one were drowned. Nearer is the <span class="italic">Branch</span>, + also a coal-loaded<br> + brig, a circumstance which suggests to Peggotty the parenthetical<br> + remark that "at times there is a good deal of coal about the shingle."<br> + A little more to the east is "the Rooshian wessel <span class="italic">Nicholas + I</span>.," in<br> + which Peggotty has a special interest so strong that he forgets to<br> + mention what her cargo was. It is forty-six years since <span class="italic">Nicholas + I.</span><br> + came to grief; and no other help being near, the whole of the crew<br> + were saved through the instrumentality of Peggotty's dog. It was<br> + broad daylight, with a sea running no boat could live in. The<br> + "Rooshian" was rapidly breaking up, and the crew were shrieking + in<br> + an unknown tongue, the little group on shore well knowing that the<br> + unfamiliar sound was a cry for help. Peggotty's Newfoundland dog was<br> + there, barking with mad delight at the huge waves that came tumbling<br> + on the shore, when it occurred to Peggotty that perhaps the dog<br> + could swim out to the drowning men. So he signalled him off, and in<br> + the dog went, gallantly buffeting the waves till it reached the ship.<br> + The Russian sailors tied a piece of rope to a stick, put the stick in<br> + the dog's mouth, and he, leaping overboard, carried it safely to<br> + shore, and a line of communication being thus formed, every soul on<br> + board was saved.</p> + <p class="main">"They've got it in the school-books for the little + children to<br> + read," Peggotty says, permitting himself to indulge in the<br> + slightest possible chuckle. I could not ascertain what particular<br> + school-book was meant, because last winter, when another Russian<br> + ship came ashore here and was totally wrecked, Peggotty presented<br> + the captain with his only copy of the work as a souvenir of the<br> + compulsory visit. But when we returned to the cabin, Mrs. Peggotty<br> + brought down a faded, yellow, much-worn copy of the <span class="italic">Kent + Herald</span>,<br> + in which an account of the incident appears among other items of<br> + the local news of the day.</p> + <p class="main">Further eastward are the remains of a West Indiaman, loaded + with<br> + mahogany and turtles, the latter disappearing in a manner still a<br> + marvel at Dungeness, whilst of the former a good deal of salvage<br> + money was made. It is not far from this wreck that the Russian<br> + last-mentioned came to grief. She met her fate in a peculiarly sad<br> + manner. The <span class="italic">Alliance</span>, a tar-loaded vessel, + drifting inwards before<br> + a strong east wind, began to burn pitch barrels as a signal for<br> + assistance. The Russian, thinking she was on fire, ran down to her<br> + assistance, and took the ground close by. Both ships were totally<br> + wrecked, and the crews saved with no other property save<br> + the clothes they stood in.</p> + <p class="main">Still glancing from Dungeness eastward, we see at every + hundred<br> + yards a black mass of timber, sometimes showing the full length of<br> + a ship, oftener only a few jagged ribs marking where the carcase<br> + lies deeply embedded. Each has its name and its history, and is a<br> + memento of some terrible disaster in which strong ships have been<br> + broken up as if they were built of cardboard, and through which<br> + men and women have not always successfully struggled for life.</p> + <p class="main">"We don't have so much loss of life in this bay as + in the west bay<br> + round the point," said Ham. "Here, you see, when there's been + a<br> + rumpus, the water quiets soon after, and the shipwrecked folk can<br> + take to their boats; on the other side the water is rougher, and<br> + there's less chance for them. There was one wreck here not long<br> + since, though, when all hands were lost. It was a Danish ship that<br> + came running down one stormy night, and run ashore there before<br> + she could make the light. We saw her flash her flare-up lights,<br> + and made ready to help her, but before we could get up she went to<br> + pieces, and what is most singular, never since has a body been seen<br> + from the wreck. Ah, sir, it's a bad spot. Often between Saturday<br> + and Monday you'll see three fine ships all stranded together on this<br> + beach. When there's a big wreck like the <span class="italic">Northfleet + </span>over there,<br> + everybody talks about it, and all the world knows full particulars.<br> + But there's many and many a shipwreck here the newspapers never<br> + notice, and hundreds of ships get on, and with luck get off, without<br> + a word being said anywhere."</p> + <p class="main">"There's mother signallin' the heggs and bakin is done," + said<br> + Peggotty, looking back at the cabin, where a white apron waved out<br> + of one of the port-holes that served for window.</p> + <p class="main">So we turned and left this haunted spot, where, with the + ebbing<br> + tide, twenty-three wrecks, one after the other, thrust forth a<br> + rugged rib or a jagged spar to remind the passer-by of a tragedy.</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="62"></a>CHAPTER VI.</p> + <p class="boldleft">TO THOSE ABOUT TO BECOME JOURNALISTS.</p> + <p class="boldleft">AN OPEN LETTER.</p> + <p class="main">My dear young friends,__<br> + I suppose no one not prominently engaged in journalism knows how<br> + widely spread is the human conviction that, failing all else, any<br> + one can "write for the papers," making a lucrative living on + easy<br> + terms, amid agreeable circumstances. I have often wondered how<br> + Dickens, familiar as he was with this frailty, did not make use of<br> + it in the closing epoch of Micawber's life before he quitted<br> + England. Knowing what he did, as letters coming to light at this<br> + day testify, it would seem to be the most natural thing in the<br> + world that finally, nothing else having turned up, it should occur<br> + to Dickens that Mr. Micawber would join the Press--probably as<br> + editor, certainly on the editorial staff, possibly as dramatic<br> + critic, a position which involves a free run of the theatres and a<br> + more than nodding acquaintance with the dramatic stars of the day.</p> + <p class="main">Perhaps Dickens avoided this episode because it was too + literally<br> + near the truth in the life of the person who, all unconsciously,<br> + stood as the lay figure of David Copperfield's incomparable friend.<br> + It is, I believe, not generally known that Charles Dickens's father<br> + did in his last desolate days become a member of the Press. When<br> + Dickens was made editor of the Daily News, he thoughtfully provided<br> + for his father by installing him leader of the Parliamentary Corps<br> + of that journal. The old gentleman, of course, knew nothing of<br> + journalism, was not even capable of shorthand. Providentially he<br> + was not required to take notes, but generally to overlook things,<br> + a post which exactly suited Mr. Micawber. So he was inducted, and<br> + filled the office even for a short time after his son had<br> + impetuously vacated the editorial chair. Only the other day there<br> + died an original member of the <span class="italic">Daily News</span> + Parliamentary Corps, who<br> + told me he quite well remembered his first respected leader, his<br> + grandly vague conception of his duties, and his almost ducal manner<br> + of not performing them.</p> + <p class="main">Of the many letters that come to me with the assurance that + I have<br> + in my possession blank appointments on the editorial and reportorial<br> + staff of all contemporary journals paying good salaries, the saddest<br> + are those written by more than middle-aged men with families. Some<br> + have for years been earning a precarious living as reporters or<br> + sub-editors on obscure papers, and now find themselves adrift;<br> + others are men who, having vainly knocked at all other gates, are<br> + flushed by the happy thought that at least they can write<br> + acceptably for the newspapers; others, again, already engaged in<br> + daily work, are anxious to burn the midnight oil, and so add<br> + something to a scanty income. These last are chiefly clergymen and<br> + schoolmasters--educated men with a love of letters and the idea that,<br> + since it is easy and pleasant to read, it must be easy to write, and<br> + that in the immensity of newspapers and periodical literature there<br> + would be not only room, but eager welcome for them.</p> + <p class="main">This class of correspondents is curiously alike in one feature.<br> + There is an almost sprightliness in their conviction that what they<br> + can write in these circumstances would exactly suit any paper, daily<br> + or weekly, morning or evening. All they have to do is to give up<br> + their odd savings of time to the work; all you--their hapless<br> + correspondent--have to do is to fill up one of those blank<br> + appointments with which your desk is clogged, and send it to them<br> + by first post.</p> + <p class="main">There is no other profession in the world thus viewed by + outsiders.<br> + No one supposes he can make boots, cut clothes, or paint the outside<br> + of a house without having served some sort of apprenticeship, not to<br> + mention the possession of special aptitude. Any one can, right off--,<br> + become a journalist. Such as these, and all those about to become<br> + journalists, I would advise to study a book published several years<br> + ago. It is the <span class="italic">Life of James MacDonell</span>, a + name which, before this<br> + book was published, was an idle sound to the outer world, though to<br> + contemporary workers in the inner circle of the Press Macdonell was<br> + known as one of the ablest and most brilliant of modern journalists.<br> + In these short and simple annals, the aspirant who imagines the<br> + successful journalist's life is all beer and skittles will discover<br> + what patient study, what self-denial, what strenuous effort, and,<br> + more essential than all, what rare natural gifts are needed to<br> + achieve the position into which Macdonell toiled.</p> + <p class="main">It is this last consideration that makes me doubt whether + there is<br> + any utility in offering practical hints "To Those about to become<br> + Journalists." If a boy or youth has in him the journalistic faculty,<br> + it will come out, whatever unpromising or adverse circumstances he<br> + may be born to. If he has it not, he had very much better take to<br> + joinering or carpentering, to clerking, or to the dispensation of<br> + goods over the retail counter. Journalism is an honourable and,<br> + for those specially adapted, a lucrative profession. But it is a<br> + poor business for the man who has mistaken his way into it. The<br> + very fact that it has such strong allurement for human nature makes<br> + harder the struggle for life with those engaged in its pursuit. I<br> + gather from facts brought under my personal notice that at the<br> + present time there are, proportionately with its numbers, more<br> + unemployed in the business of journalism than in any other, not<br> + exceeding that of the dockers. When a vacancy occurs on any staff,<br> + the rush to fill it is tremendous. Where no vacancy exists the<br> + knocking at the doors is incessant. All the gates are thronged<br> + with suitors, and the accommodation is exceedingly limited.</p> + <p class="main">The first thing the youth who turns his face earnestly towards<br> + journalism should convince himself of is, that the sole guiding<br> + principle controlling admission to the Press or advance in its ranks<br> + is merit. This, as your communications, my dear young friends, have<br> + convinced me, is a statement in direct contravention of general<br> + belief. You are convinced that it is all done by patronage, and that<br> + if only some one in authority will interest himself in you, you<br> + straightway enter upon a glorious career. There is, however, no<br> + royal road to advancement on the Press. Proprietors and editors<br> + simply could not afford it. Living as newspapers do in the fierce<br> + light focussed from a million eyes, fighting daily with keen<br> + competition, the instinct of self-preservation compels their<br> + directors to engage the highest talent where it is discoverable,<br> + and, failing that, the most sedulously nurtured skill. For this they<br> + will pay almost anything; and they ask nothing more, neither<br> + blood-relationship, social distinction, nor even academic training.<br> + In journalism, more than in any other profession, not excepting the<br> + Bar, a man gets on by his own effort, and only by that. Of course,<br> + proprietors, and even editors, may, if the commercial prosperity of<br> + their journal permit the self-indulgence, find salaried situations<br> + for brothers, sons, or nephews or may oblige old friends in the<br> + same direction. Charles Dickens, as we have seen, made his father<br> + manager of the Parliamentary Corps of the <span class="italic">Daily News</span>. + But that did<br> + not make him a journalist, nor did he, after his son's severance of<br> + his connection with the paper, long retain the post.</p> + <p class="main">This line of reflection is, I am afraid, not encouraging + to you, my<br> + dear young friends; but it leads up to one fact in which I trust<br> + you will be justified in finding ground for hope. Amongst the crowd<br> + struggling to obtain a footing within the pale of journalism, the<br> + reiterated rebuffs they meet with naturally lead to the conviction<br> + that it is a sort of close borough, those already in possession<br> + jealously resenting the efforts of outsiders to breach its sacred<br> + portals. Nothing could be further removed from the fact. A nugget of<br> + gold is not more pleasing to the sight of the anxious miner than is<br> + the discovery by the editor or manager of a newspaper of a new light<br> + in the world of journalism. This I put in the forefront of friendly<br> + words of advice to those about to enter journalism. Get rid of the<br> + fatal idea that some one will open the door for you and land you<br> + safely inside. You must force the door yourself with incessant<br> + knocking if need be, prepared for searching inquiry as to your right<br> + to enter, but certain of a hearty welcome and fraternal assistance<br> + when you have proved your right.</p> + <p class="main">As an ounce of example is worth a ton of precept, I may + perhaps<br> + mention that in a journalistic career now extending over just<br> + twenty-five years, I never but once received anything in the way of<br> + patronage, and that was extended at the very outset only after a<br> + severe test of the grounds upon which recommendation could be made.<br> + My parents, in their wisdom, destined me for a commercial career.<br> + If I had followed the bent given me when I left school, I should<br> + now have been a very indifferent clerk in the hide and valonia<br> + business. But like you, my dear young friends, I felt that my true<br> + vocation was journalism, and I determined to be a journalist.</p> + <p class="main">I will tell you exactly how I did it. Like you, I meant + to be an<br> + editor some day, but also, I trust, like you, I felt that it would<br> + be convenient, if not necessary to start by being a reporter. So I<br> + began to study shorthand, teaching myself by Pitman's system. When,<br> + after infinite pains, I had mastered this mystery, I began to look<br> + out for an opening on the Press. I had no friends in journalism, not<br> + the remotest acquaintance. I made the tour of the newspaper offices<br> + in the town where I lived, was more or less courteously received,<br> + and uniformly assured that there was no opening. One exception was<br> + made by a dear friend whose name is to-day known and honoured<br> + throughout Great Britain, who was then the young assistant-editor of<br> + a local daily paper. He gave me some trial work to do, and was so<br> + far satisfied that he promised me the first vacancy on the junior<br> + staff of reporters.</p> + <p class="main">That was excellent, but I did not sit down waiting till + fortune<br> + dropped the promised plum into my mouth. I got at all the newspapers<br> + within reach, searched for advertisements for reporters, answered<br> + them day after day, week after week, even month after month,<br> + without response. At last a cautious inquiry came. The reply was<br> + deemed satisfactory, and I got my chance.</p> + <p class="main">This, dear young friends, is the short and simple annal + of my start<br> + in journalism, and you will see that the pathway is equally open to<br> + you.</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="69"></a>CHAPTER VII.</p> + <p class="boldleft">A CINQUE PORT.</p> + <p class="main">Skulls piled roof high in the vault beneath the church tower + supply<br> + the only show thing Hythe possesses. There is some doubt as to their<br> + precise nationality, but of their existence there can be none, as any<br> + visitor to the town may see for himself on payment of sixpence<br> + (parties of three or more eighteenpence). It is known how within a<br> + time to which memory distinctly goes the skulls were found down upon<br> + the beach, whole piles of them, thick as shingle on this coast. The<br> + explanation of their tenancy of British ground is popularly referred<br> + to the time, now nearly nine hundred years gone by, when Earl Godwin,<br> + being exiled, made a raid on this conveniently accessible part of<br> + England, and after a hard fight captured all the vessels lying in<br> + the haven. Others find in the peculiar formation of the crania proof<br> + positive that the skulls originally came from Denmark.</p> + <p class="main">But Saxon or Dane, or whatever they be, it is certain the + skulls<br> + were picked up on the beach, and after an interval were, with some<br> + dim notion of decency, carried up to the church, where they lay<br> + neglected in a vault. The church also going to decay, the<br> + determination was taken to rebuild it, and being sorely pressed for<br> + funds a happy thought occurred to a practical vicar. He had the<br> + skulls piled up wall-like in an accessible chamber, caused the<br> + passages to be swept and garnished, and then put on the impost<br> + mentioned above, the receipts helping to liquidate the debt on<br> + the building fund. Thus, by a strange irony of fate, after eight<br> + centuries, all that is left of these heathens brings in sixpences<br> + to build up a Christian church.</p> + <p class="main">A good deal has happened in Hythe since the skulls first + began to<br> + bleach on the inhospitable shore. When Earl Godwin suddenly<br> + appeared with his helm hard up for Hythe, the little town on the<br> + hill faced one of the best havens on the coast. It was, as every<br> + one knows, one of the Cinque Ports, and at the time of the<br> + Conqueror undertook to furnish, as its quota of armament, five<br> + ships, one hundred and five men, and five boys. Even in the time<br> + of Elizabeth there was a fair harbour here. But long ago the sea<br> + changed all that. It occupied itself in its leisure moments by<br> + bringing up illimitable shingle, with which it filled up all water<br> + ways, and cut Hythe off from communication with the sea as<br> + completely as if it were Canterbury.</p> + <p class="main">It is not without a feeling of humiliation that a burgess + of the<br> + once proud port of Hythe can watch the process of the occasional<br> + importation of household coal. Where Earl Godwin swooped down over<br> + twenty fathoms of water the little collier now painfully picks her<br> + way at high water. On shore stand the mariners of Hythe (in number<br> + four), manning the capstan. When the collier gets within a certain<br> + distance a hawser is thrown out, the capstan turns more or less<br> + merrily round, and the collier is beached, so that at low water<br> + she will stand high and dry.</p> + <p class="main">Thus ignominiously is coal landed at one of the Cinque Ports.</p> + <p class="main">Of course this change in the water approaches has altogether<br> + revolutionised the character of the place. Hythe is a port without<br> + imports or exports, a harbour in which nothing takes refuge but<br> + shingle. It has not even fishing boats, for lack of place to moor<br> + them in. It is on the greatest water highway of the world, and yet<br> + has no part in its traffic. Standing on the beach you may see day<br> + after day a never-ending fleet of ships sailing up or down as the<br> + wind blows east or west. But, like the Levite in the parable, they<br> + all pass by on the other side. Hythe has nothing to do but to stand<br> + on the beach with its hands in its pockets and lazily watch them.</p> + <p class="main">Thus cut off from the world by sea, and by land leading + nowhere in<br> + particular except to Romney Marshes, Hythe has preserved in an<br> + unusual degree the flavour of our earlier English world. There have<br> + indeed been times when endeavour was made to profit by this<br> + isolation. As one of the Cinque Ports Hythe has since Parliaments<br> + first sat had the privilege of returning representatives. In the<br> + time of James II. it seems to have occurred to the Mayor (an<br> + ancestor of one of the members for West Kent in a recent<br> + Parliament), that since a member had to be returned to Parliament<br> + much trouble would be saved, and no one in London would be any the<br> + wiser, if he quietly, in his capacity as returning officer,<br> + returned himself. But some envious Radical setting on the opposite<br> + benches, was too sharp for him, and we find the sequel of the story<br> + set forth in the Journals of the House of Commons under date 1685,<br> + where it is written--</p> + <p class="main">"Information given that the Mayor of Hythe had returned + himself:<br> + Resolved by the House of Commons that Mr. Julius Deedes, the Mayor,<br> + is not duly elected. New writ ordered in his stead."</p> + <p class="main">Hythe is a little better known now, but not much. And yet + for many<br> + reasons its acquaintance is worth forming. The town itself, lying<br> + snugly at the foot of the hill crowned by the old church, is full<br> + of those bits of colour and quaintnesses of wall and gable-end<br> + which good people cross the Channel to see. In the High-street there<br> + is a building the like of which probably does not anywhere exist. It<br> + is now a fish-shop, not too well stocked, where a few dried herrings<br> + hang on a string under massive eaves that have seen the birth and<br> + death of centuries. From the centre of the roof there rises a sort<br> + of watch-tower, whence, before the houses on the more modern side of<br> + the street were built, when the sea swept over what is now<br> + meadow-land, keen eyes could scan the bay on the look out for<br> + inconvenient visitors connected with the coastguard. When the sea<br> + prevented Hythe honestly earning its living in deep-keeled boats, it<br> + perforce took to smuggling, a business in which this old watch-tower<br> + played a prominent part.</p> + <p class="main">This is a special though neglected bit of house architecture + in<br> + Hythe. But everywhere, save in the quarters by the railway station<br> + or the Parade, where new residences are beginning to spring up, the<br> + eye is charmed by old brown houses roofed with red tiles, often<br> + standing tree-shaded in a bountiful flower garden, and always<br> + preserving their own lines of frontage and their own angle of gable,<br> + with delightful indifference to the geometric scale of their<br> + neighbour.</p> + <p class="main">The South-Eastern Railway Company have laid their iron hand + on<br> + Hythe, and its old-world stillness is already on Bank Holidays and<br> + other bleak periods of the passing year broken by the babble of<br> + the excursionist. In its characteristically quiet way Hythe has<br> + long been known as what is called a watering-place. When I first<br> + knew it, it had a Parade, on which were built eight or ten houses,<br> + whither in the season came quiet families, with children and<br> + nurses. For a few weeks they gave to the sea frontage quite a<br> + lively appearance, which the mariners (when they were not manning<br> + the capstan) contemplated with complacency, and said to each other<br> + that Hythe was "looking up." For the convenience of these visitors<br> + some enterprising person embarked on the purchase of three bathing<br> + machines, and there are traditions of times when these were all in<br> + use at the same hour--so great was the influx of visitors.</p> + <p class="main">Also there is a "bathing establishment" built + a long way after<br> + the model of the Pavilion at Brighton. The peculiarity of this<br> + bathing establishment is or was when I first knew the charming<br> + place that regularly at the end of September the pump gets out of<br> + order, and the new year is far advanced before the solitary plumber<br> + of the place gets it put right. He begins to walk dreamily round<br> + the place at Easter. At Whitsuntide he brings down an iron vessel<br> + containing unmelted solder, and early in July the pump is mended.</p> + <p class="main">This mending of the pump is one of the epochs of Hythe, + a sure<br> + harbinger of the approaching season. In July "The Families" + begin<br> + to come down, and the same people come every year, for visitors to<br> + Hythe share in the privilege of the inhabitants, inasmuch as they<br> + never--or hardly ever--die. Of late years, since the indefatigable<br> + Town Clerk has succeeded in waking up the inhabitants to the<br> + possibilities of the great future that lies before their town, not<br> + only has a new system of drainage and water been introduced, but a<br> + register has been kept of the death-rate. From a return, published<br> + by the Medical Officer of Health, it appears that the death-rate of<br> + Hythe was 9.3 per 1000. Of sixty-three people who died in a year out<br> + of a population of some four thousand, twenty-three were upwards of<br> + sixty years of age, many of them over eighty. Perhaps the best<br> + proof of the healthfulness of Hythe is to be found in a stroll<br> + through the churchyard, whence it would appear that only very<br> + young children or very old people are carried up the hill.</p> + <p class="main">The difficulty about Hythe up to recent times has been the<br> + comparative absence of accommodation for visitors. Its fame has<br> + been slowly growing as The Families have spread it within their<br> + own circles. But it was no use for strangers to go to Hythe, since<br> + they could not be taken in. This is slowly changing. Eligible<br> + building sites are offered, villas have been run up along the<br> + Sandgate Road, and an hotel has been built by the margin of the<br> + sea. When news reached the tower of the church that down on the<br> + beach there had risen a handsome hotel, fitted with all the<br> + luxuries of modern life, it is no wonder that the skulls turned<br> + on each other and--as Longfellow in the "Skeleton in Armour" + puts<br> + it--</p> + <blockquote> + <p> <span class="smallquote">"Then from those cavernous eyes<br> + Pale flashes seem to rise,<br> + As when the northern skies<br> + Gleam In December."</span></p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main"><img src="images/whitethorn.jpg" alt="Whitethorn, Hythe, Kent" width="465" height="347"></p> + <p class="main">This is surely the beginning of the end. Having been endowed + with a<br> + railway which brings passengers down from London in a little over<br> + two hours, Hythe is now dowered with an hotel in which they may dine<br> + and sleep. The existence of the hotel being necessarily admitted,<br> + prejudice must not prevent the further admission that it is<br> + exceedingly well done. Architecturally it is a curiosity, seeing<br> + that though it presents a stately and substantial front neither<br> + stone nor brick enters into its composition. It is made entirely<br> + of shingle mixed with mortar, the whole forming a concrete<br> + substance as durable as granite. The first pebble of the new hotel<br> + was laid quite a respectable number of years ago, the ceremony<br> + furnishing an almost dangerous flux of excitement to the mariners<br> + at the capstan. It has grown up slowly, as becomes an undertaking<br> + connected with Hythe. But it is finished now, handsome without,<br> + comfortable within, with views from the front stretching seawards<br> + from Dungeness to Folkestone, and at the back across green pastures,<br> + glimpses are caught through the trees of the red-tiled town.</p> + <p class="main">Now that suitable accommodation is provided for stray visitors,<br> + Hythe, with its clean beach, its parade that will presently join<br> + hands with Sandgate, its excellent bathing, and its bracing air,<br> + may look to take high rank among watering places suburban to<br> + London. But there are greater charms even than these in the<br> + immediate neighbourhood. With some knowledge of English watering<br> + places, I solemnly declare that none is set in a country of such<br> + beauty as is spread behind Hythe. Unlike the neighbourhood of<br> + most watering places, the country immediately at the back of the<br> + town is hilly and well wooded. Long shady roads lead past blooming<br> + gardens or through rich farms, till they end in some sleepy village<br> + or hamlet, the world forgetting, by the world forgot. In late July<br> + the country is perfect in its loveliness. The fields and woods are<br> + not so flowery as in May, though by way of compensation the gardens<br> + are rich in roses. Still there are sufficient wild flowers to<br> + gladden the eye wherever it turns. From the hedgerows big white<br> + convolvulus stare with wonder-wide eyes, the honeysuckle is out,<br> + the wild geranium blooms in the long grass, the blackberry bushes<br> + are in full flower, and the poppies blaze forth in great clusters<br> + at every turn of the road. The corn is only just beginning to turn<br> + a faint yellow, but the haymakers are at work, and every breath of<br> + the joyous wind carries the sweet scent of hay.</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="77"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</p> + <p class="boldleft">OYSTERS AND ARCACHON.</p> + <p class="main">If the name had not been appropriated elsewhere, Arcachon + might<br> + well be called the Salt Lake City. It lies on the south shore of<br> + a basin sixty-eight miles in circumference, into which, through a<br> + narrow opening, the Bay of Biscay rolls its illimitable waters.<br> + Little more than thirty years ago the town was represented by half<br> + a dozen huts inhabited by fishermen. It was a terribly lonely place,<br> + with the smooth lake in front of it, the Atlantic thundering on the<br> + dunes beyond, and in the rear the melancholy desert of sand known as<br> + the Landes.</p> + <p class="main">The Landes is peopled by a strange race, of whom the traveller<br> + speeding along the railway to-day may catch occasional glimpses.<br> + Early in the century the department was literally a sandy plain,<br> + about as productive as Sahara, and in the summer time nearly as hot.<br> + But folks must live, and they exist on the Landes, picking up a<br> + scanty living, and occasionally dying for lack of water. One initial<br> + difficulty in the way of getting along in the Landes is the sheer<br> + impossibility of walking. When the early settler left his hut to pay<br> + a morning call or walk about his daily duties, he sank ankle deep in<br> + sand.</p> + <p class="main">But the human mind invariably rises superior to difficulties + of this<br> + character.</p> + <p class="main">What the "backstay" is to the inhabitant of the + district around Lydd,<br> + the stilts are to the lonely dwellers in the Landes. The peasants of<br> + the department are not exactly born on stilts, but a child learns to<br> + walk on them about the age that his British brother is beginning to<br> + toddle on foot.</p> + <p class="main">Stilts have the elementary recommendation of overcoming + the difficulty<br> + of moving about in the Landes. In addition, they raise a man to a<br> + commanding altitude, and enable him to go about his daily business at<br> + a pace forbidden to ordinary pedestrians. The stilts are, in truth,<br> + a modern realisation of the gift of the seven-league boots. They are<br> + so much a part of the daily life of the people that, except when he<br> + stoops his head to enter his hut, the peasant of the Landes would as<br> + soon think of taking off his legs by way of resting himself as of<br> + removing his stilts. The shepherds, out all day tending their sheep,<br> + might, if they pleased, stretch themselves at full length on the grey<br> + sand, making a pillow of the low bushes. But they prefer to stand;<br> + and you may see them, reclining against a third pole stuck in the<br> + ground at the rear, contentedly knitting stockings, keeping the while<br> + one eye upon the flock of sheep anxiously nibbling at the meagre grass.</p> + <p class="main">Next to the shepherds, the most remarkable live stock in + the Landes<br> + are the sheep. Such a melancholy careworn flock! poor relations of<br> + the plump Southdown that grazes on fat Sussex wolds. Long-legged,<br> + scraggy-necked, anxious-eyed, the sheep of the Landes bear eloquent<br> + testimony to the penury of the place and the difficulty of making both<br> + ends meet--which in their case implies the burrowing of the nose in<br> + tufts of sand-girt grass. To abide among such sheep through the long<br> + day should be enough to make any man melancholy. But the peasant of<br> + the Landes, who is used to his stilts, also grows accustomed to his<br> + sheep, and they all live together more or less happily ever afterwards.</p> + <p class="main">The Landes is quite a prosperous province to-day compared + with what it<br> + was in the time of Louis XVI. During the First Empire there was what<br> + we would call a Minister of Woods and Forests named Bremontier. He<br> + looked over the Landes and found it to be nothing more than a waste of<br> + shifting sand. Rescued from the sea by a mere freak of nature, it might,<br> + for all practical purposes, have been much more usefully employed if<br> + covered a few fathoms deep with salt water. To M. Bremontier came the<br> + happy idea of planting the waste land with fir trees. Nothing else<br> + would grow, the fir tree might. And it did. To-day the vast extent of<br> + the Landes is almost entirely covered with dark forests in perpetual<br> + verdure.</p> + <p class="main">These have transformed the district, adding not only to + the improvement<br> + of its sanitary condition, but creating a new source of wealth. Out of<br> + the boundless vistas of fir trees there ever flows a constant stream of<br> + resin, which brings in large revenues. Passing through the forest by<br> + the railway line from La Mothe to Arcachon, one sees every tree marked<br> + with a deep cut. It looks as if the woodman had been about, picking out<br> + trees ready for the axe, and had come to the conclusion that they might<br> + be cut down <span class="italic">en bloc</span>. But these marks are indications + of the process<br> + of milking the forests. It is a very simple affair, to which mankind<br> + contributes a mere trifle. In order to get at the resin a piece of bark<br> + is cut off from each tree. Out of the wound the resin flows, falling<br> + into a hole dug in the ground at the roots. When this is full it is<br> + emptied into cans and carried off to the big reservoir: when one wound<br> + in the tree is healed another is cut above it, and so the tree is<br> + finally drained.</p> + <p class="main">Besides this revenue from resin immense sums are obtained + from the sale<br> + of timber; and thus the Landes, which a hundred years ago seemed to be<br> + an inconvenient freak of nature afflicting complaining France, has been<br> + turned into a money-yielding department.</p> + <p class="main">The firs which fringe the seacoast by the long strip of + land that lies<br> + between the mouth of the Gironde and the town of Bayonne have much to<br> + do with the prosperity of Arcachon. The salt lake, with its little<br> + cluster of fishermen's cottages, lies within a couple of hours'<br> + journey by rail from Bordeaux, a toiling, prosperous place, which,<br> + seated on the broad Garonne, longed for the sea. Some one discovered<br> + that there was excellent bathing at Arcachon, the bed of the salt<br> + lake sloping gently upwards in smooth and level sands. Then the doctors<br> + took note of the beneficial effects of the fir trees which environed<br> + the place. The aromatic scent they distilled was declared to be good<br> + for weak chests, and, almost by magic, Arcachon began to grow.</p> + <p class="main">By swift degrees the little cluster of fishermen's cottages + spread till<br> + it became a town--of one street truly, but the street is a mile and a<br> + half long, skirting the seashore and backed by the fir forests. Bordeaux<br> + took Arcachon by storm. A railway was made, and all through the summer<br> + months the population poured into the long street, filling it beyond<br> + all moderate notions of capacity. The rush came so soon, and Arcachon<br> + was built in such a hurry, that the houses have a casual appearance,<br> + recalling the towns one comes upon in the Far West of America, which<br> + yesterday were villages, and to-day have a town-hall, a bank, many<br> + grog-shops, a church or two, and four or five daily newspapers.</p> + <p class="main">A vast number of the dwellings are of the proportion of + pill-boxes. Some<br> + are literally composed of two closets, one called a bedroom and the<br> + other a sitting-room; or, oftener still, both used as bedrooms. Others<br> + are built in terraces a storey high and a few feet wide, with the name<br> + of the proprietor painted over the liliputian trap-door that serves for<br> + entrance hall. The idea is that you live at ease and in comfort at<br> + Bordeaux, and just run down to Arcachon for a bath. There are no<br> + bathing machines or tents; but all along the shore, in supplement of the<br> + liliputian houses that serve a double debt to pay--being residences at<br> + night and bathing-machines by day,--stand rows of sentry-boxes, whence<br> + the bather emerges arrayed in more or less bewitching attire. The water<br> + is very shallow, and enterprising persons of either sex spend hours of<br> + the summer day in paddling about in their bathing costumes.</p> + <p class="main">It is a pretty, lively scene. For background the long straggling + town;<br> + in the foreground the motley groups of bathers, the far-reaching smooth<br> + surface of the lake; and, beyond, the broad Atlantic, thundering<br> + impotently upon the barricade of sandhills that makes possible the<br> + peace of Arcachon.</p> + <p class="main">Like all watering-places, Arcachon lives two lives. In summer-time + it<br> + springs into active bustle, with house-room at a premium, and the shops<br> + and streets filled with a gay crowd. It affects to have a winter season,<br> + and is, indeed, ostentatiously divided into two localities, one called<br> + the winter-town and the other the summer-town. The former is situated<br> + on the higher ground at the back of the town, and consists of villa<br> + residences built on plots reclaimed from the fir forest.</p> + <p class="main">This is well enough in the winter-time, many English people + flocking<br> + thither attracted by the shelter and scent of the fir trees; but<br> + Arcachon itself--the long unlovely street--is in the winter months<br> + steeped in the depths of desolation. The shops are deserted, the<br> + pill-boxes have their lids put on, and everywhere forlorn signs hang<br> + forth announcing that here is a <span class="italic">maison</span> or + an <span class="italic">appartement à louer</span>.</p> + <p class="main">All through the winter months, shut up between sea and sand, + Arcachon<br> + is A Town to Let.</p> + <p class="main">Deprived in the winter months of the flock of holiday makers, + Arcachon<br> + makes money in quite another way. Just as suddenly as it bloomed forth<br> + a fashionable watering-place, it has grown into an oyster park of<br> + world-wide renown. Last year the Arcachon oyster beds produced not<br> + less than three hundred million oysters, the cultivators taking in<br> + round figures a million francs. The oysters are distributed through<br> + various markets, but the greatest customer is London, whither there<br> + come every year fifty millions of the dainty bivalve.</p> + <p class="main">"And what do they call your oysters in London?" + I asked M. Faure, the<br> + energetic gentleman who has established this new trade between the<br> + Gironde and the Thames.</p> + <p class="main">"They call them 'Natives'," he said, with a sly + twinkle.</p> + <p class="main">The Arcachon oyster, if properly packed, can live eight + days out of the<br> + water, a period more than sufficient to allow for its transit by the<br> + weekly steamers that trade between Bordeaux and London. A vast quantity<br> + go to Marenne in the Charente lnferieure, where they fatten more<br> + successfully than in the salt lake, and acquire that green colour which<br> + makes them so much esteemed and so costly in the restaurants at Paris.</p> + <p class="main">Oysters have, probably since the time of the Deluge, congregated + in the<br> + Basin d'Arcachon; but it is only within the last thirty years the<br> + industry has been developed and placed on a footing that made possible<br> + the growth of today. Up to the year 1860 oysters were left to their own<br> + sweet will in the matter of creating a bed. When they settled upon a<br> + place it was diligently cultivated, but the lead was absolutely left to<br> + the oyster. Dr. Lalanne, in the intervals of a large medical practice + at<br> + La Teste, a little place on the margin of the Basin, observed that<br> + oysters were often found attached to a piece of a wreck floating in the<br> + middle of the water far remote from the beds.</p> + <p class="main">This led him to study more closely the reproductive habits + of the<br> + oyster. He discovered that the eggs after incubation remained suspended<br> + in the water for a space of from three to five days. Thus, for some<br> + time after the <span class="italic">frai </span>season, practically the + whole of the water in the<br> + Basin d'Arcachon was thick with oysters' eggs. Dr. Lalanne conceived<br> + the idea of providing this vast wealth with other means of establishing<br> + itself than were offered by a casual piece of wreck. What was wanted<br> + was something to which the eggs, floating in the water, could attach<br> + themselves, and remain till they were developed beyond the state of<br> + <span class="italic">ova</span>. After various experiments Dr. Lalanne + adapted to the purpose the<br> + hollow roof tile in use everywhere in the South of France.</p> + <p class="main">These are laid in blocks, each containing one hundred and + twelve tiles,<br> + enclosed in a wooden framework. In June, when the oysters lay their<br> + eggs, these blocks of tiles are dropped into the water by the oyster<br> + beds. The eggs floating about, find the crusty surface of the tiles a<br> + convenient resting-place, and attach themselves by millions. Six months<br> + later the tiles, being examined, are found to be covered by oysters<br> + grown to the size of a silver sixpence. The tiles are taken up and the<br> + little oysters scraped off, a process facilitated by the fact that the<br> + tiles have in the first instance been coated with a solution of lime,<br> + which rubs off, carrying the tender oyster with it.</p> + <p class="main">The infant oysters are next placed in iron network cases, + through which<br> + the water freely passes, whilst the young things are protected from<br> + crabs and other natural enemies. At the end of a year or eighteen<br> + months, they have so far grown as to be trusted out on their own<br> + account. They are accordingly strewn on the broad oyster beds, to fatten<br> + for another year or eighteen months, when they are ready for the waiting<br> + <span class="italic">gourmet</span>. Your oyster is fit to eat at eighteen + months of age; but there<br> + is more of it when it is three years old.</p> + <p class="main">We sailed out from Arcachon across the lake to the oyster + park. Here<br> + the water is so shallow that the men who tend the beds walk about them<br> + in waterproof boots coming up to their knees. This part of the bay is<br> + dotted with boats with white canopies. Seen at anchor from Arcachon<br> + they look like boats laid up for the winter season; but every one is<br> + tenanted night and day. They are the homes of the guardians of the<br> + oyster beds, who keep watch and ward through the long winter.</p> + <p class="main">Even more disastrous than possible visits from a male poacher + are the<br> + incursions of a large flat sea-fish, known at Arcachon as the <span class="italic">thére</span>,<br> + with us the ray. This gentleman has a colossal appetite for oysters.<br> + Scorning to deal with them by the dozen, he devours them by the<br> + thousand, asking neither for the succulent lemon nor the grosser<br> + addition of Chili vinegar. His action with the oyster is exceedingly<br> + summary. He breaks the shell with a vigorous blow of his tail, and<br> + gobbles up the contents. As it is stated by reputable authorities<br> + that the <span class="italic">thére</span> can dispose of 100,000 + oysters in a day, it is clear<br> + that the tapping must be pretty persistent.</p> + <p class="main">This selfish brute, regardless of the fact that we pay a + minimum three<br> + shillings a dozen for oysters in London, is happily circumvented by<br> + an exceedingly simple device. Rowing about the oyster beds at Arcachon<br> + one notices that they are fringed with small twigs of fir trees. The<br> + natural supposition is that these are to mark the boundary of the<br> + various oyster beds; but it is in truth designed to keep out the<br> + <span class="italic">thére</span>. This blundering fish, bearing + down on the oyster bed in search<br> + of luncheon, comes upon the palisade of loosely planted twigs. Nothing<br> + in the world would be easier than for him to steer between the openings,<br> + of which there are abundance. But though he has stomach enough for a<br> + hundred thousand oysters, he has not brains enough to understand that<br> + by a little manoeuvring he might get at his meal. Repelled by the open<br> + network of twigs, he swims forlornly round and round the beds, so near<br> + and yet so far, with what anguish of heart only the lover of oysters<br> + can fathom.</p> + <p class="main">The oyster beds at Arcachon belong to the State, and are + leased to<br> + private persons, the leading company, which has created the British<br> + trade, having its headquarters at La Teste. The wholesale price of<br> + oysters at Arcachon is from a sovereign to forty shillings a thousand,<br> + according to size. In the long street they sell retail at from twopence<br> + to eightpence a dozen, thus realising what seems to-day the hopeless<br> + dream of the British oyster-eater.</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="86"></a>CHAPTER IX.</p> + <p class="boldleft">CHRISTMAS EVE AT WATTS'S.</p> + <p class="main">Wandering out of the High Street, Rochester, on the afternoon + before<br> + Christmas Day, by a narrow passage to the left I came upon the old<br> + Cathedral. The doors were open, and as they were the only doors in<br> + Rochester open to me, except, perhaps, those of the tramp house at the<br> + Union, I entered, and sat down as near as befitted my condition. The<br> + afternoon service was going on, and even to tired limbs and an empty<br> + stomach it was restful and soothing to hear the sweet voices of the<br> + surpliced choristers, and the grand deep tones of the organ, echoing<br> + through the fretted roof, and rolling round the long pillared aisles.<br> + There were not ten people there besides myself, the clergy and the choir<br> + forming the bulk of the assembly. As soon as the service had been gone<br> + through, the clergy and the choir filed out, and the lay people one by<br> + one departed.</p> + <p class="main">I should have liked to sit where I was all night. It was + at least warm<br> + and sheltered, and I have slept on worse beds than may be made of half<br> + a dozen Cathedral chairs. But presently the verger came round, and<br> + perceiving at a glance that I was not a person likely to possess a<br> + superfluous sixpence, asked me if I was going to sit there all night.<br> + I said I was if he didn't mind; but he did, and there was nothing for<br> + it but to clear out.</p> + <p class="main">"Haven't you got nowhere to go to?" asked the + man, as I moved slowly<br> + off.</p> + <p class="main">"Nowhere in particular," I answered.</p> + <p class="main">"That's a bad look-out for Christmas-eve. Why don't + you go over to<br> + Watts's?"</p> + <p class="main">"What's Watts's?"</p> + <p class="main">"It's a house in High Street, where you'll get a good + supper, a bed,<br> + and a fourpenny-bit in the morning if you can show you'em an honest man,<br> + and not a regular tramp. There's old Watts's muniment down by the side<br> + of the choir. A reglar brick he was, who not only wrote beautiful hymns,<br> + but gave away his money for the relief of the pore."</p> + <p class="main">My heart warmed to the good old Doctor whose hymns I had + learnt in<br> + my youth, little thinking that the day would come when I should be<br> + thankful to him for more substantial nourishment. I had intended to<br> + go in the ordinary way to get a night's lodging in the casual ward;<br> + but Watts's was evidently a better game, and getting from the verger<br> + minute directions how to proceed in order to gain admittance to<br> + Watts's, I left the Cathedral.</p> + <p class="main">The verger was not a bad-hearted fellow, I am sure, though + he did speak<br> + roughly to me at first. He seemed struck with the fact that a man not<br> + too well clad, who had nowhere particular to sleep on the eve of<br> + Christmas Day, could scarcely be expected to be "merry." All + the time<br> + he was talking about Watts's he was fumbling in his waistcoat pocket,<br> + and I know he was feeling if he had there a threepenny-bit. But if he<br> + had, it didn't come immediately handy, and before he got hold of it<br> + the thought of the sufficient provision which awaited me at Watts's<br> + afforded vicarious satisfaction to his charitable feelings, and he<br> + was content with bidding me a kindly good-night, as he pointed my road<br> + down the lane to the police-office, where, it seemed, Dr. Watts's guests<br> + had to put in a preliminary appearance.</p> + <p class="main">Crossing High Street, passing through a sort of courtyard, + and down some<br> + steps, I reached a snug-looking house, which I had some difficulty in<br> + believing was a police-office. But it was, and the first thing I saw was<br> + seven men lounging about the yard. They didn't seem like regular tramps,<br> + but they had a look as if they had walked far, and each man carried a<br> + little bundle and a stick. The verger had told me that only six men per<br> + night were admitted to Watts's, and there were seven already.</p> + <p class="main">"Are you for Watts's?" one of them, a little, + sharp-looking fellow, with<br> + short light hair pasted down over his forehead, asked me, seeing me<br> + hesitate.</p> + <p class="main">"Yes."</p> + <p class="main">"Well, it ain't no go to-night. There's seven here, + and fust come,<br> + fust served."</p> + <p class="main">"Don't believe him, young 'un," said an elderly + man, "it's all one what<br> + time you come, so as it's afore half-past five you'll take your chance<br> + with the rest of us."</p> + <p class="main">It was not yet five, so I loafed about with the rest of + them, being<br> + scowled upon by all except the elderly man till the arrival of two other<br> + travellers removed to them the weight of the odium I had lightly borne.<br> + At a quarter to six a police-sergeant appeared at the door of the office<br> + and said:</p> + <p class="main">"Now then."</p> + <p class="main">This was generally interpreted as a signal to advance, and + we stood<br> + forward in an irregular line. The sergeant looked around us sternly<br> + till his eye lighted upon the elderly man.</p> + <p class="main">"So you're trying it on again, are you?"</p> + <p class="main">"I've not been here for two months, if I may never + sleep in a bed<br> + again," whimpered the elderly man.</p> + <p class="main">"You was here last Monday week that I know of, and + may be since. Off you<br> + go!" and the elderly gentleman went off with an alacrity that rather<br> + reduced the wonderment I had felt at his disinterested intervention to<br> + prevent my losing a chance, suggesting, as it did, that he felt the<br> + probability of gaining admission was exceedingly remote.</p> + <p class="main">I was the next upon whom the eye of the police-sergeant + loweringly fell.</p> + <p class="main">"What do you want?"</p> + <p class="main">"A night's lodging at Watts's."</p> + <p class="main">"Watts's is for decent workmen on the tramp. You ain't + a labourer. Show<br> + me your hands." I held out my hands, and the police-sergeant examined<br> + the palms critically.</p> + <p class="main">"What are you?"</p> + <p class="main">"A paper stainer."</p> + <p class="main">"Where have you been to?"</p> + <p class="main">"I came from Canterbury last."</p> + <p class="main">"Where do you work?"</p> + <p class="main">"In London when I can find work."</p> + <p class="main">"Where are you going now?"</p> + <p class="main">"To London."</p> + <p class="main">"How much money have you got?"</p> + <p class="main">"Three-halfpence."</p> + <p class="main">"Humph!"</p> + <p class="main">I don't know whether a murder had recently been committed + in Kent, and<br> + whether I in some degree answered to the description of the supposed<br> + murderer. If it were so, the unfortunate circumstance will explain why<br> + the sergeant should have run me through and through with his eyes whilst<br> + propounding these queries, and why he should have made them in such a<br> + gruff voice. However, he seemed to have finally arrived at the<br> + conclusion that I was not the person wanted for the murder, and after + a<br> + brief pause he said, "Go inside."</p> + <p class="main">I went inside, into one of the snuggest little police-offices + I have<br> + seen in the course of some tramping, and took the liberty of warming<br> + myself by the cosy fire, whilst the remaining applicants for admission<br> + to Watts's were being put through a sort of minor catechism such as that<br> + I had survived. Presently the sergeant came in with the selected five + of<br> + my yard companions, and, taking us one by one, entered in a book, under<br> + the date "24th December," our several names, ages, birthplaces + and<br> + occupations, also the names of the last place we had come from, and the<br> + next whither we were going. Then, taking up a scrap of blue paper with<br> + some printed words on it, and filling in figures, a date, and a<br> + signature, he bade us follow him.</p> + <p class="main">Out of the snug police-office--which put utterly in the + shade the<br> + comforts of the cathedral regarded as a sleeping place--across the<br> + courtyard, which somebody said faced the Sessions House, down High<br> + Street to the left till we stopped before an old-fashioned white house<br> + with a projecting lamp lit above the doorway, shining full on an<br> + inscription graven in stone. I read it then and copied it when I left<br> + the house next morning. It ran thus:--</p> + <p class="smallquote"> </p> + <table width="400" border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" class="tablecent"> + <tr> + <td>RICHARD WATTS, Esqr.<br> + by his will dated 22 Aug., 1579,<br> + founded this charity<br> + for six poor travellers,<br> + who not being Rogues, or Proctors,<br> + may receive gratis, for one Night,<br> + Lodging, Entertainment,<br> + and four pence each.<br> + In testimony of his Munificence,<br> + in honour of his Memory,<br> + and inducement to his Example,<br> + Nathl. Hood, Esq., the present Mayor,<br> + has caused this stone,<br> + gratefully to be renewed,<br> + and inscribed,<br> + A.D. 1771.</td> + </tr> + </table> + <p class="smallquote"> </p> + <p class="main">It was not Dr. Watts, then, as the verger had given me to + understand. I<br> + was sorry, for it had seemed like going to the house of an old friend,<br> + and I had meant after supper to recite "How doth the little Busy + Bee"<br> + for the edification of my fellow-guests, and to tell them what I had<br> + learnt long ago of the good writer's life and labours.</p> + <p class="main">"Here we are again, Mrs. Kercham," said our conductor, + stepping into the<br> + low hall of the white house.</p> + <p class="main">"Yes, here you are again," replied an old lady, + dressed in black, and<br> + wearing a widow's cap. "Have you got 'em all to-night?"</p> + <p class="main">"Yes, six--all tidy men. Can you write, Mr. Paper Stainer?"</p> + <p class="main">I could write, and did, setting forth, in a book which lay + on a table in<br> + a room labelled "Office," my name, age, occupation, and the + town whence<br> + I had last come. Three of the other guests followed my example. Two<br> + could not write; and the sergeant, paying me a compliment on my<br> + beautiful clerkly handwriting, asked me to fill in the particulars for<br> + them. This ceremony over, we were shown into our bedrooms, and told to<br> + give ourselves "a good wash." My room was on the ground-floor, + out in<br> + the yard: and I hope I may never be shown into a worse. It was not<br> + large, being about eight feet square, nor was it very high. The walls<br> + were whitewashed, and the floor clean. A single small window, deep set<br> + in the thick stone-built walls, looked out on to the yard, and by it<br> + stood the solitary piece of furniture, a somewhat rickety Windsor chair.<br> + I except the bed, which was supposed to stand in a corner, but actually<br> + covered nearly the whole of the floor. The bedstead was of iron, and, + I<br> + should imagine, was one of the earliest constructions of the sort ever<br> + sold in this country.</p> + <p class="main">"I put on three blankets, being Christmas-time, though + the weather is<br> + not according; so you can take one off if you like."</p> + <p class="main">"Thank you, ma'am; I'll leave it till I go to bed, + if you please." Much<br> + reason had I subsequently to be thankful for my caution.</p> + <p class="main">After having washed, I came out, and was told to go into + a room, facing<br> + my bedroom, on the other side of the yard. Here I found three of my<br> + fellow-guests sitting by a fire, and in a few minutes the other two<br> + arrived, all looking very clean and (speaking for myself particularly)<br> + feeling ravenously hungry. The chamber, which had "Travellers' Room"<br> + painted over the doorway, was about twelve or thirteen feet long and<br> + eight wide, and, like our bedrooms, was not remarkable for variety of<br> + furniture. A plain deal table stood at one end, and then there were<br> + two benches, and that's all. Over the mantelpiece a large card hung<br> + with the following inscription:--</p> + <p class="main">"Persons accepting this charity are each supplied with + a supper,<br> + consisting of half a pound of meat, one pound of bread, and half a pint<br> + of porter at seven o'clock in the evening, and fourpence on leaving the<br> + house in the morning. The additional comfort of a good fire is given<br> + during the winter months, from October 18th till March 10th, for the<br> + purpose of drying their clothes and supplying hot water for their use.<br> + They go to bed at eight o'clock."</p> + <p class="main">This was satisfactory, except inasmuch as it appeared that + supper was<br> + not to be forthcoming till seven o'clock, and it was now only twenty<br> + minutes past six. This forty minutes promised to be harder to bear<br> + than the hunger of the long day; but the pain was averted by the<br> + appearance at half-past six of a pleasant-looking young woman,<br> + carrying a plate of cold roast beef in each hand. These she put down<br> + on the table, supplementing them in course of time with four similar<br> + plates, six small loaves, and as many mugs of porter.</p> + <p class="main">It does not become guests to dictate arrangements, but if + the worshipful<br> + trustees of Watts's knew how tantalising it is to a hungry man to see<br> + cold roast beef brought in in a slow and deliberate manner, they would<br> + buy a large tray for the use of the pleasant young person, and let the<br> + feast burst at once upon the vision of the guests.</p> + <p class="main">Sharp on the stroke of seven we drew the benches up to the + table, and<br> + Mrs. Kercham, standing at one end and leaning over, said grace.<br> + Impatiently hungry as I was, I could not help noticing the precise<br> + terms in which the good matron implored a blessing. I suppose she had<br> + had her tea in the parlour. At any rate, she was not going to favour<br> + us with her company, and so, bending over our plates of cold beef, she<br> + lifted up her voice and said with emphasis,--</p> + <p class="main">"For what <span class="italic">you</span> are about + to receive out of His bountiful goodness may<br> + the Lord make you truly thankful."</p> + <p class="main">I write the personal pronoun with a capital letter, not + being quite<br> + certain from Mrs. Kercham's rapid enunciation whether the bountiful<br> + goodness was Mr. Watts's or the Lord's.</p> + <p class="main">Six emphatic "Amens!" followed, and before the + sound had died away<br> + six able-bodied men had fallen-to upon the beef and the bread in a<br> + manner that would have done kind Master Watts's heart good had he<br> + beheld them.</p> + <p class="main">I think I had done first, for I remember when I looked round + the table<br> + my fellow-guests were still eating and washing their suppers down with<br> + economical draughts from the half-pint mugs of porter. They--I think I<br> + may say we--did credit to the selection of the police sergeant, and, so<br> + far as appearances went, fulfilled one of the requirements of Master<br> + Watts, there being nothing of the rogue in our faces, if I except a<br> + slight hint in the physiognomy of the little man with the fair hair<br> + plastered down over his forehead, and perhaps I am prejudiced against<br> + him.</p> + <p class="main">It was a little after seven when the plates were all polished, + the mugs<br> + drained, and nothing but a few crumbs left to tell where a loaf had<br> + stood. The pleasant young person coming in to clear the table, we drew<br> + up round the fire, and for the first time in our more than two hours'<br> + companionship began to exchange remarks.</p> + <p class="main">They were of the briefest and most commonplace character, + and attempts<br> + made to get up a general conversation signally failed. "What do you<br> + do?" "Where do you come from?" "Things hard down there?" + were staple<br> + questions, with an occasional "Did you hear tell of Joe Mackin on + the<br> + road?" or "Was Bill O'Brien there at the time?" From the + replies to these<br> + inquiries I learnt that my companions were respectively a fitter, a<br> + painter, a waiter, and two indefinitely self-described as "labourers."<br> + They had walked since morning from Faversham, from Sittingbourne, from<br> + Gravesend, and from Greenwich, and, sitting close around the fire,<br> + soon began to testify to their weariness by nodding, and even snoring.</p> + <p class="main">"Well, lads, I'm off, goodnight," said the painter, + yawning and<br> + stretching himself out of the room.</p> + <p class="main">One by one the remaining four quickly followed, and before + what I had<br> + on entering regarded as the absurdly early hour of eight o'clock had<br> + struck, five of Watts's guests had gone to bed, and the sixth was<br> + sitting looking drowsily in the fire, and thinking what a jolly<br> + Christmas he was having.</p> + <p class="main">I was awakened by a familiar voice inquiring whether I was + "going to<br> + sit up all night," and opening my eyes beheld the matron standing + by me<br> + with a shovelful of coal in one hand and a small jug in the other. Her<br> + voice was sharp, but her look was kind, and I was not a bit surprised<br> + when she threw the coal on the fire, and, putting down the jug, which<br> + evidently contained porter, said she would bring a glass in a minute.</p> + <p class="main">"I'm not going to bed myself for a bit, and if you + like to sit by the<br> + fire and smoke a pipe and drink a glass whilst I mend a stocking or<br> + two, you'll be company."</p> + <p class="main">So we sat together by Master Watts's fire, and whilst I + drank his<br> + porter and smoked my own tobacco, the matron mended her stockings, and<br> + told me a good deal about the trials she had gone through in a life<br> + that would never again see its sixtieth year. Forty years she had<br> + spent under the roof of Watts's, and knew all about the old man's<br> + will, and how he ordered that after the re-marriage or the death of<br> + his wife, his principal dwelling-house, called Satis, on Boley Hill,<br> + with the house adjoining, the closes, orchards, and appurtenances,<br> + his plate and his furniture, should be sold, and the proceeds be<br> + placed out at usury by the Mayor and citizens of Rochester for the<br> + perpetual support of an alms-house then erected and standing near<br> + the Market Cross; and how he further ordained that there should be<br> + added thereto six rooms, "with a chimney in each," and with<br> + convenient places for six good mattresses or flock beds, and other<br> + good and sufficient furniture for the lodgment of poor wayfarers<br> + for a single night.</p> + <p class="main">Had she many people come to see the quaint old place beside + those<br> + whom the police-sergeant brought every night?</p> + <p class="main">Not many. The visitors' book had been twenty years in the + house,<br> + and it was not nearly full of names.</p> + <p class="main">I took up the book, and carelessly turning back the leaves + came upon<br> + the signature "Charles Dickens," with "Mark Lemon" + written underneath.</p> + <p class="main">I know Dickens pretty well--his books, I mean, of course--and + said,<br> + with a gratified start, "Ha! has Dickens been here?"</p> + <p class="main">"Yes, he has," said the matron, in her sharpest + tones, "and a pretty<br> + pack of lies he told about it. Stop a bit."</p> + <p class="main">I stopped accordingly whilst the old lady flew out of the + room, and<br> + flying back again with a well-worn pamphlet in her hand, shoved it at<br> + me, saying, "Read that." I opened it, and found it to be the + Christmas<br> + number of <span class="italic">Household Words</span> for 1854. It was + entitled "The Seven Poor<br> + Travellers," and the opening chapter, in Mr Dickens's well-known + style,<br> + described by name, and in detail, the very house in which I had taken<br> + my supper.</p> + <p class="main">It was a charming narrative, I, poor waif and stray, felt + a strong<br> + personal regard for the great novelist as I read the cheery story in<br> + which he sets forth how, calling at the house on the afternoon before<br> + Christmas-day, he obtained permission to give a Christmas feast to the<br> + six Poor Travellers; how he ordered the materials for the feast to be<br> + sent in from his own inn; how, when the feast was set upon the table,<br> + "finer beef, a finer turkey, a greater prodigality of sauce and gravy,"<br> + he never saw; and how "it made my heart rejoice to see the wonderful<br> + justice my travellers did to everything set before them." All this + and<br> + much more, including "a jug of wassail" and the "hot plum-pudding + and<br> + mince pies," which "a wall-eyed young man connected with the + fly<br> + department at the hotel was, at a given signal, to dash into the<br> + kitchen, seize, and speed with to Dr. Watts's Charity," was painted<br> + with a warmth and colour that made my mouth water, even after the plate<br> + of cold beef, the small loaf, and the unaccustomed allowance of porter.</p> + <p class="main">"How like Dickens!" I exclaimed, with wet eyes, + as I finished the<br> + recital; "and he even waited in Rochester all night to give his poor<br> + Travellers 'hot coffee and piles of bread and butter in the morning!'"</p> + <p class="main">"Get along with you! he didn't do nothing of the sort."</p> + <p class="main">"What! didn't he come here, as he says, and give the + poor Travellers a<br> + Christmas treat?"</p> + <p class="main">Not a bit of it; as the matron, with indignation that seemed + to have<br> + lost nothing by lapse of years, forthwith demonstrated. There had been<br> + no supper, no wassail, no hot coffee in the morning, and, in truth, no<br> + meeting between Charles Dickens and the Travellers, at Christmas or at<br> + any other time.</p> + <p class="main">Indeed, the visitors' book testified that the visit had + been paid on<br> + May 11th, 1854, and not at Christmastide at all.</p> + <p class="main">It was time to go to bed after that, and I left the matron + to cool down<br> + from the boiling-point to which she had been suddenly lifted at sight<br> + of the ghost of 1854. My little room looked cheerless enough in the<br> + candlelight, but I had brought sleep with me as a companion, and knew<br> + that I should soon be as happy as if my bed were of down, and the<br> + roof-tree that of Buckingham Palace.</p> + <p class="main">And so in sooth I would have been but for the chimney. Why + did the<br> + otherwise unexceptional Master Watts insist upon the chimney? Such a<br> + chimney it was, too, yawning across the full length of one side of the<br> + room, and open straight up to the cold sky. There was--what I forgot<br> + to mention in the inventory--a sort of tall clothes-horse standing<br> + before the enormous aperture, and after trying various devices to keep<br> + the wind out, I at last bethought me of the supernumerary blanket, and,<br> + throwing it over the clothes-horse, I leaned it against the chimney<br> + board. This served admirably as long as it kept its feet, and when it<br> + blew down, as it did occasionally during the night, it only meant<br> + putting up and refixing it, and the exercise prevented heavy sleeping.</p> + <p class="main">At seven in the morning we were called up, and after another + "good<br> + wash," went our ways, each with fourpence sterling in his hand, the<br> + parting gift of hospitable Master Watts.</p> + <p class="main">"Good-bye, paper-stainer," said the matron, as, + after looking up and<br> + down High Street, I strode off towards the bridge, Londonwards. "Come<br> + and see us again if you are passing this way."</p> + <p class="main">"Thank you,--I will," I said.</p> + <p class="main"><br> + <span class="boldleft"><a name="100"></a>CHAPTER X.</span></p> + <p class="boldleft">NIGHT AND DAY ON THE CARS IN CANADA.</p> + <p class="main">"Porter!"</p> + <p class="main">The voice broke the stillness of a long night, and suddenly + woke me out<br> + of a deep sleep. There was a moment's pause, and then the voice, which<br> + sounded singularly near to my bed-curtains, spoke again.</p> + <p class="main">"Porter!"</p> + <p class="main">"Yes, sah!"</p> + <p class="main">"You have given me the wrong boots."</p> + <p class="main">From the foot of my bed, as it seemed, there came another + voice which<br> + said, with querulous emphasis, "These are not my boots."</p> + <p class="main">Then followed explanations, apologies, and interchange of + boots; and<br> + before the parleying had come to an end I was sufficiently awake to<br> + remember that on the previous night I had gone to bed in a Pullman car<br> + at Montreal, and had been speeding all night towards Halifax. It had<br> + been mild autumnal weather in Montreal, and the snow, which a week ago<br> + had fallen to the depth of two or three inches, had melted and been<br> + trodden out of sight save for the sprinkling which remained on the<br> + crest of Mount Royal. Here, as a glance through the window disclosed,<br> + we were again in the land of snow. It was not deep, for winter had not<br> + yet set in, and the sleighs, joyfully brought out at the first fall,<br> + had been relegated to summer quarters. But there was quite enough about<br> + to give the country a cheerful wintry aspect, the morning sun shining<br> + merrily over the white fields and the leafless trees, bare save for the<br> + foliage with which the snowflakes had endowed them. It may have been an<br> + equally fine morning in Montreal, but it is certain it seemed twice as<br> + bright and fresh here, and we began to realise something of those<br> + exhilarating properties of the Canadian air of which we had fondly read.</p> + <p class="main">On this long journey eastward travellers do not enter the + city of<br> + Quebec. They pass by on the other side of the river, and thus gain the<br> + advantage of seeing Quebec as a picture should be seen, from a<br> + convenient distance. Moreover, like many celebrated paintings, Quebec<br> + will not stand inspection at the length of the nose. But even taken in<br> + detail, walking through its narrow and steep streets, there is much to<br> + delight the eye. It has quaint old houses, and shops with pea green<br> + shutters, over which flaunt crazy, large-lettered signs that it could<br> + have entered into the heart of none but a Frenchman to devise. Save for<br> + the absence of the blouse and the sabot you might, picking your way<br> + through the mud in a street in the lower part of the city, imagine<br> + yourself in some quarters of Dieppe or Calais, or any other of the<br> + busier towns in the north of France. The peaked roofs, the unexpected<br> + balconies, the ill-regulated gables, and the general individuality of<br> + the houses are pleasing to the eye wearied with the prim monotony of<br> + English street architecture.</p> + <p class="main">Quebec, to be seen at its best, should be gazed at from + the harbour, or<br> + from the other side of the river. This morning it is glorious, with its<br> + streets in the snow, its many spires in the sunlight, and the blue haze<br> + of the hills in the distance. We make our first stoppage at Point Levi,<br> + the station for Quebec, and here are twenty minutes for breakfast. The<br> + whereabouts of breakfast is indicated by a youth, who from the steps of<br> + an "hotel" at the station gate stolidly rings a bell. The passengers<br> + enter, and are shown into a room, in the centre of which is a large<br> + stove. The atmosphere is simply horrible. The double windows are up for<br> + the still dallying winter, and, as the drops of dirty moisture which<br> + stand on the panes testify, they are hermetically closed. The kitchen<br> + leads out of the room by what is apparently the only open door in the<br> + house, every other being jealously closed lest peradventure a whiff of<br> + fresh air should get in. It is impossible to eat, and one is glad to<br> + pay for the untasted food and get out into the open air before the<br> + power of respiration is permanently injured.</p> + <p class="main">It was said this is the only place where there would be + any chance of<br> + breakfast, nothing to eat till Trois Pistoles is reached, late in the<br> + afternoon. Happily this information turned out ill-founded. At L'Islet,<br> + a little station reached at eleven o'clock a stoppage was made at an<br> + unpretentious but clean and fresh restaurant, where the people speak<br> + French and know how to make soup.</p> + <p class="main">A few years ago a journey by rail between Montreal and Halifax, + without<br> + break save what is necessary for replenishing the engine stores, would<br> + have been impossible. The Grand Trunk, spanning the breadth of the more<br> + favoured provinces of Ontario and Quebec, leaves New Brunswick and Nova<br> + Scotia without other means of intercommunication than is afforded by its<br> + many rivers and its questionable roads. For many years Canadian<br> + statesmen, and all others interested in the practical confederation of<br> + the various provinces that make up the Dominion, felt that the primary<br> + and surest bond of union would be a railway. The military authorities<br> + were even more urgent as to the necessity of connecting Quebec and<br> + Halifax, and at one time a military road was seriously talked about.<br> + Long ago a railway was projected, and in 1846-8 a survey was carried out<br> + with that object. From that date up to 1869, when the road was actually<br> + commenced, the matter was fitfully discussed, and it was only in 1876<br> + that the railway was opened.</p> + <p class="main">It is only a single line, and as a commercial undertaking + is not likely<br> + to pay at that, passing as it does through long miles of territory where<br> + "still stands the forest primeval." It was made by the Dominion<br> + Government in pursuance of a high national policy, and it adequately and<br> + admirably meets the ends for which it was devised. The total length from<br> + Rivière du Loup to Halifax is 561 miles. There is a spur running + down to<br> + St. John, in the Bay of Fundy, eighty-nine miles long, another branch<br> + fifty-two miles long to Pictou, a great coal district opposite the<br> + southern end of Prince Edward Island; while a third span of eleven<br> + miles, branching off at Monckton and finishing at Point du Char, meets<br> + the steamers for Prince Edward Island, making a total length of 713<br> + miles. The rails are steel, and the road is, mile for mile, as well made<br> + as any in England. The carriages are on the American principle--the long<br> + waggons capable of seating fifty or sixty persons, with an open passage<br> + down the centre, through which the conductor and ticket collector<br> + periodically walk. The carriages are heated to distraction by means of + a<br> + huge stove at either end. It is possible to open the windows, but that<br> + is to be easily accomplished only after an apprenticeship too long for<br> + the stay of the average traveller. After a painful hour one gets<br> + accustomed to the atmosphere of the place, as it is happily possible to<br> + grow accustomed to any atmosphere. But the effect of these fierce stoves<br> + and obstinate windows must be permanently deleterious.</p> + <p class="main">The Pullman car has fortunately come to make railway travelling + in<br> + America endurable. Apart from other considerations, the inevitable stove<br> + is better managed. You are thoroughly warmed,---occasionally, it is<br> + true, parboiled. But there is at least freedom from the sulphurous<br> + atmosphere which pervades the ordinary car, with its two infernal<br> + machines, one at either end. In addition, the Pullman cars have more<br> + luxurious fittings, and are hung on smoother springs. It is at night<br> + their value becomes higher, and travellers are inclined to lie awake and<br> + wonder how their fathers and elder brothers managed to travel in the<br> + pre-Pullman era.</p> + <p class="main">Life is too short to limit travel on this continent to the + daytime.<br> + Travelling eight hours a day by rail, which we in England think a pretty<br> + good allowance, it would take just five days to go from Montreal to<br> + Halifax. Thanks to the Pullman car and its adequate sleeping<br> + accommodation, a business man may leave Montreal at ten o'clock at<br> + night, say on Monday, and be in Halifax in time to transact business<br> + shortly after noon on Wednesday. Thus he loses only a day, for he must<br> + sleep somewhere, and he might find many a worse bed than is made up for<br> + him on a Pullman. The arrangements for ventilation leave nothing to be<br> + desired save a little less apprehension on the part of Canadians of the<br> + supposed malign influence of fresh air. If you can get the ventilators<br> + kept open you may sleep with impunity. But, as far as a desire for<br> + preserving the goodwill of my immediate neighbours controls me, I would,<br> + being in Canada, as soon pick a pocket as open a window. One night,<br> + before the beds were made up I secretly approached the coloured<br> + gentleman in charge of the carriage and heavily bribed him to open the<br> + ventilators. This he faithfully did, as I saw, but when I awoke this<br> + morning, half stifled in the heavy atmosphere, I found every ventilator<br> + closed.</p> + <p class="main">After leaving Quebec, and for a far-reaching run, the railway + skirts the<br> + river St. Lawrence, of which we get glimpses near and far as we pass.<br> + The time is not far distant when this mighty river will be frozen to the<br> + distance of fully a mile out, and men may skate where Atlantic steamers<br> + sail. At present the river is free, but the frost comes like a thief in<br> + the night, and the wary shipmasters have already gone into winter<br> + quarters. The railway people are also preparing for the too familiar<br> + terrors of the Canadian winter. As we steamed out of Quebec we saw the<br> + snow-ploughs conveniently shunted, ready for use at a moment's notice.<br> + The snowsheds are a permanent institution on the Intercolonial Railway.<br> + The train passes through them sometimes for the length of half a mile.<br> + They are simply wooden erections like a box, built in parts of the line<br> + where the snow is likely to drift. Passing swiftly through them just now<br> + you catch glimmers of light through the crevices. Presently, when the<br> + snow comes, these will be effectually closed up. Snow will lie a hundred<br> + feet thick on either side, to the full height of the shed, and the<br> + train, as watched from the line, will seem to vanish in an illimitable<br> + snow mound.</p> + <p class="main">This is as yet in the future. At present the landscape has + all the<br> + beauty that snow can give without the monotony of the unrelieved waste<br> + of white. Mounds of brown earth, tufts of grass, bits of road, roofs of<br> + houses, and belts of pine showing above the sprinkling of snow, give<br> + colour to the landscape. One divines already why Canadians, in building<br> + their houses, paint a door, or a side of a chimney, or a gable-end, red<br> + or chocolate, whilst all the rest is white. This looks strange in the<br> + summer, or in the bleak interregnum when neither the sun nor the<br> + north-east wind can be said absolutely to reign. But in the winter, when<br> + far as the eye can roam it is wearied with sight of the everlasting<br> + snow, a patch of red or of warm brown on the scarcely less white houses<br> + is a surprising relief.</p> + <p class="main">The country in the neighbourhood of Rivière du Loup, + where the Grand<br> + Trunk finishes and the Intercolonial begins, is filled with comfortable<br> + homesteads. The line runs through a valley between two ranges of hills.<br> + All about the slopes on the river side stand snug little houses, each<br> + within its own grounds, each having a peaked roof, which strives more + or<br> + less effectually to rival the steepness of its neighbour. The houses<br> + straggle for miles down the line, as if they had started out from Quebec<br> + with the intention of founding a town for themselves, and had stopped + on<br> + the way, beguiled by the beauty of the situation. Sometimes a little<br> + group stand together, when be sure you shall find a church, curiously<br> + small but exceedingly ornate in its architecture. The spires are coated<br> + with a glazed tile, which catches whatever sunlight there may be about,<br> + and glistens strangely in the landscape.</p> + <p class="main">The first day following the first night of our journey closed + in a<br> + manner befitting its rare beauty. The sun went down amid a glow of<br> + grandeur that illuminated all the world to the west, transfigured the<br> + blue mountains veined with snow, and spread a soft roseate blush over<br> + the white lowlands. We went to bed in New Brunswick still in the hilly<br> + country named by the colonists Northumberland. We awoke to find<br> + ourselves in the narrow neck of land which connects Nova Scotia with the<br> + continent. It was like going to bed in Sweden in December, and waking + in<br> + Ireland in September. The snow was melted, the sun was hidden behind the<br> + one thin cloud that spread from horizon to horizon, and the sharp, brisk<br> + air of yesterday was exchanged for a cold, wet atmosphere, that<br> + distilled itself in dank drops on the window-panes. The aspect of the<br> + country was also changed. The ground was sodden, the grass brown with<br> + perpetual wet. In one field we saw the hapless haycocks floating in<br> + water. Thus it was through Nova Scotia into Halifax--water everywhere + on<br> + the ground, and threatening rain in the air.</p> + <p class="main"><br> + <span class="boldleft"><a name="108"></a>CHAPTER XI</span></p> + <p class="boldleft">EASTER ON LES AVANTS.</p> + <p class="main">We nearly lost our Naturalist between Paris and Lausanne. + It was felt at<br> + the time, more especially by the latest additions to the party, that<br> + this would have been a great calamity. Habits, long acquired, of<br> + stopping by the roadside and minutely examining weeds or bits of stone,<br> + are not to be eradicated in a night's journey by rail. Accordingly,<br> + wherever the train stopped the Naturalist was, at the last moment,<br> + discovered to be absent, and search parties were organised with a<br> + promptness that, before we reached Dijon, had become quite creditable.<br> + But the success achieved begat a condition of confidence that nearly<br> + proved fatal. In travelling on a French line there is only one thing<br> + more remarkable than the leisurely way in which an express train gets<br> + under way after having stopped at a station, and that is the excitement<br> + that pervades the neighbourhood ten minutes before the train starts. Men<br> + in uniform go about shrieking <span class="italic">"En voiture, messieurs, + en voiture!"</span> in a<br> + manner that suggests to the English traveller that the train is actually<br> + in motion, and that his passage is all but lost.</p> + <p class="main">It was this habitude that led to our excitement at Melun. + We had, after<br> + superhuman efforts, got the Naturalist into the carriage, and had<br> + breathlessly fallen back in the seat, expecting the train to move<br> + forthwith. Ten minutes later it slowly steamed out of the station,<br> + accompanied by the sound of the tootling horn and enveloped in thick<br> + clouds of poisonous smoke. This sort of thing happening at one or two<br> + other stations, we were induced to give our Naturalist an extra five<br> + minutes to gather some fresh specimen of a rare grass growing between<br> + the rails or some curious insect embedded in the bookstall. It was at<br> + Sens that, growing bolder with success, we nearly did lose him,<br> + dragging him in at the last moment, amid a scene of excitement that<br> + could be equalled elsewhere only on the supposition that the station<br> + was on fire and that five kegs of gunpowder were in the booking-office.</p> + <p class="main">Shortly after leaving Dijon a conviction began to spread + that perhaps if<br> + the fates had proved adverse, and we had lost him somewhere under<br> + circumstances that would have permitted him to come on by a morning<br> + train, we might have borne up against the calamity. Amongst a<br> + miscellaneous and imposing collection of scientific instruments, he was<br> + the pleased possessor of an aneroid. This I am sure is an excellent and<br> + even indispensable instrument at certain crises. But when you have been<br> + so lucky as to get to sleep in a railway carriage on a long night<br> + journey, to be awakened every quarter of an hour to be informed "how<br> + high you are now" grows wearisome before morning.</p> + <p class="main">It was the Chancery Barrister who was partly responsible + for this. He<br> + found it impossible to sleep, and our Naturalist, fastening upon him,<br> + kept him carefully posted up in particulars of the increasing altitude.<br> + This was the kind of thing that broke in upon our slumbers all through<br> + the night:--</p> + <p class="main">Our Naturalist: "1200 feet above the level of the sea."</p> + <p class="main">The Chancery Barrister (in provokingly sleepy tone): "Ah!"</p> + <p class="main">Then we turn over, and fall asleep again. A quarter of an + hour later:</p> + <p class="main">Our Naturalist: "1500 feet now."</p> + <p class="main">Chancery Barrister: "Really!"</p> + <p class="main">Another fitful slumber, broken by a strong presentiment + that the<br> + demoniacal aneroid is being again produced.</p> + <p class="main">Our Naturalist (exultantly, as if he had privately arranged + the incline,<br> + and was justly boastful of his success): "2100 feet."</p> + <p class="main">Chancery Barrister (evidently feeling that something extra + is expected of<br> + him): "No, <span class="italic">really</span> now!"</p> + <p class="main">This kind of thing through what should be the silent watches + of the<br> + night is to be deprecated, as tending to bring science into disrepute.</p> + <p class="main">There was a good deal of excitement about the baggage. We + were a<br> + personally conducted party to the extent that the Hon. Member who had<br> + suggested the trip, had undertaken the general direction, or had had<br> + the office thrust upon him. Feeling his responsibility, he had,<br> + immediately on arriving at Calais, changed some English money. This<br> + was found very convenient. Nobody had any francs except the Member, so<br> + we freely borrowed from him to meet trifling exigencies.</p> + <p class="main">With the object of arriving at the best possible means of + dealing with<br> + the vexed question of luggage, a variety of expedients had been tried.<br> + The Chancery Barrister, having read many moving narratives of raids made<br> + upon registered luggage in the secrecy of the luggage van, had adopted + a<br> + course which displayed a profound knowledge of human nature. He had<br> + argued with himself (as if he were a judge in chambers) that what proved<br> + an irresistible temptation to foreign guards and other railway officials<br> + was the appearance of boxes and portmanteaux iron-clasped,<br> + leather-strapped, and double-locked. The inference naturally was that<br> + they contained much that was valuable. Now, he had pointed out to<br> + himself, if you take a directly opposite course, and, as it were, invite<br> + the gentleman in charge of your luggage to open your portmanteau, he<br> + will think you have nothing in it worth his attention, and will pass on<br> + to others more jealously guarded. You can't very well leave your box<br> + open, as the things might tumble out. So, as a happy compromise, he had<br> + duly locked and strapped his portmanteau, and then tied the key to the<br> + handle.</p> + <p class="main">As he observes, with the shrewd perception that will inevitably + lead him<br> + to the Woolsack, "You are really helpless, and can do nothing to + prevent<br> + these gentlemen from helping themselves. If you leave the key there,<br> + there is a fair chance of their treating your property as the Levite<br> + treated the Good Samaritan. If not, your box will be decently opened<br> + instead of having the lock broken or the hinges wrenched off."</p> + <p class="main">That was a good idea, and proved triumphantly successful; + for, on<br> + arrival at Montreux, the Chancery Barrister's portmanteau turned up all<br> + right, the key innocently reposing on the handle, and, as subsequent<br> + investigation showed, the contents untouched.</p> + <p class="main">Our Manufacturer had a still better way, though, as was + urged, he comes<br> + from Yorkshire, and we of the southern part of the island have no chance<br> + in competition with the race. He lost his luggage somewhere between<br> + Dover and Paris, and has ever since been free from all care on the<br> + subject.</p> + <p class="main">Perhaps it was the influence of these varied incidents that + led to a<br> + scene of some excitement on our arrival at Montreux station. There,<br> + what was left of our luggage was disgorged, and of fourteen packages<br> + registered, only nine were visible to the naked eye. It was then the<br> + Patriarch came to the front and displayed some of those qualities which<br> + subsequently found a fuller field amid the solitude of the Alps.</p> + <p class="main">We call him the Patriarch because he is a grandfather. In + other respects<br> + he is the youngest of the party, the first on the highest peak, the<br> + first down in the afternoon with his ready order for "tea for ten," + of<br> + which, if the party is late in arriving and he finds time hang heavy on<br> + his hands, he will genially drink five cups himself. With the care of<br> + half a dozen colossal commercial undertakings upon his mind, he is as<br> + merry as a boy and as playful as a kitten. But when once aroused his<br> + anger is terrible.</p> + <p class="main">His thunder and lightning played around the station-master + at Montreux<br> + on the discovery of the absence of five packages. The Patriarch has a<br> + wholesome faith in the all-sufficiency of the English language. The<br> + station-master's sole lingual accomplishment was French. This<br> + concatenation of circumstances might with ordinary persons have led to<br> + some diminution of the force of adjuration. But probably the<br> + station-master lost little of the meaning the Patriarch desired to<br> + convey. This tended in the direction of showing the utter incapacity<br> + of the Swiss or French nature to manage a railway, and the discreditable<br> + incompetency of the officials of whatever grade. The station-master was<br> + properly abashed before the torrent of indignant speech. But he had his<br> + turn presently. Calmer inspection disclosed the fact that all the<br> + fourteen packets were delivered. It was delightful to see how the<br> + station-master, immediately assuming the offensive, followed the<br> + Patriarch about with gesticulation indicative of the presence of the<br> + baggage, and with taunting speech designed to make the Patriarch<br> + withdraw his remarks--whatever they might have been. On this point<br> + the station-master was not clear, but he had a shrewd suspicion that<br> + they were not complimentary. The Patriarch, however, now retired upon<br> + his dignity.</p> + <p class="main">It was, as he said, no use arguing with fellows like this.</p> + <p class="main">Les Avants sit high up among the mountains at the back of + Montreux.<br> + It seems madness to go there at a time when fires are still cheerful<br> + and when the leaves have not yet put forth their greenness. But, as<br> + was made apparent in due time, Les Avants, at no time inconveniently<br> + cold, would be, but for the winds that blow over the snow-clad hills<br> + surprisingly hot. To build an hotel here seems a perilously bold<br> + undertaking. It is not on the way to anywhere, and people going from<br> + the outer world must march up the hill, and, when they are tired of it,<br> + must needs, like the Duke of York in his famous military expedition,<br> + march down again. None but a Swiss would build an hotel here, and few<br> + but English would frequent it. Yet the shrewdness of the proprietor has<br> + been amply justified, and Les Avants is becoming in increasing degree<br> + a favourite pilgrimage.</p> + <p class="main">The hotel was built nearly twenty years ago. Previously + the little<br> + valley it dominates had been planted with one or two chalets which<br> + for more than half a century have looked out upon the deathless snows<br> + of the Dent du Midi. There is one which has rudely carved over the<br> + lintel of its door the date 1816. Noting which, the Chancery Barrister,<br> + with characteristic accuracy, observed that "five centuries look + down<br> + upon us."</p> + <p class="main">Our landlord is an enterprising man. His business in life + is to keep an<br> + hotel, and the height of his ambition is to keep it well. Only a<br> + fortnight ago he returned from a grand tour of the winter<br> + watering-places, from the Bay of Biscay to the Bay of Genoa. The<br> + ordinary attractions of the show places from Biarritz to Bordighera had<br> + no lure for him. What he studied were the hotels and their various modes<br> + of management. He told us, with a flush of pride on his sun-tanned<br> + cheek, that he travelled as an ordinary tourist. There was no hint of<br> + his condition or the object of his journey, no appeal to confraternity<br> + with a view to getting bed and breakfast at trade prices, or some<br> + reduction on the <span class="italic">table d'hôte</span> charges. + He travelled as a sort of Haroun<br> + al Raschid among innkeepers, haughtily paying his bills, and possibly<br> + feeing the waiters. He is a very good sort of a fellow, attentive and<br> + obliging, and it is odd how we all agree in the hope that he was from<br> + time to time over-charged.</p> + <p class="main">It is a fair prospect looked out upon from the bedroom window + on our<br> + arrival. Almost at our feet, it seems, is the Lake of Geneva, though<br> + we remember the wearisome climb up the hill, and know it must be miles<br> + away. On the other side are the snow-clad hills that reach down to<br> + Savoy on the east, and are crowned by the heights of the Dent du Midi<br> + on the west. On the left, flanking our own place of abode, rise up the<br> + grim heights of the Roches de Naye, and, still farther back, the Dent<br> + du Jaman--a terrible tooth this, which draws attention from all the<br> + country round, and excites the wildest ambition of the tourist. The man<br> + or woman resting within a circuit of ten miles of Montreux, who has not<br> + touched the topmost heights of the Dent du Jaman, goes home a crushed<br> + person. A very small proportion do it, but every one talks of doing<br> + it---which, unless the weather be favourable, is perhaps the wiser<br> + thing to do. It fills a large place in the conversation as well as in<br> + the landscape, and it will be a bad thing for the Lake of Geneva if<br> + this tooth should ever be drawn.</p> + <p class="main">Lovely as was the scene in the fresh morning air, with the + glistening<br> + snow, the dark pines on the lower hills, the blue lake, and the<br> + greyish upland, they did but serve to frame the picture of the<br> + Patriarch as he sat upon the bench in the front of the hotel. A short<br> + jacket of blue serge, knickerbockers of the same material, displaying<br> + the proportions of a notable pair of legs, the whole crowned by a<br> + chimney-pot hat, went to make up a remarkable figure. The Patriarch<br> + had in his hand a blue net for catching butterflies. The Naturalist<br> + had excited his imagination by stories of the presence of the<br> + "Camberwell Beauty," a rare and beautiful species of butterfly, + of<br> + which he was determined to take home a specimen. In later days he<br> + was fair to see with his hat thrown back on his brow, his net in his<br> + hand: and his stout legs twinkling in their haste to come up with a<br> + butterfly.</p> + <p class="main">The Alps have witnessed many strange sights since first + they uplifted<br> + their heads to heaven. But it is calculated that the Patriarch was<br> + the first who brought under their notice the chimney-pot hat of the<br> + civilised Englishman.</p> + <p class="main">This haste to be up on the first morning was a faithful + precursor of<br> + the indomitable vitality of the Patriarch. He was always first up and<br> + first off, and, amongst many charming peculiarities, was his<br> + indifference as to which way the road lay. We generally had a guide<br> + with us, and nothing was more common in toiling up a mountain side<br> + than to discover the guide half a mile to the left and the Patriarch<br> + half a mile to the right, something after the fashion of the letter Y,<br> + we being at the stem. We saw a good deal more of the country than we<br> + otherwise should have done, owing to the constant necessity of going<br> + after the Patriarch and bringing him back. Sometimes he got away by<br> + himself, at others he deluded some hapless member of the company into<br> + following him. One young man, just called to the bar, had a promising<br> + career almost cut short on the second day. In the innocence of his<br> + heart he had followed the Patriarch, who led him through an apparently<br> + impassable pine forest on to the crest of a remote hill, whence he<br> + crawled down an hour late for luncheon, the Patriarch having arrived<br> + ten minutes before him, and having already had his knife into every<br> + receptacle for food that was spread out, from the loaf of bread to the<br> + box of sardines, from the preserved peaches to the cup without a handle<br> + that held the butter.</p> + <p class="main">Walking up the hill behind the hotel on the way to the Jaman, + the Member<br> + had a happy idea. "Why," he asked, "should not the Parliamentary + Session<br> + be movable, like a reading party? Say the Bankruptcy Bill is referred<br> + to a grand committee. What is to prevent them coming right off here and<br> + settling down for a fortnight or three weeks, or in fact whatever time<br> + might be necessary thoroughly to discuss the measure?"</p> + <p class="main">They might do worse, we agreed, as we walked on, carefully + selecting<br> + the shady side of the road, and thinking of dear friends shivering in<br> + England. The blue haze under which we know the lake lies; the Alps all<br> + around, their green sides laced with snow and their heads covered with<br> + it; the fleckless blue sky; the brown rocks, and over all and through<br> + all the murmuring music of the invisible stream, as it trickles on its<br> + way down the gorge, would be better accompaniments to a good grind at + a<br> + difficult Bill than any to be found within the precincts of Westminster.</p> + <p class="main">"You remember what Virgil says?" the Chancery + Barrister strikes in.</p> + <p class="main">Divers things of diverse character we have discovered invariably + remind<br> + the Chancery Barrister of Virgil or Horace, occasionally perchance of<br> + an English poet. This is very pleasant, and none the less so because<br> + the reminiscences come slowly, gathering strength as they advance, like<br> + the Chancery Barrister's laugh, which begins like the pattering of rain<br> + on leaves, and ends in the roar of a thunderstorm. The Chancery<br> + Barrister takes his jokes gently to begin with: he sees them afar off,<br> + and, closing one eye, begins to smile. The smile broadens to a grin, the<br> + grin becomes a cachinnation, then, as he hugs the fun, the cachinnation<br> + deepens to a roar of laughter, and the thing is complete.</p> + <p class="main">It is thus with his quotations, though these are not always<br> + completed--at least, not in accordance with recognised authorities. As<br> + one of the ladies says, with that kindliness peculiar to the sex, "The<br> + Chancery Barrister is most original when he is making a quotation."</p> + <p class="main">"What's that Wolsey says about the pomps and vanities + of this world?"<br> + "'Vain pomps and vanities of this world,'" the Chancery Barrister<br> + begins, and we know we are in for a quotation. "No, not pomps and<br> + vanities. 'Vain pomps and glories of this world' (that's it)--"</p> + <blockquote> + <p> <span class="smallquote">"'Vain pomp and glory of this world, + I hate ye.<br> + I feel my heart new opened. O how wretched<br> + Is the poor man that hangs on princes' favours!<br> + There is betwixt the smile we would aspire to,<br> + That sweet aspect of princes and their ruin,<br> + More pangs and fears than wars or women have.'"</span></p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">It's odd how one thing leads to another. By the time the + Chancery<br> + Barrister has got his quotation right, the Patriarch is half a mile<br> + ahead in the wrong direction, and we all have to go and look for him.</p> + <p class="main">The Col de Jaman is the salvation of many tourists. Not + being regular<br> + Alpine climbers, they start over the Dent and get as far as the Col,<br> + rest awhile just under the great mountain molar, and come down. We had<br> + a splendid day for our expedition. It had been freezing hard in the<br> + night, and when we reached the snow region we found the pines frosted.<br> + On the Col a beneficent commune has built some chalets furnished with<br> + plentiful supply of firewood. Out of the sun it was bitterly cold, and<br> + we were glad to light a fire, which crackled and roared up the broad<br> + chimney and made a pretty accompaniment to the Chancery Barrister's<br> + song about the Jolly Young Waterman. He sang it all in one key, and<br> + that the wrong one. But it was a well-meant effort, and we all joined<br> + in the chorus.</p> + <p class="main">There's some talk to-day of a startling episode at an hotel + up the<br> + Rhone Valley. A Russian gentleman was sitting sipping his tea, when<br> + there approached him a lady, who addressed him in three languages.<br> + His replies not being satisfactory she shot him. This is cited by the<br> + Chancery Barrister as showing the advantage of an early acquaintance<br> + with foreign languages, and the desirableness of a pure accent.</p> + <p class="main">It is quite agreed that if our Naturalist had been in the + Russian's<br> + place he would have been shot after the first question. This morning,<br> + on ringing for his bath, he was answered by a chambermaid with a "Pas<br> + encore." Why "not just yet" our Naturalist did not know. + He was not<br> + unusually early. But he had done his duty. He had tried to get up and<br> + have his bath; it was not ready, so he might go back to bed with a<br> + quiet conscience. Presently came another knock, and our Naturalist,<br> + carefully robing himself, opened the door, and discovered the<br> + chambermaid standing there with a plate, a knife, and a breakfast roll.</p> + <p class="main">"What the dev----I mean <span class="italic">qu'c'est + qu'c'est</span>?" he asked.</p> + <p class="main">"<span class="italic">Monsieur a demandé le + petit pain</span>," the girl replied, astonished at<br> + his astonishment.</p> + <p class="main">With great presence of mind he accepted the situation, took + in the<br> + bread, and did without his bath. The Member says that, coming upon him<br> + suddenly amid the silence of the snow, he heard him practising the<br> + slightly different sounds of <span class="italic">pain</span> and <span class="italic">bain</span>.</p> + <p class="main">Nothing but snow between the Col and the Dent du Jaman, + but snow at its<br> + very best, hard and dry. Just before we reach the top we come upon a<br> + huge drift frozen hard and slippery. We might have gone round, but we<br> + decided to try and climb. The Patriarch of course was first, and<br> + achieved the task triumphantly. Others followed, and then came the<br> + Chancery Barrister. Another step, and he would have safely landed.<br> + But unhappily a quotation occurred to him.</p> + <p class="main">"This is jolly," he said, turning half round, + with the proud<br> + consciousness that he was at the crest and that with another stride all<br> + would be well; "what's that Horace says about enjoying what you have?"</p> + <blockquote> + <p> <span class="smallquote">"'Me pascant olivae,<br> + Me cichorea, levesque malvae,<br> + Frui paratis, et valido mihi,<br> + Latoe, dones, et, precor, integra<br> + Cum----'"</span></p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">Here the most terrible contortion appeared on the generally + pleasant<br> + countenance of the Chancery Barrister. He clutched desperately at the<br> + ice; but his suspicion was too true. He had begun to move downwards<br> + ("When he got to <span class="italic">cum</span> he came," the + Member, who makes bad jokes, says),<br> + and with increasing impetus he slid down the bank. His face during the<br> + terrible moments when he was not quite certain where he would stop, or<br> + indeed whether he would ever stop, passed through a series of<br> + contortions highly interesting to those on the bank above.</p> + <p class="main">"<span class="italic">Me pascant olivae</span>!" + cried the Member. "Olives are evidently no use as<br> + a support in a case like yours, and diachylon would be more use to you<br> + now than soft mallows."</p> + <p class="main">The Chancery Barrister, who had happily reached the bottom, + walked round<br> + by a more accessible path, and nothing further either from Horace or<br> + Virgil occurred to him for more than an hour.</p> + <p class="main">Perhaps the difference in the weather had something to do + with it, but<br> + we found the Dent du Jaman not nearly so difficult to climb as the<br> + Roches de Naye. After the scamper across the snow and the climb over<br> + this little ice-collar down which the Chancery Barrister had slipped,<br> + there is no more snow. We climb up by steps worn by the feet of many<br> + adventurers. The top is a level cone with an area not much greater<br> + than that of a moderate-sized dining-room. There was not a breath of<br> + wind, and the sun beat down with a warmth made all the more delicious<br> + by the recollection of the frozen region through which we had passed.<br> + The Dent is only a trifle above six thousand feet high, but the prospect<br> + as seen from it stretches far. Below is the Canton de Vaud, a portion + of<br> + the Jura chain of mountains, the far-reaching Alps of the Savoy, a bit<br> + of the lake gleaming like an emerald under the white tops of the<br> + mountains, a cloud on the southern horizon that the guide tells us are<br> + the mountains of the Valais, and, still to the south just touched by the<br> + sun, glitter the snow summits of the Great St. Bernard.</p> + <p class="main">Coming down, we bivouac in the <span class="italic">châlet</span>, + lighting up the fire again.<br> + Here, twelve hundred feet lower down, it is bitterly cold, in spite<br> + of, perhaps because of, the fire. The <span class="italic">châlet</span> + is built with commendable<br> + deference to the necessity for ventilation. The wind, smelling fire,<br> + comes rushing over the snow, and we are glad to put on coat and caps.<br> + The conversation turns to legal topics, and certain eminent personages<br> + are discussed with great severity. Of one it is roundly asserted that<br> + he is mad.</p> + <p class="main">"I am quite sure of it," said the Chancery Barrister, + who has recovered<br> + his spirits with his footing, "and I'll tell you why. He seconded + me<br> + for the Reform Club, and----"</p> + <p class="main">We all agree that this is quite enough; but the Chancery + Barrister<br> + insists on proceeding with his narrative, of which it seems this was<br> + merely the introduction.</p> + <p class="main">We found our Naturalist of very little use. We had expected + he would<br> + mount with us whatever heights we sought, and had pleasing views of<br> + his explaining the flora as we went along. But he always had some<br> + excuse that kept him on lower levels. One morning he declared he had<br> + passed a sleepless night owing to the efforts of two Scotch lads who<br> + occupied the room next to him. They had some taste for carpentering,<br> + and were addicted to getting up in the dead of the night and doing odd<br> + jobs about the room. At half-past five a.m. they left their couch and<br> + began playing Cain and Abel. Only the Naturalist protested there is no<br> + authority in Scripture for the fearful row Abel made when Cain got him<br> + down on his back.</p> + <p class="main">At other times our Naturalist had heard of a "Camberwell + Beauty" in<br> + the neighbourhood, and must needs go and catch it, which, by the way,<br> + he never did. On the whole, we conclude our Naturalist is an impostor.</p> + <p class="main">We reserved the Roches de Naye till the last day. It was + rather a<br> + stupendous undertaking, the landlord assuring us that four guides were<br> + necessary. One led a horse that no one would ride, one carried the<br> + indispensable luncheon-basket, and two fared forth at early morn to cut<br> + steps in the snow. The sun was shining when we started on this desperate<br> + enterprise, and it was hot enough as we toiled along the lower heights.<br> + But when we reached the snow level, the sun had gone in, having just<br> + shone long enough to make the snow wet. Then a cold bleak wind set in,<br> + and we began to think that, after all, there was more in the Naturalist<br> + than met the eye. Whilst we were toiling along, sometimes temporarily<br> + despairing, and generally up to our waists in snow, he was enjoying the<br> + comforts of the hotel, or strolling about in languid search of fabulous<br> + butterflies.</p> + <p class="main">Picking our way round a hill in which had been cut in the + snow a ledge<br> + about two feet wide, we came in face of the slope we were to climb. Up<br> + at the top, looking like black ants, were the guides cutting a zigzag<br> + path in the snow. The Member observed that if any one were to offer<br> + him a sovereign and his board on condition of his climbing up this<br> + slope, he would prefer to remain in indigent circumstances. As we<br> + were getting nothing for the labour, were indeed paying for the<br> + privilege of undertaking it, we stuck at it, and after a steady climb<br> + reached the top, when the wind was worse than ever. It was past<br> + luncheon time, and every one was ferociously hungry; but it was agreed<br> + that if we camped here and lunched, we should never get to the top. So<br> + on we went, through the sloppy snow, pursued by the keen blast that<br> + cut through all possible clothing.</p> + <p class="main">It was a hard pull and not much to see for it, since clouds + had rolled<br> + up from the west and hid the promised panorama. The wind was terrible,<br> + and there was no shelter. But we could hold out no longer, and the<br> + luncheon being laid upon the sloppy grass, the Patriarch, with his<br> + accustomed impartiality, went round with his knife.</p> + <p class="main">By this time we had induced him to take the sardines last, + which he<br> + obligingly did.</p> + <p class="main">We ran most of the way back to the side of the hill where + the snow had<br> + been cut. The exercise made us a little warmer; and the genial influence<br> + of the cold fowl, the hard-boiled eggs, the sardines and the thin red<br> + wine beginning to work, we were able to enjoy the spectacle of the<br> + Patriarch leading the first party down the perilous incline. We had<br> + ropes, but didn't think it worth while to be tied. The party was divided<br> + into two sections, half a dozen holding on to a rope. It must have been<br> + a beautiful sight from many a near mountain height to watch the<br> + Patriarch's chimney-pot hat slowly move downwards on the zigzag path.</p> + <p class="main">"What's that Virgil says about ranging mountain tops?" + said the Chancery<br> + Barrister:</p> + <blockquote> + <p> <span class="smallquote">"Me Parnassi deserta per ardua dulcis<br> + Raptat amor: juvat ire jugis, qua nulla priorum<br> + Castaliam molli divertitur orbita clivo."</span></p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">He had got in the centre of the second party, and with two + before him,<br> + three behind, and a firm grip on the rope, he thought it safe to quote<br> + poetry.</p> + <p class="main">We had eight days at Les Avants, of which this devoted to + the ascent of<br> + the Roches was the only one the sun did not shine upon. Whether on<br> + mountain or in valley, what time the sun was shining it was delightfully<br> + warm. The narcissi were not yet out, but the fields were thick with<br> + their buds. How the place would look when their glory had burst forth + on<br> + all the green Alps we could only imagine. But already everywhere bloomed<br> + the abundant marigolds, the hepaticae, the violets, the oxlips, the<br> + gentians, the primroses, and the forget-me-nots.</p> + <p class="main"><br> + <span class="boldleft"><a name="125"></a>CHAPTER XII.</span></p> + <p class="boldleft">THE BATTLE OF MERTHYR.</p> + <p class="main">"Well, sir, it is, as you say, a long time ago, but + it was one of those<br> + things, look you, that a man meets with only once in his lifetime; and<br> + that being so, I might call it all to mind if I began slowly, and went<br> + on so as to keep my pipe alight to the end."</p> + <p class="main">The speaker was a little, white-haired miner, who had been + employed for<br> + fifty years by the Crawshays, of Cyfarthfa. We were sitting in the<br> + sanctum of his kitchen, the beautifully sanded floor of which smote me<br> + with remorse, for I had walked up from Merthyr, and was painfully<br> + conscious of two muddy footprints in the doorway.</p> + <p class="main">Mrs. Morgan Griffiths, engaged upon the task of repairing + Mr. Morgan<br> + Griffiths's hose, was seated in the middle of the room opposite the<br> + fireplace, having against the wall on either side of her a mahogany<br> + chest of drawers in resplendent state of polish. Mr. Morgan Griffiths<br> + sat beside the fireplace, with his pipe in one hand, the other resting<br> + affectionately upon another mahogany chest of drawers, also<br> + resplendently polished, standing in a recess at his left. The other side<br> + of the fireplace was occupied by the visitor, who, if he had turned his<br> + head a little to the right, might have seen his face reflected in the<br> + resplendent polish of a third mahogany chest of drawers, which somewhat<br> + inconveniently projected from the recess on the side of the fireplace.</p> + <p class="main">Apparently, every well-to-do Welsh collier marks his status + in society<br> + by the possession of a mahogany chest of drawers--if mounted in brass<br> + so much the better--which it is the pride and privilege of his wife to<br> + keep in a state of resplendent polish. Mr. Morgan Griffiths having had + a<br> + long run of prosperity, and being of a frugal mind, had launched out<br> + largely in the purchase of mahogany chests of drawers, and his kitchen<br> + may be said to bristle with them. Each had its history, and it was to<br> + the patient listening to the repetition thereof, and to the expenditure<br> + of much appreciative criticism upon the varied styles of architecture<br> + displayed in their construction, that I completely won Mr. Morgan<br> + Griffiths's confidence, and overcame the cautious fencing with which<br> + he met my first inquiries touching his recollection of the memorable<br> + Merthyr Riots of 1831.</p> + <p class="main">Perfect confidence reigned between us now, and I discovered + that,<br> + though it is exceedingly hard to get a Welsh miner to talk freely to<br> + "a Saxon," when he opens his heart, and can look back for a + period of<br> + fifty years, he is a very interesting companion.</p> + <p class="main">"Yes, it's a long time ago," Mr. Morgan Griffiths + repeated, in short,<br> + clipping intonation of the English language I will not attempt to<br> + reproduce, "but I've often talked it over with Mrs. Morgan Griffiths,<br> + and I can see it all now. Times was sore bad, and there was a deal<br> + of poverty about. Bread was dear, and iron was cheap--at least so Mr.<br> + Crawshay said when we went up to ask him if he couldn't give us<br> + miners a trifle over the twelve or thirteen shillings a week we was<br> + earning. Everybody I knowed was in debt, and had been in debt for<br> + some time, and was getting further in every week. The shopkeepers<br> + up at Merthyr were getting uneasy about their money, and besides<br> + saying plump out to some of us that we couldn't have any more bread,<br> + or that, without money down on the nail, they served out all round<br> + summonses to what was called the Court of Requests. That was all<br> + very well, but as we couldn't get enough to eat from day to day<br> + upon our wages, it was pretty certain we couldn't go and pay up<br> + arrears. But the summonses came all the same, and it was a black<br> + look-out, I can tell you.</p> + <p class="main">"One day, in the middle of the summer of this year + 1831, there was<br> + a great meeting out on Waun-hill of all the miners of the country.<br> + I can't rightly tell you the day of the month, but it was about<br> + three reeks after we rescued Thomas Llewellin, who had been sent<br> + to gaol on account of the row at Mr. Stephens's. We talked over<br> + our grievances together, and we made up our minds that we couldn't<br> + stand them any longer, though we meant no more mischief than our<br> + little Morgan who wasn't born then, me and Mrs. Morgan Griffiths<br> + not being married at the time, nor indeed set eyes on each other.<br> + After the row opposite the Bush Inn, I went back to my work till<br> + such time as the petition we had agreed to send to the King was<br> + written out by Owen Evans, and had come round to be signed by us<br> + all. But there was others not so peaceably minded, and a lot of<br> + them, meeting outside Merthyr, marched over the hill to Aberdare,<br> + where they went to Mr. Fothergill's and treated him pretty<br> + roughly. They ate up all the victuals in the house, and finished<br> + up all the beer, and then took a turn round the town collecting<br> + all the bread and cheese they could lay their hands on.</p> + <p class="main">"A lad sent by Mr. Fothergill came running over the + mountain with<br> + a letter to the magistrates, telling them what was happening in<br> + Aberdare, and pressing them to send off for the soldiers. It was<br> + said the magistrates did this pretty quick, but we had no railways<br> + or telegraphs then, and, ride as quick as you might, the soldiers<br> + could not get here before morning. The men from Aberdare were back<br> + here the same night, and marched straight for the Court of Requests,<br> + where they made poor Coffin, the clerk, give up every scrap of book<br> + or paper he had about the Court's business, and they made a bonfire<br> + of them in the middle of the street. Then they came over here, and<br> + swore we should all turn out and join them.</p> + <p class="main">"I remember it well. I was just coming up from the + pit to go to my<br> + tea, when they came bursting over the tips, shouting and waving<br> + their sticks, and wearing in their hats little bits of burnt paper<br> + from the bonfire opposite Coffin's house. They were most of them<br> + drunk, but they were very friendly with us, and only wanted us to<br> + leave off work and go along with them. I was a young fellow then,<br> + up to any lark, and didn't make much fuss about it. So off we<br> + went to Dowlais, freed the men there, and we all had a good drink<br> + together.</p> + <p class="main">"Next day the soldiers came in earnest: Scotchmen with + petticoats<br> + on, and nasty-looking guns on their shoulders. I stood in a passage<br> + whilst they marched down High Street from Cyfarthfa way, and didn't<br> + like the look of things at all. But close upon their heels came all<br> + our fellows, with bludgeons in their hands, and one of them, a man<br> + from Dowlais, had tied a red pocket-handkerchief on a stick and waved<br> + it over his head like a flag. The soldiers tramped steadily along till<br> + they got just above the Castle Inn, and there they halted, our men<br> + pressing on till they filled the open place below the Castle, as well<br> + as crowding the street behind the soldiers, who looked to me, as I<br> + hung on by the hands and legs to a lamp-post, just like a patch of red<br> + in the centre of a great mass of black. The soldiers had some bread<br> + and cheese and beer served out to them, but they were a long time<br> + getting it; for as soon as any one came out of the Castle with a loaf<br> + of bread and a piece of cheese some of our men snatched it out of<br> + their hands and eat it, jeering at the soldiers and offering them bits.</p> + <p class="main">"The soldiers never said a word or budged an inch till + the Sheriff<br> + looked out of the window and asked the little fellow who was their<br> + commander-in-chief to draw them up on the pavement close before the<br> + hotel. The little fellow said something to them; and they turned round<br> + their guns so as the butt ends were presented, and marched straight<br> + forward, as if our fellows were not on the pavement as thick as ants.<br> + There was a little stoppage owing to the men not being able to clear<br> + off because of the crowd on the right and left. But the thick ends of<br> + the guns went steadily on with the bare-legged silent soldiers after<br> + them, and in a few strides the pavement was clear, and the soldiers<br> + were eating their bread and cheese with their faces to the crowd, and<br> + a tight right-handed grip on their muskets.</p> + <p class="main">"The Sheriff got on a chair in the doorway of the Castle, + with the<br> + soldiers well placed between him and us, and made a rigmaroling<br> + speech about law and order, and the King; but he said nothing about<br> + giving us more wages. Our master, Mr. Crawshay, was in the hotel too,<br> + and so was Mr. Guest, of Dowlais. Evan Jones, a man who had come over<br> + from Aberdare, got up on the shoulders of his mates and made a<br> + rattling speech all about our poor wages.</p> + <p class="main">"'Law and order's all very well," he said, "but + can you live on twelve<br> + shillings a week, Mr. Sheriff, and bring up a lot of little sheriffs?'</p> + <p class="main">"Then we all shouted, and old Crawshay coming up to + the doorway, I got<br> + down from the lamp-post, not wishing to let him see me there, though I<br> + was only standing on my rights. But Mr. William had a voice which,<br> + something like an old file at work, could go through any crowd, and I<br> + heard him in his quiet, stern way, just as if he was talking to his men<br> + on a pay-day, say it was no use them crowding there with sticks and<br> + stones to talk to him about wages.</p> + <p class="main">"'Go home, all of you' he said; 'go to bed; and when + you are sober and<br> + in your senses, send us a deputation from each mine, and we'll see what<br> + can be done. But you won't be sensible for a fortnight after this mad<br> + acting; so let us say on this day fortnight you come with your<br> + deputation. Now go home, and don't make fools of yourselves any more.'</p> + <p class="main">"We always listened to what Mr. Crawshay said, though + he might be a<br> + little hard sometimes, and this made us waver. But just then<br> + Lewis-yr-Helwyr, shouting out in Welsh, 'We ask for more wages and they<br> + give us soldiers,' leaped at the throat of the Scotchman nearest to him,<br> + and snatching the musket out of his hand, stuck the bayonet into him.</p> + <p class="main">"In the twinkling of an eye the great black mass jumped + upon the little<br> + red patch I told you of, and a fearful struggle began. The attack was + so<br> + sudden, and the soldiers were at the moment so earnest with their bread<br> + and cheese, that nearly all the front rank men lost their muskets and<br> + pressed backward on their comrades behind. These levelled their pieces<br> + over the front rank's shoulders and fired straight into the thick of us.<br> + The little officer had hardly given the word to fire when he was knocked<br> + down by a blow on the head, and a bayonet stuck into him, Our men<br> + pressed stoutly forward and, tumbling over the dead, fell upon the<br> + soldiers, who could move neither arm nor leg. The rear rank were, as<br> + fast as they could bustle, filing into the hotel, but not before they<br> + had managed to pass over their heads the little officer, who looked very<br> + sick, with the blood streaming down his face.</p> + <p class="main">"At last the soldiers all got inside the doorway of + the hotel, where<br> + they stood fast like a wedge, two kneeling down shoulder to shoulder<br> + with their bayonets fixed, three others firing over their heads, and<br> + others behind handing up loaded guns as fast as they fired. There was + a<br> + lane speedily made amongst us in front of the doorway; but we had won<br> + the fight for all that, and cheered like mad when the soldiers turned<br> + tail.</p> + <p class="main">"In a few minutes we shouted on the other side of our + mouths. Without<br> + any notice the windows of every room in the hotel suddenly flew up, and<br> + out came from each the muzzles of a pair of muskets which flashed death<br> + down upon us at the rate of two men a minute; for as soon as the first<br> + couple of soldiers fired they retired and reloaded whilst two others<br> + took their places and blazed away. A rush was made to the back of the<br> + hotel, and we had got into the passage, when the bearded faces of the<br> + Scotchmen showed through the smoke with which the house was filled, and<br> + the leaders of our lot were shoved back at the point of the bayonet. At<br> + the same time the windows at the back of the house flew up as they had<br> + done in the front, and the muzzles of the muskets peeped out as they<br> + had done before.</p> + <p class="main">"This was getting rather hot for me. Men dead or dying + were lying about<br> + everywhere around the Castle Inn. If I had been asked that night how<br> + many were killed, I think I should have said two hundred; but when the<br> + accounts came to be made up, it was found that not more than sixty or<br> + seventy were shot dead, though many more were wounded. I was neither<br> + hurt nor dead as yet, and I thought I had better go home if I wanted to<br> + keep so. I was below the Castle Inn at the time, and not caring to pass<br> + the windows with those deadly barrels peeping out I turned down High<br> + Street, and walked through the town. It was raining in torrents, and I<br> + never saw Merthyr look so wretched. Every shop was closed, and<br> + barricades placed across some of the windows of the private houses; and<br> + as I walked along, trying to look as if I hadn't been up at the Castle,<br> + I saw white faces peeping over window blinds.</p> + <p class="main">"Merthyr was trembling in its shoes that day, I can + tell you; and it<br> + came out afterwards that every tradesman in the place had got together<br> + all the bread, cheese, meat, pies, and beer he could put his hands on,<br> + ready to throw out to the mob if they came knocking at his door.</p> + <p class="main">"It was late at night when I got home, having gone + a long way round, and<br> + I saw nothing more of our fellows; but I heard that the wounded soldiers<br> + had been taken up to Penydarren House, which was fortified by their<br> + comrades, and held all night against our men. Somehow the word got<br> + passed round that we were to meet the next morning in a quiet place on<br> + the Brecon road, and when I got there I found our gallant fellows in<br> + great force. I, having neither sword nor gun, was told off with a lot + of<br> + others to get up on the heights that bank the turnpike road near<br> + Coedycymmer, and roll down big stones, so that the fresh troops expected<br> + up from Brecon could not pass. This we did with a will; and when, in the<br> + afternoon, a lot of cavalry came up, we made it so hot for them, what<br> + with the stones rolled down from above and the musketry that came<br> + rattling up from our men who had guns, that they cleared off pretty<br> + smartly.</p> + <p class="main">"This cheered us greatly, and another lot of ours, + who had been posted<br> + on the Swansea road to intercept troops coming up in that direction,<br> + soon after joined us, with news of a great victory, by which they had<br> + routed the soldiers and taken their swords and muskets. We thought<br> + Merthyr was ours, though I'm not sure that we quite knew what we were<br> + going to do with it. When somebody shouted, 'Let's go to Merthyr!' we<br> + all shouted with him, and ran along the road, intending to take<br> + Penydarren House by storm. On the way we met Evan Price and some others,<br> + who had been to see Mr. Guest, and had been promised fine things for the<br> + men if they would give up their arms and go peaceably to work. Some<br> + jumped at this offer and sneaked off; but I had got a sabre now, and was<br> + in for death or glory. There was a good many in the same boat, and on + we<br> + went towards Penydarren House, enough of us to eat it up, if the walls<br> + had been built of boiled potatoes instead of bricks.</p> + <p class="main">"When we got in sight of the house, we found they were + ready for us, and<br> + had got a lot of those soldiers drawn up in battle array. There was a<br> + deal of disputing amongst our leaders how the attack was to commence,<br> + and whilst they were chattering the men were dropping off in twos and<br> + threes, and in about an hour we were all gone, so nothing more was<br> + done that night.</p> + <p class="main">"We lay quietly in our own homes on Sunday, and on + Monday had a great<br> + meeting on Waun-hill again, colliers coming up by thousands to join up<br> + from all parts around. Early in the forenoon we began to move down<br> + towards Merthyr, everybody in high spirits, shouting, waving caps, and<br> + brandishing swords. I saw one man get an awful backhanded cut on the<br> + cheek from an Aberdare collier, who was waving his sword about like a<br> + madman. Nobody knew exactly where we were going, or what we were going<br> + to do; but when we got as far as Dowlais we were saved the trouble of<br> + deciding, for there was Mr. Guest, with a great army of soldiers drawn<br> + up across the road. Mr. Guest was as cool as myself, and rode forward<br> + to meet us as if we were the best friends in the world. He made a good<br> + speech, begging us to think of our wives and families, and go quietly<br> + home whilst we had the chance. Nothing came of that, however, and he<br> + pulled out a paper, and read an Act of Parliament, after which he<br> + turned to the commander-in chief of the soldiers, and said he had done<br> + all a magistrate could do, and the soldiers must do the rest.</p> + <p class="main">"'Get ready,' shouts out the commander-in-chief; and + the soldiers<br> + brought their muskets down with a flash like lightning, and a clash that<br> + made me feel uncomfortable, remembering what I had seen on the Friday.</p> + <p class="main">"'Present!'</p> + <p class="main">"There was ten murderous barrels looking straight at + us. Another word,<br> + and we should have their contents amongst our clothes. It was an awful<br> + moment. I saw one black-bearded fellow had covered me as if I were a<br> + round target, and I said to myself as well as I could speak for my lips<br> + were like parched peas, 'Morgan Griffiths, twelve shillings a week and<br> + an allowance of coal is better than this'; and I'm not ashamed to own<br> + that I turned round and made my way through the crush of our men, which<br> + was getting less inconveniently pressing at the end nearest to the<br> + levelled barrels.</p> + <p class="main">"There was, to tell the truth, a good deal of movement + towards the rear<br> + amongst our men, and when Mr. Guest saw this he rode up again, and,<br> + standing right between the guns and the front rank of our men, said<br> + something which I could not rightly hear, and then our men began running<br> + off faster than ever, so that in about half an hour the soldiers had the<br> + road to themselves.</p> + <p class="main">"That was not the last of the riots, but it is all + I can tell you about<br> + them, for I had had quite enough of the business. There is something<br> + about the look of a row of muskets pointed at you, with ball inside the<br> + barrels and a steady finger on the triggers, which you don't care to see<br> + too often.</p> + <p class="main">"Anyhow, I went home, and there heard tell of more + fighting all that<br> + week on the Brecon road, of Merthyr in a state of panic, and at last of<br> + Dick Penderyn and Lewis the Huntsman being taken, and the whole of our<br> + men scattered about the country, and hunted as if they were rats.</p> + <p class="main">"It was a bad business, sir--a very bad business, and + I know no more<br> + than them as was shot down in the front of the Castle Hotel how it came<br> + about or what we meant to do. We were like a barrel of gunpowder that<br> + had been broken up and scattered about the road. A spark came, and<br> + poof!--we went off with a bang, and couldn't stop ourselves. Yes, this<br> + is a bad business, too, this strike of to-day, and there's a good many<br> + thousand men going about idle and hungry who were busy and full a month<br> + ago. I don't feel the bitterness of it myself so much, because I have + a<br> + little store in the house. I had been saving it to buy another chest of<br> + drawers to stand there, opposite the door, but it's going out now in<br> + bread and meat, and I don't know whether I shall live to save up enough<br> + after the trouble's over, for I'm getting old now, look you."</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="137"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</p> + <p class="boldleft">MOSQUITOES AND MONACO.</p> + <p class="main">Up to the end of October, in ordinary seasons, the mosquitoes + hold<br> + their own against all comers along the full length of the Riviera. For<br> + some unexplained reasons they clear out earlier from Genoa, though the<br> + atmosphere may be as unbearably close as at other points of the coast<br> + which mosquitoes have in most melancholy manner marked as their own.<br> + Perhaps it is the noise of the city that scares them. The people live<br> + in the street as much as possible, and therein conduct their converse<br> + in highly-pitched notes. I have a strong suspicion that, like the<br> + habitation jointly rented by Messrs. Box and Cox, Genoa is tenanted by<br> + two distinct populations. One fills the place by day and throughout the<br> + evening up to about ten o'clock; after this hour it disappears, and<br> + there is a brief interval of rare repose. About 2 a.m. the Cox of this<br> + joint tenancy appears on the scene, and by four there is a full tide<br> + of bustle that murders sleep as effectually as was ever done by Macbeth.<br> + I do not wonder that the mosquitoes (who, I have the best reason to<br> + know, are insects of the finest discrimination and the most exacting<br> + good taste) quit Genoa at the earliest possible moment.</p> + <p class="main">The most delightful spot in or near the city is, to my mind, + Campo<br> + Santo, the place where rich Genoese go when they die. The burial-ground<br> + is a large plot of ill-kept land, where weeds grow, and mean little<br> + crosses rear their heads. Round this run colonnades adorned with<br> + statuary, generally life-size, and frequently of striking merit.<br> + Originally, it is presumable that the sculptor's art was invoked in<br> + order to perpetuate the memory of the dead. There are in some of the<br> + recesses, either in the form of medallions or busts, life-like<br> + representations of those who have gone before. But the fashion of the<br> + day is improving upon this. In the newest sculptures there is<br> + exceedingly little of the dead, and as much as possible of the living.</p> + <p class="main">About half-way down the colonnade, entering from the right, + there is a<br> + memorable group. A woman of middle age, portly presence and expansive<br> + dress, is discovered in the centre on her knees, with hands clasped.<br> + The figure is life-size and every detail of adornment, from the heavy<br> + bracelet on her wrist to the fine lace of her collar, is wrought from<br> + the imperishable marble. On her face is an expression of profound grief,<br> + tempered by the consciousness that her large earrings have been done<br> + justice to. Standing at a respectful distance behind her is a youth with<br> + bared head drooped, and a tear delicately chiselled in the eye nearest<br> + to the spectator. He carries his hat in his hand, displays much<br> + shirt-cuff; and the bell-shaped cut of the trouser lying over his dainty<br> + boot makes his foot look preciously small.</p> + <p class="main">These figures, both life-size, stand in an arched recess, + and show to<br> + the best advantage. Just above the arch the more observant visitor will<br> + catch sight of a small medallion, modestly displaying, about half<br> + life-size, the face of an ordinary-looking man, who may have been a<br> + prosperous linendraper or a cheesefactor with whom the markets had gone<br> + well. This is presumably the deceased, and it is difficult to imagine<br> + anything more soothing to the feelings of his widow and son than to come<br> + here in the quiet evenings or peaceful mornings and contemplate their<br> + own life-sized figures so becomingly bereaved.</p> + <p class="main">Mosquitoes do not meddle with woe so sacred as this; but + at San Remo,<br> + for example, which has no Campo Santo, they are having what is known in<br> + the American language as a high old time. Along the Riviera the shutters<br> + of the hotels are taken down in the first week of October. Then arrives<br> + the proprietor with the advance guard of servants, and the third cook;<br> + the <span class="italic">chef </span>and his first lieutenant will not + come till a month later. In<br> + the meantime the third cook can prepare the meals for the establishment<br> + and for any chance visitor whom evil fate may have led untimeously into<br> + these parts. Then begins the scrubbing down and the dusting, the<br> + bringing out of stored carpets, and the muffling of echoing corridors<br> + in brown matting. The season does not commence till November,<br> + coincidental with the departure of the mosquitoes. But there is enough<br> + to occupy the interval, and there are not wanting casual travellers<br> + whose bills suffice to cover current expenses. On these wayfarers the<br> + faithful mosquito preys with the desperate determination born of the<br> + conviction that time is getting a little short with him, and that his<br> + pleasant evenings are numbered.</p> + <p class="main">There are several ways of dealing with the mosquito, all + more or less<br> + unsatisfactory. The commonest is to make careful examination before<br> + blowing out the candle, with intent to see that none of the enemy<br> + lingers within the curtains of the bed. This is good, as far as it<br> + goes. But, having spent half an hour with candle in hand inside the<br> + curtains, to the imminent danger of setting the premises on fire, and<br> + having convinced yourself that there is not a mosquito in the inclosure,<br> + and so blown out the candle and prepared to sleep, it requires a mind<br> + of singular equanimity forthwith to hear without emotion the too<br> + familiar whiz. At Bordighera the mosquitoes, disdaining strategic<br> + movements, openly flutter round the lamps on the dinner-table, and<br> + ladies sit at meat with blue gauze veils obscuring their charms. Half<br> + measures were evidently of no use in these circumstances, and I tried<br> + a whole one. Having shut the windows of the bedroom, I smoked several<br> + cigars, tobacco fumes being understood to have a dreamy influence on<br> + the mosquito. At Bordighera they had none. I next made a fire of a box<br> + of matches, and burnt on the embers a quantity of insect powder. This<br> + filled the chamber with an intolerable stench, which, whatever may be<br> + the case elsewhere, is much enjoyed by the Bordighera mosquito. These<br> + operations serve a useful purpose in occupying the mind and helping<br> + the night to pass away. But as direct deterrents they cannot<br> + conscientiously be recommended.</p> + <p class="main">There is one place along the Riviera where the mosquito + is defied.<br> + Monaco has special attractions of its own which triumphantly<br> + withstand all countervailing influences. Other places along the<br> + coast are deserted from the end of June to the beginning of November.<br> + But Monaco, or rather the suburb of it situated on Monte Carlo,<br> + remains in full receipt of custom. In late October the place is<br> + enchanting. The wind, blowing across the sea from Africa, making the<br> + atmosphere heavy and sultry, has changed, coming now from the east<br> + and anon from the west. The heavy clouds that cast shadows of purple<br> + and reddish-brown on the sea have descended in a thunderstorm, lasting<br> + continuously for eight hours. Sky and sea vie in the production of<br> + larger expanse of undimmed blue. The well-ordered garden by the Casino<br> + is sweet with the breath of roses and heliotrope. The lawns have the<br> + fresh green look that we islanders associate with earliest summer. The<br> + palm-trees are at their best, and along the road leading down to the<br> + bathing place one walks under the shadow of oleanders in full and<br> + fragrant blossom. The warmth of the summer day is tempered by a<br> + delicious breeze, which falls at night, lest peradventure visitors<br> + should be incommoded by undue measure of cold.</p> + <p class="main">If there is an easily accessible Paradise on earth, it seems + to be<br> + fixed at Monaco. Yet all these things are as nothing in the eyes of<br> + the people who have created and now maintain the place. It seems at<br> + first sight a marvel that the Administration should go to the expense<br> + of providing the costly appointments which crown its natural advantages.<br> + But the Administration know very well what they are about. When man or<br> + woman has been drawn into the feverish vortex that sweeps around the<br> + gaming tables, the fair scene outside the walls is not of the slightest<br> + consequence. It would be all the same to them if the gaming tables,<br> + instead of being set in a handsome apartment in a palace surrounded by<br> + one of the most beautiful scenes in Europe, were made of deal and<br> + spread in a hovel. But gamesters are, literally, soon played out at<br> + Monaco, and it is necessary to attract fresh moths to the gaudily<br> + glittering candle. Moreover, the tenure of the place is held by slender<br> + threads. What is thought of Monaco and its doings by those who have the<br> + fullest opportunity of studying them is shown by the fact that the<br> + Administration are pledged to refuse admission to the tables to any<br> + subject of the Prince of Monaco, or to any French subject of Nice or<br> + the department of the Maritime Alps. The proclamation of this fact<br> + cynically stares in the face all who enter the Casino. The local<br> + authorities will not have any of their own neighbours ruined. Let<br> + foreigners, or even Frenchmen of other departments, care for themselves.</p> + <p class="main">In face of this sentiment the Administration find it politic + to<br> + propitiate the local authorities and the people, who, if they were<br> + aroused to a feeling of honest indignation at what daily passes beneath<br> + their notice, might sweep the pestilence out of their midst.<br> + Accordingly, whilst keeping the gaming rooms closed against natives<br> + resident in the department, the Administration throw open all the other<br> + pleasures of Monte Carlo, inviting the people of Monaco to stroll in<br> + their beautiful gardens, to listen to the concerts played twice a day + by<br> + a superb band, and to make unfettered use of what is perhaps the best<br> + reading-room on the Continent. Monaco gets a good deal of pleasure out<br> + of Monte Carlo, which moreover brings much good money into the place.<br> + The Casino will surely at no distant day share the fate of the German<br> + gambling places. But, as surely, the initiative of this most desirable<br> + consummation will not come from Monaco.</p> + <p class="main">In the meanwhile, Monte Carlo, like the mosquitoes, is having + a high<br> + good time. Night and day the tables are crowded, beginning briskly at<br> + eleven in the morning and closing wearily on the stroke of midnight.<br> + There are a good many English about, but they do not contribute largely<br> + to the funds of the amiable and enterprising Administration. English<br> + girls, favoured by an indulgent father or a good-natured brother, put<br> + down their five-franc pieces, and, having lost them, go away smiling.<br> + Sometimes the father or the brother may be discovered seated at the<br> + tables later in the day, looking a little flushed, and poorer by some<br> + sovereigns. But Great Britain and Ireland chiefly contribute spectators<br> + to the melancholy and monotonous scene.</p> + <p class="main">As usual, women are among the most reckless players. Looking + in at two<br> + o'clock one afternoon I saw at one of the tables a well-dressed lady of<br> + about thirty, with a purseful of gold before her and a bundle of notes<br> + under her elbow. She was playing furiously, disdaining the mild<br> + excitement of the five-franc piece, always staking gold. She was losing,<br> + and boldly played on with an apparent composure belied by her flushed<br> + cheeks and flashing eyes. I saw her again at ten o'clock in the evening.<br> + She was playing at another table, having probably tried to retrieve her<br> + luck at each in succession. The bank notes were gone, and she had put<br> + away her purse, for it was easy to hold in her prettily-gloved hand her<br> + remaining store of gold. It was only eight hours since I had last seen<br> + her, but in the meantime she had aged by at least ten years. She sat<br> + looking fixedly on the table, from time to time moistening her dry lips<br> + with scarcely less dry tongue. Her face wore a look of infinite sadness,<br> + which might have been best relieved by a burst of tears. But her eyes<br> + were as dry as her lips, and she stared stonily, staking her napoleons<br> + till the last was gone. This accomplished, she rose with evident intent<br> + to leave the room, but catching sight of a friend at another table she<br> + borrowed a handful of napoleons, and finding another table played on<br> + as recklessly as before. In ten minutes she had lost all but a single<br> + gold piece. Leaving the table again, she held this up between her finger<br> + and thumb, and showed it to her friend with a hysterical little laugh.</p> + <p class="main">It was her last coin, and she evidently devised it for some + such<br> + matter-of-fact purpose as paying her hotel bill. If she had turned her<br> + back on the table and walked straight out, she might have kept her<br> + purpose; but the ball was still rolling, and there remained a chance.<br> + She threw down the napoleon, and the croupier raked it in amid a heap + of<br> + coin that might be better or even worse spared.</p> + <p class="main">This is one of the little dramas that take place every hour + in this<br> + gilded hall, and I describe it in detail only because I chanced to be<br> + present at the first scene and the last. Sometimes the dramas become<br> + tragedies, and the Administration, who do all things handsomely, pay<br> + the funeral expenses, and beg as a slight acknowledgment of their<br> + considerate generosity that as little noise as possible may follow<br> + the echo of the pistol-shot.</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="145"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</p> + <p class="boldleft">A WRECK IN THE NORTH SEA.</p> + <p class="main">One December afternoon in the year 1875, just as night was + closing in,<br> + the steam-tug <span class="italic">Liverpool</span>, which had left Harwich + at six o'clock in the<br> + morning, was seen steaming into the harbour with flag half-mast high.<br> + It was quite dark when she reached the quay, but there was light<br> + enough for the crowd collected to see rows of figures laid in the<br> + stern of the little steamer, the faces covered with blankets. These<br> + figures, as it presently was made known, were twelve dead bodies, the<br> + flotsam of the wreck of the <span class="italic">Deutschland</span>. When + the tug arrived at the<br> + wreck she found her much as she had been left when the survivors had<br> + been brought off the previous day. The two masts and the funnel were<br> + all standing, the sails bellied out with the wind that blustered across<br> + the sandbank. The wind was so high and the sea so rough that Captain<br> + Corrington could not bring his tug alongside; but a boat was launched,<br> + under the charge of the chief mate and Captain Brickerstein, of the<br> + <span class="italic">Deutschland</span>. The chief officer and the engineer, + with some sailors<br> + from the tug, rowed out and made fast to the wreck. It was low water,<br> + and the deck was dry. There were no bodies lying about the deck or near<br> + the ship; but on going below, in the saloon cabin there were found<br> + floating about eight women, a man, and two children. These were taken<br> + on board the boat, and further search in the fore-cabin led to the<br> + discovery of the dead body of a man, making twelve in all. One of the<br> + bodies was that of a lady who, when the wreck was first boarded, had<br> + been seen lying in her berth. She had since been washed out, and had<br> + she floated out by the companion-way or through the skylight might<br> + have drifted out to sea with others. Like all the bodies found, she<br> + was fully dressed. Indeed, as fuller information showed, there was an<br> + interval between the striking of the ship and her becoming water-logged<br> + sufficiently long to enable all to prepare for what might follow.</p> + <p class="main">According to the captain's narrative, the ill-fated vessel + steamed out<br> + of Bremenhaven on Sunday morning with a strong east wind blowing and<br> + snow falling thickly. This continued throughout Sunday. All Sunday night<br> + the lead was thrown every half-hour, the last record showing seventeen<br> + fathoms of water. At four o'clock on Monday morning a light was seen,<br> + which the captain believed to be that of the <span class="italic">North + Hinderfire</span> ship, a<br> + supposition which tallied with the reckoning. The vessel was forging<br> + slowly ahead, when, at half-past five, a slight shock was felt. This<br> + was immediately succeeded by others, and the captain knew he had run<br> + on a bank. The order was passed to back the engines. This was<br> + immediately done, but before any way could be made the screw broke<br> + and the ship lay at the mercy of wind and waves. She was bumping<br> + heavily, and it was thought if sail were set she might be carried<br> + over the bank. This was tried, but without effect. The captain then<br> + ordered rockets to be sent up and a gun fired.</p> + <p class="main">In the meantime the boats were ordered to be swung out, + but the sea was<br> + running so high that it was felt it would be madness to launch them. Two<br> + boats were, however, lowered without orders, one being immediately<br> + swamped, and six people who had got into her swept into the sea.<br> + Life-preservers were served out to each passenger. The women were<br> + ordered to keep below in the saloon, and the men marshalled on deck to<br> + take turns at the pumps. At night, when the tide rose, the women were<br> + brought up out of the cabin; some placed in the wheel-house, some on the<br> + bridge, and some on the rigging, where they remained till they were<br> + taken off by the tug that first came to the rescue of the hopeless folk.<br> + The whole of the mail was saved, the purser bringing it into the cabin,<br> + whence it was fished out and taken on board the tug.</p> + <p class="main">The passengers were all in bed when the ship struck, and + were roused<br> + first by the bumping of the hull, and next by the cry that rang fore and<br> + aft for every man and woman to put on life-belts, of which there was a<br> + plentiful store in hand. The women jumped up and swarmed in the<br> + companion-way of the saloon, making for the deck, where they were met + by<br> + the stewardess, who stood in the way, and half forced, half persuaded<br> + them to go back, telling them there was no danger. After the screw had<br> + broken, the engines also failed, and the sails proved useless.</p> + <p class="main">The male passengers then cheerfully formed themselves into + gangs and<br> + worked at the pumps, but, as one said, they "were pumping at the + North<br> + Sea," and as it was obviously impossible to make a clearance of that,<br> + the task was abandoned, and officers, crew, and passengers relapsed into<br> + a state of passive expectancy of succour from without. That this could<br> + not long be coming happily seemed certain. The rockets which had been<br> + sent up had been answered from the shore. The lightship which had helped<br> + to mislead the captain was plainly visible, and at least two ships<br> + sailed by so near that till they began hopelessly to fade away, one to<br> + the northward and the other to the southward, the passengers were sure<br> + those on board had seen the wreck, and were coming to their assistance.</p> + <p class="main">Perhaps it was this certainty of the nearness of succour + that kept off<br> + either the shrieking or the stupor of despair. However that be, it is<br> + one of the most notable features about this fearful scene that, with a<br> + few exceptions, after the first shock everybody was throughout the first<br> + day wonderfully cool, patient, and self-possessed. There was no regular<br> + meal on Monday, but there was plenty to eat and drink, and the<br> + opportunity seems to have been generally, though moderately, improved.<br> + The women kept below all day, and, while the fires were going, were<br> + served with hot soup, meat, bread, and wine, and seemed to have been<br> + inclined to make the best of a bad job.</p> + <p class="main">Towards night the horror of the situation increased in a + measure far<br> + beyond that marked by the darkness. All day long the sea had been<br> + washing over the ship, but by taking refuge in the berths and on the<br> + tables and benches in the saloon it had been possible to keep<br> + comparatively dry. As night fell the tide rose, and at midnight the<br> + water came rushing over the deck in huge volumes, filling the saloon,<br> + and making the cabins floating coffins. The women were ordered up and<br> + instructed to take to the rigging, but many of them, cowed by the<br> + wildness of the sea that now swept the deck fore and aft, and shuddering<br> + before the fury of the pitiless, sleet-laden gale, refused to leave the<br> + saloon.</p> + <p class="main">Then happened horrible scenes which the pen refuses to portray + in their<br> + fulness. One woman, driven mad with fear and despair, deliberately hung<br> + herself from the roof of the saloon. A man, taking out his penknife, dug<br> + it into his wrist and worked it about as long as he had strength, dying<br> + where he fell. Another, incoherently calling on the wife and child he<br> + had left in Germany, rushed about with a bottle in his hand frantically<br> + shouting for paper and pencil. Somebody gave him both, and, scribbling + a<br> + note, he corked it down in a bottle and threw it overboard, following + it<br> + himself a moment later as a great wave came and swept him out of sight.</p> + <p class="main">There were five nuns on board who, by their terror-stricken + conduct,<br> + seem to have added greatly to the weirdness of the scene. They were deaf<br> + to all entreaties to leave the saloon, and when, almost by main force,<br> + the stewardess (whose conduct throughout was plucky) managed to get them<br> + on to the companion-ladder, they sank down on the steps and stubbornly<br> + refused to go another step. They seemed to have returned to the saloon<br> + again shortly, for somewhere in the dead of the night, when the greater<br> + part of the crew and passengers were in the rigging, one was seen with<br> + her body half through the skylight, crying aloud in a voice heard above<br> + the storm, "Oh, my God, make it quick! make it quick!" At daylight, + when<br> + the tide had ebbed, leaving the deck clear, some one from the rigging<br> + went down, and, looking into the cabin, saw the nuns floating about face<br> + upwards, all dead.</p> + <p class="main">There seems to have been a wonderful amount of unselfishness + displayed,<br> + everybody cheering and trying to help every other body. One of the<br> + passengers--a cheery Teuton, named Adolph Herrmann--took a young<br> + American lady under his special charge. He helped her up the rigging<br> + and held her on there all through the night, and says she was as<br> + brave and as self-possessed as if they had been comfortably on shore.<br> + Some time during the night an unknown friend passed down to him a<br> + bottle of whisky. The cork was in the bottle, and as he was holding<br> + on to the rigging with one hand and had the other round the lady,<br> + there was some difficulty in getting at the contents of the bottle.<br> + This he finally solved by knocking the neck off, and then found<br> + himself in the dilemma of not being able to get the bottle to the<br> + lady's mouth.</p> + <p class="main">"You are pouring it down my neck," was her quiet + response to his first<br> + essay. In the end he succeeded in aiming the whisky in the right<br> + direction, and after taking some himself, passed it on, feeling much<br> + refreshed.</p> + <p class="main">Just before a terrible accident occurred, which threatened + death to<br> + one or both. The purser, who had fixed himself in the rigging some<br> + yards above them, getting numbed, loosed his hold, and falling headlong<br> + struck against the lady and bounded off into the sea. But Herrmann kept<br> + his hold, and the shock was scarcely noticed. On such a night all the<br> + obligations were not, as Herrmann gratefully acknowledges, on the one<br> + side; for when one of his feet got numbed, his companion, following his<br> + direction, stamped on it till circulation was restored.</p> + <p class="main">From their perilous post, with waves occasionally dashing + up and<br> + blinding them with spray, they saw some terrible scenes below. A man<br> + tied to the mast nearer the deck had his head cut off by the waves,<br> + as Herrmann says, though probably a rope or a loose spar was the agent.<br> + Not far off, a little boy had his leg broken in the same manner. They<br> + could hear and see one of the nuns shrieking through the skylight, and<br> + when she was silenced the cry was taken up by a woman wailing from<br> + the wheelhouse,--</p> + <p class="main">"My child is drowned, my little one, Adam!"</p> + <p class="main">At daylight a sailor, running nimbly down the rigging, reached + the poop,<br> + and, bending over, attempted to seize some of the half-drowned people<br> + who were floating about. Once he caught a little child by the clothes;<br> + but before he could secure it a wave carried it out of his grasp, and<br> + its shrieks were hushed in the roar of the waters. At nine o'clock, on<br> + the second morning of the wreck the tide had so far ebbed that the deck<br> + was clear, and, coming down from the rigging, the battered and shivering<br> + survivors began to think of getting breakfast. A provident sailor had,<br> + whilst it was possible, taken up aloft a couple of loaves of black<br> + bread, a ham, and some cheese. These were now brought out and fairly<br> + distributed.</p> + <p class="main">An hour and a half later all peril was over, and the gallant + survivors<br> + were steaming for Harwich in the tug-boat <span class="italic">Liverpool</span>.</p> + <p class="main"><br> + <span class="boldleft"><a name="152"></a>CHAPTER XV.</span></p> + <p class="boldleft">A PEEP AT AN OLD HOUSE OF COMMONS FROM THE LADIES' GALLERY.</p> + <p class="main">"No," Mrs. Chiltern-Hundreds said when I asked, + Was she in these days<br> + a constant visitor at the House of Commons? "Chiltern, you know, + has<br> + accepted a place of profit under the Crown, and is no longer eligible<br> + to sit as a member. It is such trouble to get in, and when you are<br> + there the chances are that nothing is going on, so I have given it up.<br> + I remember very well the first time I was there. I wrote all about it<br> + to an old schoolfellow. If you are interested in the subject, I will<br> + show you a copy of what I then jotted down."</p> + <p class="main">I was much interested, and when I saw the letter was glad + I had<br> + expressed my interest. The copy placed at my disposal was undated,<br> + but internal evidence showed that Mrs. Chiltern-Hundreds had paid her<br> + visit in the session of 1874, when Mr. Disraeli had for the first time<br> + in his history been returned to power as well as to office, and Mr.<br> + Gladstone, crushed by an overwhelming defeat, had written his famous<br> + letter to "My dear Granville," announcing his retirement from<br> + political life. Looking down through the grille, the visitor in the<br> + gallery saw many bearers of well-known names who have travelled far<br> + since that date, some beyond the grave. Here are Madame's notes<br> + written in her own angular handwriting:--</p> + <p class="main">"Be in the great hall at four o'clock."</p> + <p class="main">Those were Chiltern's words to me as he hurried off after + luncheon,<br> + and here we were in the great hall, but there was no Chiltern,<br> + which was vexatious. True, it was half-past four, and he is such a<br> + stickler for what he calls punctuality, and has no sympathy with<br> + those delays which are inseparable from going out in a new bonnet.<br> + One of the strings----but there, what does it matter? Here we were<br> + standing in the great hall, where we had been told to come, and no<br> + one to meet us. There was a crowd of persons standing before the<br> + entrance to a corridor to the left of the hall. Two policemen were<br> + continually begging them to stand back and not block up the entrance,<br> + so that the members who were passing in and out (I dare say on the<br> + look-out for their wives, so that they should not be kept here a<br> + moment) might not be inconvenienced. It is really wonderful how<br> + careful the police about Westminster are of the sacred persons of<br> + members. If I cross the road at the bottom of Parliament Street by<br> + myself I may be run over by a hansom cab or even an omnibus, without<br> + the slightest compunction on the part of the police on duty there.<br> + But if Chiltern happens to be with me the whole of the traffic going<br> + east and west is stopped, and a policeman with outstretched hands<br> + stands waiting till we have gained the other side of the road.</p> + <p class="main">We were gazing up with the crowd at somebody who was lighting + the<br> + big chandelier by swinging down from somewhere in the roof a sort<br> + of censer, when Chiltern came out of the corridor and positively<br> + began to scold us for being late. I thought that at the time very<br> + mean, as I was just going to scold him; but he knows the advantage<br> + of getting the first word. He says, Why were we half an hour late?<br> + and how could he meet us there at four if at that time we had not<br> + left home? But that's nonsense. Chiltern has naturally a great<br> + flow of words, which he has cultivated by close attendance upon<br> + his Parliamentary duties. But he is mistaken if he thinks I am a<br> + Resolution and am to be moved by being "spoken to."</p> + <p class="main">We walked through a gallery into a hall something like that + in which<br> + Chiltern had kept us waiting, only much smaller. This was full of men<br> + chattering away in a manner of which an equal number of women would<br> + have been ashamed. There was one nice pleasant-looking gentleman<br> + carefully wrapped up in an overcoat with a fur collar and cuffs.<br> + That was Earl Granville, Chiltern said. I was glad to see his<br> + lordship looking so well and taking such care of himself. There<br> + was another peer there, a little man with a beaked nose, the only<br> + thing about him that reminded you of the Duke of Wellington. He had<br> + no overcoat, being evidently too young to need or care for such<br> + encumbrance. He wore a short surtout and a smart blue necktie, and<br> + frisked about the hall in quite a lively way. Chiltern said that he<br> + was Lord Hampton, with whom my great-grandfather went to Eton. He<br> + was at that time plain "John Russell" (not Lord John of course),<br> + and has for the last forty-five years been known as Sir John<br> + Pakington. But then Chiltern has a way of saying funny things, and<br> + I am not sure that he was in earnest in telling us that this active<br> + young man was really the veteran of Droitwich.</p> + <p class="main">From this hall, through a long carpeted passage, catching + glimpses<br> + on the way of snug writing rooms, cosy libraries, and other devices<br> + for lightening senatorial labours, we arrived at a door over which<br> + was painted the legend "To the Ladies' Gallery." This opened + on to a<br> + flight of steps at the top of which was another long corridor, and<br> + we found ourselves at last at the door of the Ladies' Gallery, where<br> + we were received by a smiling and obliging attendant.</p> + <p class="main">I expected to find a fine open gallery something like the + orchestra<br> + at the Albert Hall, or at least like the dress circle at Drury Lane.<br> + Picture my disappointment when out of the bright light of the<br> + corridor we stepped into a sort of cage, with no light save what<br> + came through the trellis-work in front. I thought this was one of<br> + Chiltern's stupid practical jokes, and being a little cross through<br> + his having kept us waiting for such an unconscionable long time, was<br> + saying something to him when the smiling and obliging attendant said,<br> + "Hush-sh-sh!" and pointed to a placard on which was printed, + like a<br> + spelling lesson, the impertinent injunction "Silence is requested."</p> + <p class="main">There was no doubt about it. This was the Ladies' Gallery + of the British<br> + House of Commons, and a pretty place it is to which to invite ladies. + I<br> + never was good at geometry and that sort of thing, and cannot say how<br> + many feet or how many furlongs the gallery is in length, but I counted<br> + fourteen chairs placed pretty close together, and covered with a hideous<br> + green damask. There are three rows of chairs, the two back rows being<br> + raised above the first the height of one step. As far as seeing into the<br> + House is concerned, one might as well sit down on the flight of steps + in<br> + Westminster Hall as sit on a chair in the back row in the Ladies'<br> + Gallery. On the second row it is tolerable enough, or at least you get + a<br> + good view of the little old gentleman with the sword by his side sitting<br> + in a chair at the far end of the House. I thought at first this was the<br> + Speaker, and wondered why gentlemen on the cross benches should turn<br> + their backs to him. But Chiltern said it was Lord Charles Russell,<br> + Sergeant-at-Arms, a much more important personage than the Speaker, who<br> + takes the Mace home with him every night, and is responsible for its due<br> + appearance on the table when the Speaker takes the chair.</p> + <p class="main">In the front row you can see well enough--what there is + to be seen, for<br> + I confess that my notion of the majesty of the House of Commons is<br> + mightily modified since I beheld it with my own eyes. In the first place<br> + you are quite shut out of sight in the Ladies' Gallery, and I might have<br> + saved myself all the trouble of dressing, which made me a little late<br> + and gave Chiltern an opportunity of saying disagreeable things which he<br> + subsequently spread over a fortnight. I might have been wearing a<br> + coal-scuttle bonnet or a mushroom hat for all it mattered in a prison<br> + like this. There was sufficient light for me to see with satisfaction<br> + that other people had given themselves at least an equal amount of<br> + trouble. Two had arrived in charming evening dress, with the loveliest<br> + flowers in their hair. I dare say they were going out to dinner, and at<br> + least I hope so, for it is a disgraceful thing that women should be<br> + entrapped into spending their precious time dressing for a few hours'<br> + stay in a swept and garnished coal-hole like this.</p> + <p class="main">The smiling and obliging attendant offered me the consolation + of knowing<br> + that the Gallery is quite a charming place compared with what it used + to<br> + be. Thirty or forty years ago, whilst the business of Parliament was<br> + carried on in a temporary building, accommodation for ladies was<br> + provided in a narrow box stationed above the Strangers' Gallery, whence<br> + they peered into the House through pigeon holes something like what you<br> + see in the framework of a peep-show. The present Gallery formed part of<br> + the design of the new Houses, but when it was opened it was a vastly<br> + different place. It was much darker, had no ante-rooms worth speaking<br> + of, and the leading idea of a sheep-pen was preserved to the extent of<br> + dividing it into three boxes, each accommodating seven ladies. About<br> + twelve years ago one of the dividing walls was knocked down, and the<br> + Ladies' Gallery thrown into a single chamber, with a special pen to<br> + which admission is obtained only by order from the Speaker. Still much<br> + remained to be done to make it even such a place as it now is, and that<br> + work was done by that much--and, as Chiltern will always have it,<br> + <span class="italic">unjustly</span>--abused man, Mr. Ayrton. It was he + who threw open the back of<br> + the Gallery, giving us some light and air, and it is to him that we<br> + ladies are indebted for the dressing-room and the tea-room.</p> + <p class="main">This being shut up is one reason why I was disappointed + with the House<br> + of Commons. Another is with respect to the size of the chamber itself.<br> + It is wonderful to think how <span class="italic">big</span> men can talk + in a room like this. It<br> + is scarcely larger than a good-sized drawing-room. I must say for<br> + Chiltern that we got seats in the front row, and what there was to be<br> + seen we saw. Right opposite to us was a gallery with rows of men sitting<br> + six deep. It was "a big night," and there was not a seat to + spare in<br> + this, which I suppose was the Strangers' Gallery. Everybody there had<br> + his hat off, and there was an official sitting on a raised chair in the<br> + middle of the top row, something like I saw the warders sitting amongst<br> + prisoners at Millbank one Sunday morning when Chiltern took me to see<br> + the Claimant repeating the responses to the Litany. The House itself is<br> + of oblong shape, with rows of benches on either side, cushioned in<br> + green leather and raised a little above each other. There are four of<br> + these rows on either side, with a broad passage between covered with<br> + neat matting.</p> + <p class="main">Chiltern says the floor is an open framework of iron, and + that beneath<br> + is a labyrinth of chambers into which fresh air is pumped and forced in<br> + a gentle stream into the House, the vitiated atmosphere escaping by the<br> + roof. But then the same authority, when I asked him what the narrow band<br> + of red colour that ran along the matting about a pace in front of the<br> + benches on either side meant, gravely told me that if any member when<br> + addressing the House stepped out beyond that line, Lord Charles Russell<br> + would instantly draw his sword, shout his battle-cry, "Who goes Home!"<br> + and rushing upon the offender bear him off into custody.</p> + <p class="main">So you see it is difficult to know what to believe, and + it is a pity<br> + people will not always say what they mean in plain English.</p> + <p class="main">Midway down each row of benches is a narrow passage that + turned out<br> + to be "the gangway," of which you read and hear so much. I had + always<br> + associated "the gangway" with a plank along which you walked + to<br> + somewhere--perhaps on to the Treasury Bench. But it is only a small<br> + passage like a narrow aisle in a church. There is a good deal of<br> + significance about this gangway, for anybody who sits below it is<br> + supposed to be of an independent turn of mind, and not to be capable<br> + of purchase by Ministers present or prospective. Thus all the Irish<br> + members sit below the gangway, and so do Mr. Macdonald and Mr. Charles<br> + Lewis. It is an odd thing, Chiltern observes, that, notwithstanding<br> + this peculiarity, Ministries are invariably recruited from below the<br> + gangway. Sir Henry James sat there for many Sessions before he was<br> + made Solicitor-General, and there was no more prominent figure in<br> + recent years than that of the gentleman who used to be known as<br> + "Mr. Vernon Harcourt."</p> + <p class="main">On the conservative side this peculiarity is less marked + than on the<br> + Liberal, though it was below the gangway on the Conservative side<br> + that on a memorable night more than a quarter of a century ago a<br> + certain dandified young man, with well-oiled locks and theatrically<br> + folded arms, stood, and, glaring upon a mocking House, told them that<br> + the time would come when they <span class="italic">should </span>hear + him. As a rule, the<br> + Conservatives make Ministers of men who have borne the heat and<br> + burden of the day on the back Ministerial benches. With the Liberals<br> + the pathway of promotion, Chiltern says, opens from below the gangway.<br> + Mr. Lowe came from there, so did Mr Goschen, Mr. Stansfeld, Mr.<br> + Childers, Mr. Foster, and even Mr. Gladstone himself. The worst thing<br> + a Liberal member who wants to become a Cabinet Minister or a Judge<br> + can do is to sit on the back Ministerial benches, vote as he is bidden,<br> + and hold his tongue when he is told. He should go and sit below the<br> + gangway, near Mr Goldsmid or Mr. Trevelyan, and in a candid, ingenuous,<br> + and truly patriotic manner make himself on every possible occasion as<br> + disagreeable to the leaders of his party as he can.</p> + <p class="main">I do not attempt to disguise the expectation I cherish of + being some day<br> + wife of the First Lord of the Admiralty, or at least of the President + of<br> + the Board of Trade; for there are few men who can, upon occasion, make<br> + themselves more disagreeable than Chiltern, who through these awkward<br> + bars I see sitting below the gangway on the left-hand side, and calling<br> + out "Hear, hear!" to Sir Stafford Northcote, who is saying something<br> + unpleasant about somebody on the front Opposition benches.</p> + <p class="main">The front seat by the table on the right-hand side is the + Treasury<br> + bench, and the smiling and obliging attendant tells me the names of the<br> + occupants there and in other parts of the House. The gentleman at the<br> + end of the seat with the black patch over his eye is Lord Barrington,<br> + who, oddly enough, sits for the borough of Eye, and fills the useful<br> + office of Vice-Chamberlain. Next to him is Sir H. Selwin-Ibbetson,<br> + Under-Secretary of State for the Home Department, and whom I have<br> + heard genially described as "one of the prosiest speakers in the<br> + House." Next to him, with a paper in his hand and a smirk of supreme<br> + self-satisfaction on his face, is Mr. Cross, the Home Secretary.</p> + <p class="main">He sits beside a figure you would notice wherever you saw + it. The<br> + legs are crossed, the arms folded, and the head bent down, showing<br> + from here one of the most remarkable styles of doing the human hair<br> + that ever I beheld. The hair is combed forward from the crown of the<br> + head and from partings on either side, and brought on to the forehead,<br> + where it is apparently pasted together in a looped curl.</p> + <p class="main">This is Mr. Disraeli, as I know without being told, though + I see him<br> + now for the first time. He is wonderfully old-looking, with sunken<br> + cheeks and furrowed lines about the mouth and eyes. But his lofty<br> + brow does not seem to have a wrinkle on it, and his hands, when he<br> + draws them from under his arms and folds them before him, twiddling<br> + his thumbs the while, are as smooth and white as Coningsby's. He is<br> + marvellously motionless, sitting almost in the same position these<br> + two hours. But he is as watchful as he is quiet. I can see his eyes<br> + taking in all that goes on on the bench at the other side of the<br> + table, where right hon. gentlemen, full of restless energy, are<br> + constantly talking to each other, or passing notes across each other,<br> + or even pulling each other's coat-tails and loudly whispering<br> + promptings as in turn they rise and address the House.</p> + <p class="main">I observe that Mr. Disraeli does not wear his hat in the + House, and<br> + Chiltern, to whom I mention this when he comes up again, tells me<br> + that he and some half-dozen others never do. Since Mr Gladstone has<br> + retired from the cares of office he is sometimes, but very rarely,<br> + able to endure the weight of his hat on his head while sitting in<br> + the House; but, formerly, he never wore it in the presence of the<br> + Speaker. The rule is to wear your hat in the House, and a very odd<br> + effect it has to see men sitting about in a well-lighted and warm<br> + chamber with their hats on their heads.</p> + <p class="main">Chiltern tells me this peculiarity of wearing hats was very + nearly<br> + the means of depriving Great Britain and Ireland of the presence in<br> + Parliament of Mr. John Martin. That distinguished politician, it<br> + appears, had never, before County Meath sent him to Parliament,<br> + worn a hat of the hideous shape which fashion entails upon our<br> + suffering male kindred. It is well known that when he was returned<br> + he declared that he would never sit at Westminster, the reason<br> + assigned for this eccentricity being that he recognised no<br> + Parliament in which the member for County Meath might sit other<br> + than one meeting of the classic ground of College Green. But<br> + Chiltern says that was only a poetical flight, the truth lying at<br> + the bottom of the hat.</p> + <p class="main">"Never," Mr. Martin is reported to have said to + a Deputation of his<br> + constituents, "will I stoop to wear a top hat. I never had one on + my<br> + head, and the Saxon shall never make me put it there."</p> + <p class="main">He was as good as his word when he first came to town, and + was wont to<br> + appear in a low-crowned beaver hat of uncertain architecture. But after<br> + he had for some weeks assisted the process of Legislature under the<br> + shadow of this hat, the Speaker privately and in considerate terms<br> + conveyed to him a hint that, in the matter of hats at least, it was<br> + desirable to have uniformity in the House of Commons.</p> + <p class="main">Mr. Martin, who, in spite of his melodramatic speeches and + his strong<br> + personal resemblance to Danny Man in the "Colleen Nawn," is, + Chiltern<br> + says, really one of the gentlest and most docile of men, straightway<br> + abandoned the nondescript hat and sacrificed his inclinations and<br> + principles to the extent of buying what he calls "a top hat." + But he<br> + has not taken kindly to it, and never will. It is always getting in his<br> + way, under his feet or between his knees, and he is apparently driven<br> + to observe the precaution of constantly holding it in his hands when it<br> + is not safely disposed on his head. It is always thus held before him,<br> + a hand firmly grasping the rim on either side, when he is making those<br> + terrible speeches we read, in which he proves that John Mitchel is an<br> + unoffending martyr, and that the English, to serve their private ends,<br> + introduced the famine in Ireland.</p> + <p class="main">Mr. Cowen, the member for Newcastle, shares Mr Martin's + prejudices about<br> + hats, and up to the present time has not abandoned them. As we passed<br> + through the lobby on our way to the Gallery, Chiltern pointed him out + to<br> + me. He was distinguished in the throng by wearing a round hat of soft<br> + felt, and he has never been seen at Westminster in any other. But at<br> + least he does not put it on his head in the House; and it is much better<br> + to sit upon than the tall hats on the top of which excited orators not<br> + unfrequently find themselves when, hotly concluding their perorations<br> + and unconscious of having left their hats just behind them, they throw<br> + themselves back on the bench from which they had erewhile risen to "say<br> + a few words."</p> + <p class="main">The gentleman on the left of the Premier is said to be Sir + Stafford<br> + Northcote, but there is so little of his face to be seen through the<br> + abundance of whisker and moustache that I do not think any one has a<br> + right to speak positively on the matter. The smooth-faced man next to<br> + him is Mr. Gathorne Hardy. The tall, youthful-looking man on his left + is<br> + Sir Michael Hicks-Beach, who, I suppose by instructions of the Cabinet,<br> + generally sits, as he does to-night, next to Mr. Ward Hunt. The Chief<br> + Secretary for Ireland is slim; not to put too fine a point on it, Mr.<br> + Ward Hunt is not, and the two manage to seat themselves with some<br> + approach to comfort. The First Lord of the Admiralty further eases the<br> + pressure on his colleagues by throwing his left arm over the back of the<br> + bench, where it hangs like a limb of some monumental tree.</p> + <p class="main">The carefully devised scheme for the disposition of Mr. + Ward Hunt on the<br> + Treasury bench is completed by assigning the place on the other side of<br> + him to Sir Charles Adderley. The President of the Board of Trade,<br> + Chiltern says, is understood to have long passed the mental stage at<br> + which old John Willet had arrived when he was discovered sitting in his<br> + chair in the dismantled bar of the Maypole after the rioters had visited<br> + his hostelry. He is apparently unconscious of discomfort when crushed + up<br> + or partially sat upon by his elephantine colleague, which is a fortunate<br> + circumstance.</p> + <p class="main">The stolid man with the straight back directly facing Mr + Disraeli on the<br> + front bench opposite is the Marquis of Hartington. The gentleman with<br> + uncombed hair and squarely cut garments on the left of the Leader of the<br> + Opposition is Mr Forster. The big man further to the left, who sits with<br> + folded arms and wears a smile expressive of his satisfaction with all<br> + mankind, particularly with Sir William Harcourt, is the<br> + ex-Solicitor-General. The duck of a man with black hair, nicely oiled<br> + and sweetly waved, is Sir Henry James. Where have I seen him before? His<br> + face and figure and attitude seem strangely familiar to me. I have been<br> + shopping this morning, but I do not think I could have seen behind any<br> + milliner's or linendraper's counter a person like the hon. and learned<br> + gentleman the member for Taunton.</p> + <p class="main">Beyond this doughty knight, and last at this end of the + bench, is a<br> + little man in spectacles, and with a preternatural look of wisdom on his<br> + face. He is the Right Hon. Lyon Playfair, and is said to have, next to<br> + Mr. Fawcett, the most remarkably retentive memory of any man in the<br> + House. Chiltern says he always writes his lectures before he delivers<br> + them to the House, sending the manuscript to the <span class="italic">Times</span>, + and so accurate<br> + is his recitation that the editor has only to sprinkle the lecture with<br> + "Hear, hears!" and "Cheers" to make the thing complete.</p> + <p class="main">On the right-hand side of the Marquis of Hartington is Mr. + Goschen. In<br> + fact, at the moment I happen to have reached him in my survey he is on<br> + his feet, asking a question of his "right hon. friend opposite." + What a<br> + curious attitude the man stands in! Apparently the backs of his legs are<br> + glued to the bench from which he has risen, a device which enables him,<br> + as he speaks, to lean forward like a human Tower of Pisa. He is putting<br> + the simplest question in the world to the Chancellor of the Exchequer,<br> + but if he were a junior clerk asking his employer for the hand of his<br> + eldest daughter he could not look more sheepish. His hat is held in his<br> + left hand behind his back possibly with a view to assist in balancing<br> + him, and to avoid too much strain on the adhesive powers that keep the<br> + back of his legs firmly attached to the bench. With his right hand he<br> + is, when not pulling up his collar, feeling himself nervously round the<br> + waist, as if to make sure that he is there.</p> + <p class="main">Next to him are Mr. Dodson and Mr. Campbell-Bannerman, and, + with these<br> + planted between him and actual or aspirant leaders of the Liberal party,<br> + sits Mr. Lowe. I cannot see much of his face from here, for he wears his<br> + hat and at the moment hangs his head. A little later on I both saw and<br> + heard him speak and a splendid speech he made, going right to the heart<br> + of the matter, laying it bare. His success as a debater is a marvellous<br> + triumph of mind over material influences. It would be hard to conceive<br> + a man having fewer of the outward graces of oratory than Mr Lowe. His<br> + utterance is hesitating, sometimes even to stuttering, he speaks<br> + hurriedly, and without emphasis; his manner is nervous and restless, and<br> + he is so short-sighted that the literary quotations with which his<br> + speeches abound are marred by painful efforts to read his notes. Yet how<br> + he rouses the House, moving it to cheers and laughter, and to the rapid<br> + interchange of volleys of "Hear, hear" from opposite sides of + the House,<br> + which Chiltern says is the most exhilarating sound that can reach the<br> + ear of a speaker in the House of Commons. Mr. Lowe sits down with the<br> + same abruptness that marked his rising, and rather gets into his hat<br> + than puts it on, pushing his head so far into its depths that there is<br> + nothing of him left on view save what extends below the line of his<br> + white eyebrows.</p> + <p class="main">To the right of Mr. Lowe I see a figure which, foreshortened + from my<br> + point of view, is chiefly distinguishable by a hat and pair of boots.<br> + Without absolute Quaker fashion about the cut of the hat or garments,<br> + there is a breadth about the former and a looseness about the latter<br> + suggestive of Quaker associations. Perhaps if my idea were mercilessly<br> + analysed it would appear that it has its growth in the knowledge that<br> + I am looking down on Mr. Bright, and that I know Mr. Bright is of<br> + Quaker parentage. But I am jotting down my impressions as I receive<br> + them. Mr. Bright does not address the House to-night, but he has made<br> + one or two short speeches this Session, and Chiltern, who has heard<br> + them, speaks quite sorrowfully of the evidence they give of failing<br> + physical power. The orator who once used to hold the House of Commons<br> + under his command with as much ease as Apollo held in hand the fiery<br> + coursers of the chariot of the sun, now stands before it on rare<br> + occasions with a manner more nervous than that in which some new<br> + members make their maiden speech. The bell-like tones of his voice are<br> + heard no more; he hesitates in choosing words, is not sure of the<br> + sequence of his phrases, and resumes his seat with evident<br> + gratefulness for the renewed rest.</p> + <p class="main">Chiltern adds that much of this nervousness is probably + owing to a<br> + sensibility of the expectation which his rising arouses in the House,<br> + and a knowledge that he is not about to make the "great speech" + looked<br> + for ever since he returned to his old place. But at best the matchless<br> + oratory of John Bright is already a tradition in the House of Commons,<br> + and it is but the ghost of the famous Tribune who now nightly haunts<br> + the scene of his former glories. Mr Gladstone was sitting next to Mr.<br> + Bright, in what the always smiling and obliging attendant tells me is<br> + a favourite attitude with him. His legs were stretched out, his hands<br> + loosely clasped before him, and his head thrown back, resting on the<br> + cushion at the back of the seat, so that the soft light from the<br> + illuminated roof shone full on his upturned face. It is a beautiful<br> + face, soft as a woman's, very pale and worn, with furrowed lines that<br> + tell of labour done and sorrow lived through.</p> + <p class="main">Here again I am conscious of the possibility of my impressions + being<br> + moulded by my knowledge of facts; but I fancy I see a great alteration<br> + since last I looked on Mr. Gladstone's face, now two years ago. It was<br> + far away from here, in a big wooden building in a North Wales town. He<br> + was on a platform surrounded by grotesque men in blue gowns and caps,<br> + which marked high rank in Celtic bardship. At that time he was the<br> + nominal leader of a great majority that would not follow him, and<br> + president of a Ministry that thwarted all his steps. His face looked<br> + much harder then, and his eye glanced restlessly round, taking in<br> + every movement of the crowd in the pavilion. He seemed to exist in a<br> + hectic flush of life, and was utterly incapable of taking rest. Now his<br> + face, though still thin, has filled up. The lines on his brow and under<br> + his eyes, though too deeply furrowed to be eradicable, have been<br> + smoothed down, and there is about his face a sense of peace and a<br> + pleasant look of rest.</p> + <p class="main">Chiltern says that sometimes when Mr. Gladstone has been + in the House<br> + this Session he has, during the progress of a debate, momentarily<br> + sprung into his old attitude of earnest, eager attention, and there<br> + have been critical moments when his interposition in debate has<br> + appeared imminent. But he has conquered the impulse, lain back again<br> + on the bench, and let the House go its own way. It is very odd,<br> + Chiltern says, to have him sitting there silent in the midst of so<br> + much talking. This was specially felt during the debate about those<br> + Irish Acts with which he had so much to do.</p> + <p class="main">Chiltern tells me that whilst the debate on the Irish Bill + was going on<br> + there came from no one knows where, passed from hand to hand along the<br> + benches, a scrap of paper on which was written this verse from "In<br> + Memoriam":--</p> + <blockquote> + <p> <span class="smallquote">"At our old pastimes in the hall<br> + We gambol'd making vain pretence<br> + Of gladness, With an awful sense<br> + Of one mute Shadow watching all."</span></p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">Although the gangway has a distinct and important significance + in<br> + marking off <span class="italic">nuances </span>of political parties, + it appears that it does not<br> + follow as an inevitable sequence that because a man sits behind the<br> + Ministerial bench he is therefore a Taper or a Tadpole, or that because<br> + he takes up his quarters below the gangway he is a John Hampden. The<br> + distinction is more strongly marked on the Liberal side; but even there<br> + there are some honest men who usually obey the crack of the Whip. On the<br> + Conservative side the gangway has scarcely any significance, and though<br> + the Lewisian "Party," which consists solely of Charles, sits + there, and<br> + from time to time reminds the world of its existence by loudly shouting<br> + in its ear, it may always be depended upon in a real party division to<br> + swell the Ministerial majority by one vote. The Scotch members, who sit<br> + chiefly on the Liberal side, spread themselves impartially over seats<br> + above and below the gangway. The Home Rule members, who also favour the<br> + Liberal side, sit together in a cluster below the gangway in defiant<br> + proximity to the Sergeant-at-Arms. They are rather noisy at times, and<br> + whenever Chiltern comes in late to dinner, or after going back stays<br> + till all hours in the morning, it is sure to be "those Irish fellows."<br> + But I think the House of Commons ought to be much obliged to Ireland for<br> + its contribution of members, and to resist to the last the principle of<br> + Home Rule. For it is not, as at present constituted, an assembly that<br> + can afford to lose any element that has about it a tinge of originality,<br> + a flash of humour, or an echo of eloquence.</p> + <p class="main">That, of course, is Chiltern's remark. I only know, for + my part, that<br> + the Ladies' Gallery is a murky den, in which you can hear very little,<br> + not see much, and are yourself not seen at all.</p> + <p></p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</p> + <p class="boldleft">SOME PREACHERS I HAVE KNOWN.</p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="170"></a>MR. MOODY.</p> + <p class="main">I heard Mr. Moody preach twice when he paid his first visit + to this<br> + country. Borrowing an idea from another profession, he had a series of<br> + rehearsals before he came to London. It was in the Free Trade Hall,<br> + Manchester, and service opened at eight o'clock on a frosty morning in<br> + December. I had to stand during the whole of the service, one of a crowd<br> + wedged in the passages between the closely-packed benches. Every<br> + available seat had been occupied shortly after seven, when the doors<br> + were thrown open. The galleries were thronged, and even the balconies + at<br> + the rear of the hall were full to overflowing. The audience were, I<br> + should say, pretty equally divided in the matter of sex, and were<br> + apparently of the class of small tradesmen, clerks, and well-to do<br> + mechanics; that was the general class of the morning congregation. But<br> + it must not therefore be understood that the upper class in Manchester<br> + stood aloof from the special services of the American gentlemen. At the<br> + afternoon meeting, elegantly attired ladies and gentlemen, wearing<br> + spotless kid gloves and coats of irreproachable cut, struggled for a<br> + place in the mighty throng that streamed into the hall.</p> + <p class="main">Punctually at eight o'clock the meeting was opened by one + of the local<br> + clergymen, who prayed for a blessing on the day and the work, declaring,<br> + amid subdued but triumphant cries from portions of the congregation,<br> + that "the Lord has risen indeed! Now is the stone rolled away from + the<br> + sepulchre, and the Kingdom of God is at hand." Mr. Moody, who sat + at a<br> + small desk in front of the platform, advanced and gave out the hymn,<br> + "Guide us, O Thou Great Jehovah," the singing of which Mr. Sankey,<br> + sitting before a small harmonium, led and accompanied, the vast<br> + congregation joining with great heartiness.</p> + <p class="main">"Mr. Sankey will now sing a hymn by himself," + said Mr. Moody; whereupon<br> + there was a movement in the hall, a rustling of dresses, and a general<br> + settling down to hear something special.</p> + <p class="main">The movement was so prolonged that Mr. Moody again stood + up, and begged<br> + that every one would be "perfectly still whilst Mr. Sankey sang." + There<br> + was another pause, Mr. Sankey waiting with marked punctiliousness till<br> + the last cougher had got over his difficulty. Presently the profound<br> + stillness was broken by the harmonium--"melodeon" is, I believe, + the<br> + precise name of the instrument--softly sounding a bar of music. Then Mr.<br> + Sankey suddenly and loudly broke in with the first line of the hymn,<br> + "What are you going to do, brother?"</p> + <p class="main">Mr Sankey has a fairly good voice, which he used in what + is called "an<br> + effective" manner, singing certain lines of the hymn <span class="italic">pianissimo</span>, + and<br> + giving the recurrent line, "What are you going to do, brother?" + <span class="italic">forte</span>,<br> + with a long dwelling on the monosyllable "do." When he reached + the<br> + last verse, he, after a short pause, began to play a tune well known at<br> + these meetings, into which the congregation struck with a mighty voice<br> + that served to bring into stronger prominence the artificial character<br> + of the preceding performance. The words had a martial, inspiriting sound,<br> + and as the verse rolled forth, filling the great hall with a mighty<br> + musical noise, one could see the eyes of strong men fill with tears.</p> + <blockquote> + <p> <span class="smallquote">"Ho, my comrades! see the signal<br> + Waving in the sky;<br> + Reinforcements now appearing,<br> + Victory is nigh!<br> + 'Hold the fort, for I am coming,'<br> + Jesus signals still;<br> + Wave the answer back to Heaven,<br> + 'By Thy grace we Will.'"</span></p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">The subject of Mr. Moody's address was "Daniel"--whom + he once,<br> + referring to the prophet's position under King Darius, dubbed "the<br> + Bismarck of those times," and always called "Dan'l." One + might converse<br> + for an hour with Mr. Moody without discovering from his accent that he<br> + comes from the United States. But it is unmistakable when he preaches,<br> + and especially in the colloquies supposed to have taken place between<br> + characters in the Bible and elsewhere.</p> + <p class="main">He began his discourse without other preface than a half + apology for<br> + selecting a subject which, it might be supposed, everybody knew<br> + everything about. But, for his part, he liked to take out and look upon<br> + the photographs of old friends when they were far away, and he hoped his<br> + hearers would not think it waste of time to take another look at the<br> + picture of Dan'l. One peculiarity about Dan'l was that there was nothing<br> + against his character to be found all through the Bible. Nowadays, when<br> + men write biographies, they throw what they call the veil of charity<br> + over the dark spots in a career. But when God writes a man's life he<br> + puts it all in. So it happened that there are found very few, even of<br> + the best men in the Bible, without their times of sin. But Dan'l came + out<br> + spotless, and the preacher attributed his exceptionally bright life<br> + to the power of saying "No."</p> + <p class="main">After this exordium, Mr. Moody proceeded to tell in his + own words the<br> + story of the life of Daniel. Listening to him, it was not difficult to<br> + comprehend the secret of his power over the masses. Like Bunyan, he<br> + possesses the great gift of being able to realise things unseen, and to<br> + describe his vision in familiar language to those whom he addresses. His<br> + notion of "Babylon, that great city," would barely stand the + test of<br> + historic research. But that there really was in far-off days a great<br> + city called Babylon, in which men bustled about, ate and drank, schemed<br> + and plotted, and were finally overruled by the visible hand of God, he<br> + made as clear to the listening congregation as if he were talking about<br> + Chicago.</p> + <p class="main">He filled the lay figures with life, clothed them with garments, + and<br> + then made them talk to each other in the English language as it is<br> + to-day accented in some of the American States.</p> + <p class="main">On the previous night I had heard him deliver an address + in one of the<br> + densely populated districts of Salford. Admission to the chapel in which<br> + the service was held was exclusively confined to women, and,<br> + notwithstanding it was Saturday night, there were at least a thousand<br> + sober-looking and respectably dressed women present. The subject of the<br> + discussion was Christ's conversation with Nicodemus--whose social<br> + position Mr. Moody incidentally made familiar to the congregation by<br> + observing, "if he had lived in these days, he would have been a doctor<br> + of divinity, Nicodemus, D. D, or perhaps LL D." His purpose was to + make<br> + it clear that men are saved, not by any action of their own, but simply<br> + by faith. This he illustrated, among other ways, by introducing a<br> + domestic scene from the life of the children of Israel in the Wilderness<br> + at the time the brazen serpent was lifted up. The dramatis personae were<br> + a Young Convert, a Sceptic, and the Sceptic's Mother. The convert, who<br> + has been bitten by the serpent, and, having followed Moses' injunction,<br> + is cured, "comes along" and finds the sceptic lying down "badly + bitten."<br> + He entreats him to look upon the brazen serpent which Moses has lifted<br> + up. But the sceptic has no faith in the alleged cure, and refuses.</p> + <p class="main">"Do you think," he says, "I'm going to be + saved by looking at a brass<br> + serpent away off on a pole? No, no."</p> + <p class="main">"Wall, I dunno," says the young convert, "but + I was saved that way<br> + myself. Don't you think you'd better try it?"</p> + <p class="main">The sceptic refuses, and his mother "comes along," + and observes,<br> + --"Hadn't you better look at it, my boy?"</p> + <p class="main">"Well, mother, the fact is, if I could understand the + f'losophy of it I<br> + would look up right off; but I don't see how a brass serpent away off + on<br> + a pole can cure me."</p> + <p class="main">And so he dies in his unbelief.</p> + <p class="main">It seemed odd to hear this conversation from the Wilderness + recited,<br> + word for word, in the American vernacular, and with a local colouring<br> + that suggested that both the sceptic and the young convert wore<br> + tail-coats, and that the mother had "come along" in a stuff + dress. But<br> + when the preacher turned aside, and in a few words spoke of sons who<br> + would not hear the counsel of Christian mothers and refused to "look<br> + up and live," the silent tears that coursed down many a face in the<br> + congregation showed that his homely picture had been clear as the<br> + brazen serpent in the Wilderness to the eyes of faith before which<br> + it was held up.</p> + <p class="main">The story of Daniel is one peculiarly susceptible of Mr. + Moody's usual<br> + method of treatment, and for three-quarters of an hour he kept the<br> + congregation at the morning meeting enthralled whilst he told how<br> + Daniel's simple faith triumphed over the machinations of the unbeliever.<br> + Mr. Moody's style is unlike that of most religious revivalists. He<br> + neither shouts nor gesticulates, and mentioned "hell" only once, + and<br> + that in connection with the life the drunkard makes for himself. His<br> + manner is reflected by the congregation in respect of abstention from<br> + working themselves up into "a state." This makes all the more + impressive<br> + the signs of genuine emotion which follow and accompany the preacher's<br> + utterance. When he was picturing the scene of Daniel translating the<br> + king's dream, rapidly reciting Daniel's account of the dream, and<br> + Nebuchadnezzar's quick and delighted ejaculation, "That's so!" + "That's<br> + it!" as he recognised the incidents, I fancied it was not without<br> + difficulty some of the people, bending forward, listening with<br> + glistening eye and heightened colour, refrained from clapping their<br> + hands for glee that the faithful Daniel, the unyielding servant of<br> + God, had triumphed over tribulation, and had walked out of prison<br> + to take his place on the right hand of the king.</p> + <p class="main">There was not much exhortation throughout the discourse, + not the<br> + slightest reference to any disputed point of doctrine. It was nothing<br> + more than a re-telling of the story of Daniel. But whilst<br> + Nebuchadnezzar, Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego, Darius, and even<br> + the hundred and twenty princes, became for the congregation living and<br> + moving beings, all the ends of the narrative were, with probably<br> + unconscious, certainly unbetrayed, art, gathered together to lead up to<br> + the one lesson--that compromise, where truth and religion are concerned,<br> + is never worthy of those who profess to believe God's word.</p> + <p class="main">"I am sick of the shams of the present day," said + Mr. Moody, bringing<br> + his discourse to a sudden close. "I am tired of the way men parley<br> + with the world whilst they are holding out their hands to be lifted<br> + into heaven. If we're gwine to be good Christians and God's people let<br> + us be so out-and-out."</p> + <p class="boldleft"><br> + <a name="176"></a>"BENDIGO."</p> + <p class="main">Bendigo, the erewhile famous champion of England, I one + evening found in<br> + the pulpit at the London Cabman's Mission Hall. After quitting the ring,<br> + Bendigo took to politics; that is to say, he, for a consideration,<br> + directed at Parliamentary elections the proceedings of the "lambs" + in<br> + his native town of Nottingham. Now he had given up even that<br> + worldliness, and had taken to preaching. His fame had brought together + a<br> + large congregation. The Hall was crowded to overflowing, and the<br> + proceedings were, as one of the speakers described it, conducted "by<br> + shifts," the leaders, including Bendigo, going downstairs to address + the<br> + crowd collected in the lower room after having spoken to the<br> + congregation in the regular meeting hall.</p> + <p class="main">The service was opened with prayer by Mr. John Dupee, superintendent + of<br> + the Mission, after which the congregation vigorously joined in the<br> + singing of a hymn. A second hymn followed upon the reading of a psalm;<br> + and Mr. Dupee proceeded to say a few words about "our dear and saved<br> + brother, Bendigo." With a frankness that in no wise disconcerted + the<br> + veteran prizefighter, Mr. Dupee discussed and described the condition<br> + in which he had lived up to about two years ago. The speaker was, it<br> + appeared, a fellow-townsman of Bendigo's, and his recollection of him<br> + went back for nearly forty years, at which time his state was so bad<br> + that Mr. Dupee, then a lad, used to walk behind him through the streets<br> + of Nottingham praying that he might be forgiven. Now he was saved, and,<br> + quoting the handbill that had advertised the meeting, Mr. Dupee hailed<br> + him as "a miracle of mercy, the greatest miracle of the nineteenth<br> + century," which view the congregation approved by fervent cries of<br> + "Praise the Lord!" "Hallelujah!"</p> + <p class="main">Whether Bendigo would stand steadfast in the new course + he had begun<br> + to tread was a matter which--Mr. Dupee did not hide it--was freely<br> + discussed in the circles where the ex-champion was best known. But<br> + he had now gone straight for two years, and Mr. Dupee believed he<br> + would keep straight.</p> + <p class="main">Before introducing Bendigo to the meeting, Mr. Dupee said + his own<br> + "brother Jim" would say a few words, his claim upon the attention + of<br> + the congregation being enforced by the asseveration that he was "the<br> + next great miracle of the nineteenth century." From particulars which<br> + Mr. Dupee proceeded to give in relation to the early history of his<br> + brother, it would be difficult to decide whether he or Bendigo had<br> + the fuller claim to the title of the "wickedest man in Nottingham."<br> + A single anecdote told to the discredit of his early life must<br> + suffice in indication of its general character. He was, it appeared,<br> + always getting tipsy and arriving home at untimely hours.</p> + <p class="main">"One night," said the preacher, "he came + home very late, and was<br> + kicking up an awful row in the street just before he came in. I<br> + opened the window, and, looking out, said to him very gently, 'Now<br> + Jim, do come in without waking mother.' And what d'ye think he said?<br> + Why, he said nothing, but just up with a brick and heaved it at me.<br> + That was Jim in the old days," he continued, turning to his brother<br> + with an admiring glance. "He always was lively as a sinner, and<br> + he's just the same now he's on his way to join the saints."</p> + <p class="main">"Jim" even at the outset fully justified this + exordium by suddenly<br> + approaching the pulpit desk with his hands stretched out, singing the<br> + "Hallelujah band." In the course of an address delivered with + much<br> + animation and filled with startling phrases, it became clear that<br> + "Jim" had been the immediate instrument of the conversion of + Bendigo.<br> + He added considerably to the stock of information respecting the<br> + early life of that personage, and told in detail how better things<br> + began to dawn upon him.</p> + <p class="main">At the outset of his new career Bendigo's enthusiasm was + somewhat<br> + misdirected, as was manifested at an infidel meeting he attended in<br> + company with his sponsor.</p> + <p class="main">"Who's them chaps on the platform?" said Bendigo + to Jim.</p> + <p class="main">"Infidels," said Jim.</p> + <p class="main">"What's that?" queried Bendigo.</p> + <p class="main">"Why, fellows as don't believe in God or the devil."</p> + <p class="main">"Then come along, and we'll soon clear the platform," + said Bendigo,<br> + beginning to strip.</p> + <p class="main">Jim's address lasted for nearly half an hour, and when at + last brought<br> + to a conclusion he went below to "begin again" with the crowd + in the<br> + lower room.</p> + <p class="main">Mr. Dupee again appeared at the desk and said they would + sing a verse<br> + of a hymn, after which Bendigo would address them, and the plate would<br> + be handed round for a collection to cover the cost of the bills and of<br> + Bendigo's travelling expenses. The hymn was a well-known one, with, as<br> + given out by the preacher, an alteration in the second line thus:</p> + <blockquote> + <p> <span class="smallquote">"Praise God from whom all blessings + flow,<br> + Praise Him for brother Bendigo."</span></p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">This sung with mighty volume of sound, Bendigo, who had + all this time<br> + been quietly seated on the platform, advanced, and began to speak in a<br> + simple, unaffected, but wholly unintelligent manner. He was decently<br> + dressed in a frock-coat, with black velveteen waistcoat buttoned over<br> + his broad chest. He was still, despite his threescore years, straight<br> + as a pole; and had a fine healthy looking face, that belied the fearful<br> + stories told by his friends of his dissipation. Except a certain<br> + flattening of the bridge of the nose, a slight indentation on the<br> + forehead between the eyebrows, and the crooked finger on his left hand,<br> + he bore no traces of many pitched fights of which he is the hero, and<br> + might in such an assembly have been taken for a mild-mannered family<br> + coachman.</p> + <p class="main">His address, though occasionally marked by the grotesque + touches which<br> + characterised the remarks of the two preceding speakers, was not without<br> + touches of pathos.</p> + <p class="main">"I've been a fighting character," he said, and + this was a periphrastic<br> + way of referring to his old occupation in which he evidently took great<br> + pleasure; "but now I'm a Miracle. What could I do? I was the<br> + youngest-born of twenty-one children, and the first thing done with me<br> + was to put me in a workhouse. There I got among fellows who brought me<br> + out, and I became a fighting character. Thirty years ago I came up to<br> + London to fight Ben Caunt, and I licked him. I'm sixty-three now, and<br> + I didn't think I should ever come up to London to fight for King Jesus.<br> + But here I am, and I wish I could read out of the blessed Book for then<br> + I could talk to you better. But I never learnt to read, though I'm<br> + hoping by listening to the conversation around me to pick up a good<br> + deal of the Bible, and then I'll talk to you better. I'm only two years<br> + old at present, and know no more than a baby. It's two years ago since<br> + Jesus came to me and had a bout with me, and I can tell you He licked<br> + me in the first round. He got me down on my knees the first go, and<br> + there I found grace. I've got a good many cups and belts which I won<br> + when I was a fighting character. Them cups and belts will fade, but<br> + there's a crown being prepared for old Bendigo that'll never fade."</p> + <p class="main">This and much more to the same purport the veteran said, + and then Mr.<br> + Dupee interposed with more "few words," the plate was sent round, + and<br> + the superintendent and Bendigo went downstairs to relieve "brother + Jim,"<br> + the echo of whose stentorian voice had occasionally been wafted in at<br> + the open door whilst Bendigo was relating his experiences.</p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="181"></a>"FIDDLER JOSS."</p> + <p class="main">It was at another Mission Chapel in Little Wild Street, + Drury Lane, that<br> + I "sat under" Fiddler Joss. His "dictionary name," + as in the course of<br> + the evening I learned from one of his friends, is Mr. Joseph Poole. The<br> + small bills which invited all into whose hands they might fall to "come<br> + and hear Fiddler Joss" added the injunction "Come early to secure + a<br> + seat." The doors were opened at half-past six, and those who obeyed + the<br> + injunction found themselves in a somewhat depressing minority. At<br> + half-past six there were not more than a score of people present, and<br> + these looked few indeed within the walls of the spacious chapel. It is + a<br> + surprise to find so well-built, commodious, it may almost be added<br> + handsome, a building in such a poor neighbourhood, and bearing so humble<br> + a designation. It provides comfortable sitting room for twelve hundred<br> + persons. There is a neat, substantial gallery running round the hall,<br> + and forming at one end a circular pulpit, evidently designed after the<br> + fashion of Mr. Spurgeon's at the Tabernacle--a building of which the<br> + Mission Chapel is in many respects a miniature.</p> + <p class="main">The congregation began to drop in by degrees, and proved + to be of a<br> + character altogether different from what might have been expected in<br> + such a place on such an occasion. Out of ten people perhaps one belonged<br> + to the class among which London missionaries are accustomed to labour.<br> + But while men and women of the "casual" order were almost entirely<br> + absent, and men of what is called in this connection "the working + class"<br> + were few and far between, there entered by hundreds people who looked + as<br> + if they were the responsible owners of snug little businesses in the<br> + provision, stationery, or "general" line. An air of profound<br> + respectability, combined with the enjoyment of creature comforts,<br> + prevailed.</p> + <p class="main">Whilst waiting for seven o'clock, the hour for the service + to commence,<br> + a voluntary choir sang hymns, and the rapidly growing congregation<br> + joined in fitful snatches of harmony. Little hymn-books with green paper<br> + backs were liberally distributed, and there was no excuse for silence + on<br> + the score of unfamiliarity with the hymns selected. At seven o'clock the<br> + preacher of the evening appeared on the rostrum, accompanied by two<br> + gentlemen accustomed, it appeared, to take a leading part in conducting<br> + the service in the chapel. One gave out a hymn, reading it verse by<br> + verse, and starting the tune with stentorian voice. This concluded, his<br> + colleague prayed, in a loud voice, and with energetic action. "We + must<br> + have souls to-night," he said, smiting the rail of the pulpit; "we + must<br> + have souls--not by ones and twos--and we must have them to-night in this<br> + place. There is a drunkard in this place. Give us his soul, O God! There<br> + is a thief in this place; I do not know where he sits, but God knows. + We<br> + want to benefit God, and we must have souls to-night, not by twos and<br> + threes, but in hundreds."</p> + <p class="main">After this there was another hymn, sung even with increased + volume of<br> + sound. Energy was the predominant characteristic of the whole service,<br> + and it reached its height in the singing of hymns, when the congregation<br> + found the opportunity of joining their leaders in the devotional<br> + utterance. There were half a dozen women in the congregation who had<br> + solved the home difficulty about the baby by bringing it with them to<br> + chapel. The little ones, catching the enthusiasm of the place, joined<br> + audibly in all the acts of worship save in the singing. They crowed<br> + during the prayers, chattered during the reading of the lesson, and<br> + loudly wept at intervals throughout the sermon. But there was no room<br> + for their shrill voices in the mighty shout which threatened to rend the<br> + roof when hymns were sung.</p> + <p class="main">Fiddler Joss, being impressively introduced by one of the + gentlemen in<br> + the pulpit, began without preface to read rapidly from the fifth chapter<br> + of Romans, a task he accomplished with the assistance of a pair of<br> + double eyeglasses. He formally appropriated no text, and it would be<br> + difficult to furnish any connected account of his sermon. Evidently<br> + accustomed to address open-air audiences, he spoke at the topmost pitch<br> + of a powerful voice. Without desire to misapply rules of criticism, and<br> + in furtherance of an honest intention to describe impressions in as<br> + simple a form as may be, it must be added that the sermon was as far<br> + above the heads of a mission-chapel congregation as was the pitch of the<br> + preacher's voice. Its key-note was struck by an anecdote which Joss<br> + introduced at the outset of his discourse. There was, he said, a<br> + clergyman walking down Cheapside one day, when he heard a man calling<br> + out, "Buy a pie." The clergyman looked at the man, and recognised + in him<br> + a member of his church.</p> + <p class="main">"What, John," he said, "is this what you + do in the weekdays?"</p> + <p class="main">"Yes," said the man, "I earn an honest living + by selling pies."</p> + <p class="main">"Poor fellow," said the parson, "how I pity + you."</p> + <p class="main">"Bother your pity; buy a pie," retorted the man.</p> + <p class="main">That, according to Fiddler Joss, is the way in which constituted<br> + authorities in church and chapel matters deal with the poor man in<br> + London and elsewhere. Mr. Methodist would not speak to Mr. Baptist, Mr.<br> + Wesleyan would have nothing to do with Mr. Congregationalist, Mr. High<br> + Church scoffed at Mr. Low Church, Mr. Low Church did not care what<br> + became of any of the rest, and among them all the poor man was utterly<br> + neglected.</p> + <p class="main">"How we pity you," these people said to the poor + man.</p> + <p class="main">"Bother your pity," the poor man answered; "buy + a pie."</p> + <p class="main">Beyond this central argument, affirmation, or illustration, + Fiddler Joss<br> + did not get far in the course of the thirty-five minutes during which + he<br> + addressed the congregation. At this period he suddenly stopped, and<br> + asked for the sympathy of his friends, explaining that he was subject + to<br> + attacks of sickness, one of the legacies of the days of sin, when he was<br> + "five years drunk and never sober." After a pause he recommenced, + and<br> + continued for some five minutes longer, when he abruptly wound up,<br> + apparently having got through only one half of his discourse.</p> + <p class="main">It is only fair to regard the sermon as an incomplete one, + and to<br> + believe that the message which "Fiddler Joss" had entered St. + Giles's to<br> + speak to the poor and suffering lay in the second and undelivered<br> + portion.</p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="184"></a>DEAN STANLEY.</p> + <p class="main">On St. Andrew's Day, 1875, I was present at two memorable + services in<br> + Westminster Abbey. For many years during Dean Stanley's reign this<br> + particular day had been set apart for the holding of special services<br> + on behalf of foreign missions. What made this occasion memorable in the<br> + annals of the Church was the fact that the evening lecture was delivered<br> + by Dr. Moffat, a Nonconformist minister who, in the year after the<br> + Battle of Waterloo, began his career as a missionary to South Africa,<br> + and finally closed his foreign labours in the year when Sedan was<br> + fought. As being the first time a Nonconformist minister had officiated<br> + in Westminster Abbey, the event created wide interest, and lost none of<br> + its importance by the remarkable sermon preached in the afternoon by<br> + Dean Stanley.</p> + <p class="main">The Dean took for his text two verses, one from the Old + Testament, the<br> + other from the New. The first was from the 45th Psalm, and ran thus:<br> + "Instead of thy fathers shall be thy children, whom thou mayest make<br> + princes in all the earth." The second was the 16th verse of the 10th<br> + chapter of the Gospel of St. John: "And other sheep I have, which + are<br> + not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear My<br> + voice; and there shall be one fold and one shepherd." Thus the verse<br> + runs in the ordinary translation, but the Dean preferred the word<br> + "flock" in place of fold, and used it throughout his discourse.<br> + Referring to an address recently delivered by Mr. W. E. Forster on<br> + "Our Colonies," the Dean observed that the right hon. gentleman + had set<br> + himself the task of considering the question, "What were to be the<br> + future relations of the Mother Country to the Colonies?" The Dean<br> + proposed to follow the same course, with this difference: that the<br> + empire of which he had to speak was a spiritual empire, and the question<br> + he would consider was what ought to be the policy of the Church of<br> + England towards fellow-Christians separated from it on matters of form.</p> + <p class="main">There were, he said, three courses open to the Church. There + was the<br> + policy of abstention and isolation; there was the policy of<br> + extermination or absorption; and there was a middle course, avoiding<br> + abstention and not aiming at absorption, which consisted of holding<br> + friendly and constant intercourse with Christians of other Churches,<br> + earnestly and lovingly endeavouring to create as many points of contact<br> + as were compatible with holding fast the truth. The errors of all<br> + religions run into each other, just as their truths do. There was, no<br> + doubt, some exaggeration in the statement of the Roman Catholic<br> + authority who declared that "there is but one bad religion, and that + is<br> + the religion of the man who professes what he does not believe." + But<br> + there was no reason why, because the Church of England had done in times<br> + past and was still doing grand work, there should be no place for the<br> + Nonconformists. Church people rejoiced, and Nonconformists might<br> + rejoice, that the prayers of the Church of England were enshrined in a<br> + Liturgy radiant with the traditions of a glorious past. But that was no<br> + reason why there should be no room where good work was being done for<br> + men who preferred the chances of extemporaneous prayer--a custom of<br> + Apostolic origin, and perhaps (very daintily this was put) fittest for<br> + the exigencies of special occasions.</p> + <p class="main">If some of the extremer Nonconformists, desirous of wrapping<br> + themselves in the mantle once worn by Churchmen, and possessed by a love<br> + for uniformity so exaggerated that they would tear down ancient<br> + institutions and reduce all Churches to the same level, there was no<br> + reason why Churchmen should return evil for evil and repay contumely<br> + with scorn. There was a nobler mission for Christians than that of<br> + seeking to exterminate each other, a higher object than that of<br> + endeavouring to sow the seeds of vulgar prejudice either against new<br> + discoveries or ancient institutions.</p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="187"></a>DR. MOFFAT.</p> + <p class="main">Dean Stanley preached his sermon within the chancel, and + it formed part<br> + of the customary afternoon service of the Church of England. Dr. Moffat<br> + delivered his lecture in the nave, its simple preface being the singing<br> + of the missionary hymn, "From Greenland's icy mountains."</p> + <p class="main">The pioneer of missionary labour in South Africa was at + this time close<br> + upon his eightieth year, but he seemed to have thriven upon hard work,<br> + and showed no signs of physical weakness. His full, rich voice, musical<br> + with a northern accent, which long residence in South Africa had not<br> + robbed of a note, filled every corner of the long aisle, and no section<br> + of the vast congregation was disappointed by reason of not hearing.<br> + Wearing a plain Geneva robe with the purple hood of his academic degree,<br> + he stood at the lectern, situated not many paces from the grave where<br> + his friend and son-in-law, Dr. Livingstone, lies.</p> + <p class="main">Dean Stanley was one of many clergymen present, and occupied + a seat just<br> + in front of the lectern.</p> + <p class="main">Dr. Moffat began by protesting that he was very nervous, + because, having<br> + been accustomed for fifty years or more to speak and teach and preach + in<br> + a language altogether different from European, he had contracted a habit<br> + of thinking in that language, and sometimes found it momentarily<br> + difficult to find the exact expression of his thoughts in English.</p> + <p class="main">"If I might," he said, with a touch of dry humour + that frequently<br> + lighted up his discourse, "speak to you in the Betchuana tongue I + could<br> + get along with ease. However, I will do what I can."</p> + <p class="main">The lecture resolved itself into a quiet, homely, and exceedingly<br> + interesting chat, chiefly about the Betchuanas, with whom Dr. Moffat<br> + longest laboured. When he arrived in the country, early in the present<br> + century, he found the people sunk in the densest ignorance. Unlike most<br> + heathen tribes, they had no idea of a God, no notion of a hereafter.<br> + There was not an idol to be found in all their province, and one the<br> + lecturer's daughter showed to an intelligent leader of the people<br> + excited his liveliest astonishment. He was, indeed, so hopelessly<br> + removed from a state of civilisation that he ridiculed the notion of any<br> + one worshipping a thing made with his own hands.</p> + <p class="main">Dr. Moffat seems to have been, on the whole, kindly received + by the<br> + natives, though they could not make out what he wanted there. A special<br> + stumbling-block to them was, how it came to pass that when, as sometimes<br> + happened, he and Mrs Moffat were disrespectfully treated, they did not<br> + retaliate. This was satisfactorily explained to the popular mind by the<br> + assertion of a distinguished member of the community that the foreigners<br> + had run away from their country, and were content to bear any treatment<br> + rather than return to their own people, who would infallibly kill them.</p> + <p class="main">The great difficulty met by Dr. and Mrs. Moffat on the threshold + of<br> + their mission was their ignorance of the native language. There were no<br> + interpreters, and there was nothing for it but to grub along, patiently<br> + picking up words as they went. The Betchuanas were willing to teach them<br> + as far as they could, occasionally relieving the monotony of the lesson<br> + by a little joke at the pupils' expense. Once, Dr. Moffat told his<br> + hearers, a sentence was written down on a piece of paper, and he was<br> + instructed to take it to an aged lady, who was to give him something he<br> + was in need of. He found the old lady, who was scarcely handsome, and<br> + was decidedly wrinkled, and upon presenting the paper "she blushed + very<br> + much." It turned out that the missionary had been the unconscious + bearer<br> + of a message asking the old lady to kiss him, "which," Dr. Moffat + added,<br> + with a seriousness that appeared to indicate a sense of the awkwardness<br> + of the position still present in his mind, "I did not want to do + at<br> + all."</p> + <p class="main">But he mastered the language at last, and then his moral + mastery over<br> + the strange people amongst whom he had been thrown commenced. He found + a<br> + firm ally in the Queen, who, first attracted by the flavour of the pills<br> + and other delicacies he was accustomed to administer to her in his<br> + capacity of physician, became his constant and powerful friend. Under<br> + her auspices Christianity flourished, and in Betchuana at the present<br> + time, where once a printed book was regarded as the white man's charm,<br> + thousands now are able to read and treasure the Bible as formerly they<br> + treasured the marks which testified to the number of enemies they had<br> + slain in battle. Peace reigns where once blood ran, and over a vast<br> + tract of country civilisation is closely following in the footsteps of<br> + the missionary.</p> + <p class="main">Dr. Moffat concluded a simple address, followed with intense + interest by<br> + the congregation, by an earnest plea for help for foreign missions. "If<br> + every child of God in Europe and America," he said, "would give<br> + something to this mission, the dark cloud which lies over this neglected<br> + and mysterious continent would soon be lighted, and before many years<br> + are passed we might behold the blessed sight of all Africa stretching<br> + forth her hands to God."</p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="190"></a>MR. SPURGEON.</p> + <p class="main">In a lane leading from the station at Addlestone is a massive + oak,<br> + which, if the gossips of the neighbourhood be trustworthy, has seen some<br> + notable sights. It is said that under its far-reaching branches<br> + "Wycliffe has preached and Queen Elizabeth dined."</p> + <p class="main">Here one summer evening I first heard Mr. Spurgeon preach. + The occasion<br> + was in connection with the building of a new Baptist Chapel, and when + I<br> + arrived the foundation stone was being utilised as a receptacle for<br> + offerings, over which Mr. Spurgeon, sitting on the wall, and shaded from<br> + the sun by an umbrella reverently held over his head by a disciple,<br> + jovially presided.</p> + <p class="main">After tea a pulpit was extemporised, upon the model of the + one at the<br> + Tabernacle, by covering an empty provision box with red baize, and<br> + fastening before it a wooden railing, also with its decent covering of<br> + baize. A pair of steps, constructed with a considerable amount of<br> + trouble, were placed in position before the rostrum; but when, a few<br> + minutes after seven o'clock, the preacher appeared, he scorned their<br> + assistance, and scrambled on to the box from the level of the field,<br> + grasping the rail as soon as he was in a position to face the<br> + congregation, as if he recognised in it a familiar friend, whose<br> + presence made him feel at home under the novel circumstances that<br> + surrounded him. There might, when Mr. Spurgeon stood up, have been<br> + some doubt whether his voice could be heard throughout the vast throng<br> + gathered in front of the tree. But the first tones of the speaker's<br> + voice dispelled uncertainty, and the congregation settled quietly down,<br> + whilst Mr. Spurgeon, with uplifted hands, besought "the Spirit of + God to<br> + be with them, even as in their accustomed places of worship." A hymn + was<br> + sung, a portion of the 55th chapter of Isaiah read, another prayer<br> + offered up, and the preacher commenced his Sermon.</p> + <p class="main">He took for his text a portion of the 36th verse of the + 9th chapter of<br> + Matthew--"He was moved with compassion." At the outset he sketched, + with<br> + rapid eloquence, the history of Jesus Christ. The first declaration that<br> + might have startled one not accustomed to the preacher's style of<br> + oratory was his expression of a preference for people who absolutely<br> + hated religion over those who simply regarded it with indifference.<br> + These former were people who showed they did think, and, like Saul of<br> + Tarsus, there was hope of their conversion.</p> + <p class="main">"It is," he said, "a great time when the + Lord goes into the devil's<br> + army, and, looking around him, sees some lieutenant, and says to him,<br> + 'Come along; you have served the black master long enough, I have need<br> + of you now.' It is astonishing how quietly he comes along, and what a<br> + valiant fight he fights on the side of his new master."</p> + <p class="main">Mr. Spurgeon had a protest to make against the practice + of refusing to<br> + help the poor except through the machinery of the Poor Law. Referring + to<br> + Christ's having compassionated the hungry crowd and fed them, he said:<br> + "If Jesus Christ were alive now and presumed to feed a crowd of people,<br> + He would be had up by some society or other, and prosecuted for<br> + encouraging mendicancy. If He were alive in these days He would, I much<br> + fear, have occasion to say, 'I was hungry, and ye fed Me not; thirsty,<br> + and ye gave Me no drink; destitute, and you told Me to go on the<br> + parish.'"</p> + <p class="main">He thought tracts were very good things in their way, but + should not be<br> + relied upon solely as a means of bringing poor people to the Lord. "I<br> + believe a loaf of bread often contains the very essence of theology, and<br> + the Church of God ought to look to it that there are at her gates no,<br> + poor unfed, no sick untended." He was rather hard on "the clergy + of all<br> + denominations," regretting to say that "as fish always stunk + first at<br> + the head, so a Church when it goes wrong goes bad first among its<br> + ministers." He concluded by an eloquent appeal to his hearers to + lose no<br> + time in seeking salvation, calling "heaven and earth, and this old + tree,<br> + under which the Gospel was preached five hundred years ago, to bear<br> + witness that I have preached to you the word of God, in which alone<br> + salvation is to be found."</p> + <p class="main">The sermon occupied exactly an hour in the delivery, and + was listened to<br> + throughout with profound attention. When it was over, Mr. Spurgeon held<br> + a sort of levée from the pulpit, the people pressing round to shake + his<br> + hand, and it was nearly nine o'clock before the last of the congregation<br> + had passed away, leaving Wycliffe's Tree to its accustomed solitude.</p> + <p class="main">The next time I heard Mr. Spurgeon preach was in his famous + church. The<br> + Tabernacle will hold six thousand people when full, and on this night + it<br> + was thronged from door to door, and from floor to ceiling, with a<br> + congregation gathered together to "watch" whilst the Old Year + died and<br> + the New was born. At eleven o'clock when Mr. Spurgeon, gownless and<br> + guiltless of white neck-tie, or other clerical insignia, unceremoniously<br> + walked on to the platform which serves him for pulpit, there was not a<br> + foot of vacant space in the vast area looked down upon from the<br> + galleries, for even the aisles were thronged. The capacious galleries<br> + that rise tier over tier to the roof were crowded in like manner, and<br> + the preacher stood, faced and surrounded by a congregation, the sight + of<br> + which might well move to the utterance of words that burn a man who had<br> + within him a fount of thoughts that breathe.</p> + <p class="main">There was no other prelude to the service than the simply + spoken<br> + invitation, "Let us pray," and the six thousand, declaring themselves<br> + "creatures of time," bent the knee with one accord to ask the + "Lord of<br> + Eternity" to bless them in the coming year. After this a hymn was + sung,<br> + Mr. Spurgeon reading out verse by verse, with occasional commentary, and<br> + not unfrequent directions to the congregation as to the manner of their<br> + singing.</p> + <p class="main">"Dear friends, the devil sometimes makes you lag half + a note behind the<br> + leader. Just try if you can't prevail over him to-night, and keep up in<br> + proper time."</p> + <p class="main">There is no organ, nor even a tuning-fork, in use at the + Tabernacle. But<br> + the difficulties, apparently insuperable under these circumstances, of<br> + leading so vast a congregation in the singing of unpractised tunes is<br> + almost overcome by the skilful generalship of the gentleman who steps<br> + forward to the rails beside the preacher's table, pitches the note,<br> + and leads the singing. The hymn brought to a conclusion, Mr. Spurgeon<br> + read and commented upon a passage of Scripture from the 25th of Matthew.<br> + Then another hymn. "Sing this verse very softly and solemnly," + says the<br> + pastor; and the congregation in hushed tones, that seem to thrill all<br> + through the aisles and up through the crowded galleries, sing:</p> + <blockquote> + <p> <span class="smallquote">"Who of us death's awful road<br> + In the coming year shall tread,<br> + With Thy rod and staff, O God,<br> + Comfort Thou his dying bed."</span></p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">After another prayer from the pastor, and one from one of + the deacons<br> + who accompanied him on the platform and sat behind in the crimson velvet<br> + arm-chairs, a third hymn was sung, and Mr. Spurgeon began his short<br> + address.</p> + <p class="main">He took for text the 42nd verse of the 12th chapter of Exodus: + "It is a<br> + night to be much observed unto the Lord for bringing them out from the<br> + land of Egypt: this is that night of the Lord to be observed of all the<br> + children of Israel in their generations." The night referred to in + the<br> + text was that of the Passover--"a night of salvation, decision,<br> + emigration, and exultation," said the preacher, "and I pray + God that<br> + this night, the last of a memorable year, may be the same for you, my<br> + friends. Oh for a grand emigration among you like that of the departure<br> + of the people of Israel--an emptying out of old Egypt, a robbing of<br> + Pharaoh of his slaves, and the devil of his dupes!"</p> + <p class="main">It was understood that Mr. Spurgeon was labouring under + severe<br> + indisposition, and probably this fact gave to his brief address a tone<br> + comparatively quiet and unimpassioned. Only once did he rise to the<br> + fervent height of oratory to which his congregation are accustomed, and<br> + that at the close, when, with uplifted hands and louder voice, he<br> + apostrophised the parting year: "Thou art almost gone, and if thou + goest<br> + now the tidings to the throne of God will be that such and such a soul<br> + is yet unsaved. Oh, stay yet a while, Year, that thou mayest carry with<br> + thee glad tidings that the soul is saved! Thy life is measured now by<br> + seconds, but all things are possible with God, and there is still time<br> + for the salvation of many souls."</p> + <p class="main">At five minutes to twelve the preacher paused, and bade + his hearers "get<br> + away to the Throne of Grace, and in silent prayer beseech the Almighty<br> + to bless you with a rich and special blessing in the new year He is<br> + sending you."</p> + <p class="main">The congregation bent forward and a great silence was upon + it, broken<br> + only by half-stifled coughing here and there, and once by the wailing + of<br> + an infant in the gallery. The minutes passed slowly and solemnly as the<br> + Old Year's "face grew sharp and thin" under the ticking of the + clock<br> + over the kneeling preacher and his deacons. The minutes dwindled down + to<br> + seconds, and then--</p> + <blockquote> + <p> <span class="smallquote">"Alack, our friend is gone!<br> + Close up his eyes, tie up his chin<br> + Step from the corpse, and let him in<br> + That standeth at the door."</span></p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">"Now, as we have passed into the New Year," said + Mr. Spurgeon, advancing<br> + to the rails as the last stroke of midnight died away, "I do not + think<br> + we can do better than join in singing 'Praise God from whom all<br> + blessings flow.'"</p> + <p class="main">No need now of instructions how to sing. The congregation + were almost<br> + before the leader in raising the familiar strain, with which six<br> + thousand voices filled the spacious Tabernacle.</p> + <p class="main">Then came the benediction, and a cheery "I wish you + all a happy New<br> + Year, my friends," from Mr. Spurgeon.</p> + <p class="main">A great shout of "The same to you!" arose in response + from basement and<br> + galleries, and the congregation passed out into a morning so soft, and<br> + light, and mild, that it seemed as if the seasons were out of joint, and<br> + that the New Year had been born in the springtime.</p> + <p class="boldleft"><a name="196"></a>IN THE RAGGED CHURCH.</p> + <p class="main">The Ragged Church is one of the numerous by-paths through + which the<br> + managers of the Field Lane Institution strive to approach and benefit<br> + the poor of London. It is situate in Little Saffron Hill, Farringdon<br> + Road, the service being held in a barn-like room, which on weekdays<br> + serves for school, and is capable of accommodating a thousand children.<br> + No money has been expended in architectural embellishment, and no<br> + question of a controversial character is likely to arise in connection<br> + with accessories in the shape of altar, surplice, or candles. The Ragged<br> + Church avoids these stumbling-blocks by the simple expedient of doing<br> + without candles, surplices, or altar. It does not even boast a pulpit,<br> + but draws the line so as to take in a harmonium, indispensable for<br> + leading the tunes. At one end of the room is a platform, on which the<br> + harmonium stands, and whereon the service is conducted.</p> + <p class="main">It is the congregation rather than the preacher that I remember + best in<br> + connection with the Ragged Church. Half-past eleven is the hour for the<br> + commencement of service, and was fixed upon chiefly to suit the<br> + convenience of a portion of the congregation, who, having slept<br> + overnight in the casual wards, are considerately detained in them till<br> + eleven o'clock, by which time society is supposed to be comfortably<br> + seated in its own churches, and is thus saved the shock of suddenly<br> + coming upon Rags and Tatters going to church or elsewhither--Rags and<br> + Tatters, it being well understood, not always showing themselves proof<br> + against the temptation of improving the occasion by begging. At a<br> + quarter to eleven there filed into the church threescore little girls,<br> + all dressed in wincey dresses, with brown, furry jackets and little<br> + brown hats, a monotony of colour that served to bring into fuller<br> + contrast the red and black wool scarf each wore tightly tied round her<br> + neck. They all looked bright, clean, and happy, and one noted a<br> + considerable proportion of pretty-faced and delicately-limbed children.</p> + <p class="main">How they were born, or with what parentage, is in many cases + a question<br> + to which the records of the institution supply no answer. They were<br> + simply "found" on a doorstep, or arrested when wandering about + the<br> + street crying for the mother or the father who had cast them off. This<br> + class of school-girl is generally distinguished by the fineness of her<br> + Christian name, Blanche, and Lily, and Constance, being among the waifs<br> + and strays who have found a refuge with the kindly matron of the Field<br> + Lane Institution. There are others whose history is written plainly<br> + enough in the records of the police-courts.</p> + <p class="main">There is one, a prematurely aged little woman in her eleventh + year, who,<br> + previous to being sent here, passed of her own free will night after<br> + night in the streets, living through the day on her wits, which are very<br> + sharp. Another, about the same age, when taken into custody on something<br> + more than suspicion of picking pockets, was found the possessor of no<br> + fewer than seven purses. A third, who is understood to be now in her<br> + ninth year, earned a handsome livelihood in the Haymarket by frequenting<br> + the public houses, and with dramatic gestures singing the more popular<br> + concert-hall songs. One of the most determined and head-strong young<br> + ladies of the establishment was not privileged to be present at the<br> + morning service, being, in fact, in bed, where she was detained with the<br> + hope that amid the silence and solitude of the empty chamber she might<br> + be brought to see in its true light the heinousness of the offence of<br> + wilfully depositing her boots in a pail of water.</p> + <p class="main">Conviction for offences against the law is by no means a + general<br> + characteristic of the girls. For the most part, destitution has been the<br> + simple ground on which they have obtained admission to the institution.</p> + <p class="main">The girls being seated on the front benches to the right + of the<br> + harmonium, the tramp of many feet was heard, and there entered by the<br> + opposite side of the church some sixty boys in corduroys, short jackets,<br> + and clean collars. They took up a position on the left of the harmonium,<br> + and, with one consent, gravely folded their arms. Their private history<br> + is, in its general features, much the same as that of the girls. All<br> + are sent hither by order of the police-court magistrate, but<br> + many have not committed any crime save the unpardonable one of being<br> + absolutely and hopelessly homeless. It is not difficult, stating the<br> + broad rule, to pick out from the boys those who have been convicted of<br> + crime. As compared with the rest they are generally brighter looking,<br> + and gifted with a stronger physique.</p> + <p class="main">The distinction was strongly marked by the conjunction of + two boys who<br> + sat together on the front form. One who had stolen nothing less than a<br> + coalscuttle, observed projecting from an ironmonger's shop in Drury<br> + Lane, was a sturdy, ruddy-cheeked little man, who folded his arms in a<br> + composed manner, and listened with an inquiring interest to the words<br> + poured forth over his head from the platform. The boy next to him, a<br> + pale-faced, inert lad, who stared straight before him with lack-lustre<br> + eyes, had the saddest of all boys' histories. He was born in a casual<br> + ward, his father died in a casual ward, and his mother nightly haunts<br> + the streets of London in pursuance of an elaborately devised plan, by<br> + which she is able so to time her visits to the various casual wards as<br> + never to be turned away from any on the ground that she had slept there<br> + too recently.</p> + <p class="main">The foreground of the Ragged Church was bright enough, for + whilst there<br> + is youth there is hope, and in the present case there is also the<br> + knowledge that these children are under guardianship at once kind and<br> + wise. Presently the back benches began to fill with a congregation such<br> + as no other church in London might show. Crushed-looking women in limp<br> + bonnets, scanty shawls, and much-patched dresses crept quietly in. With<br> + them, though not in their company, came men of all ages, and of a<br> + general level of ragged destitution--a gaunt, haggard, hungry, and<br> + hopeless congregation as ever went to church on a Sunday morning. Some<br> + had passed the night in the Refuge attached to the institution; many had<br> + come straight from the casual wards; others had spent the long hours<br> + since sundown in the streets; and one, a hale old man who diffused<br> + around him an air of respectability and comfort, was a lodger at<br> + Clerkenwell Workhouse. His snuff-coloured coat with two brass buttons + at<br> + the back was the solitary whole garment visible in this section of the<br> + congregation.</p> + <p class="main">It was his "Sunday out" and having had his breakfast + at the workhouse,<br> + he had, by way of distraction, come to spend the morning and eat his<br> + lunch at the Field Lane Institution.</p> + <p class="main">One man might be forgiven if he slept all through the sermon, + for, as he<br> + explained, he had "passed a very bad night." He had settled + himself to<br> + sleep on various doorsteps, with the fog for a blanket and the railings<br> + for pillow. But there appeared what in his experience was a quite<br> + uncommon activity on the part of the police, and he had been "moved + on"<br> + from place to place till morning broke, and he had not slept a wink or<br> + had half an hour's rest for the sole of his foot.</p> + <p class="main">There were not many of the labouring class among the couple + of hundred<br> + men who made up this miserable company. They were chiefly broken-down<br> + people, who, as tradesmen, clerks, or even professional men, had<br> + gradually sunk till they came to regard admission to the casual ward at<br> + night as the cherished hope that kept them up as they shuffled their<br> + way through the day. One man, who over a marvellous costume of rags<br> + carried the mark of respectability comprehended in a thin black silk<br> + necktie tied around a collarless neck, is the son of a late colonel of<br> + artillery, and has a brother at the present time a lieutenant in one of<br> + her Majesty's ships. After leading a reckless life, he turned his<br> + musical acquirements to account by joining the band of a marching<br> + regiment. Unfortunately, the death of his grandfather, two years ago,<br> + made him uncontrolled possessor of £500, and now he is dodging his<br> + way among the casual wards of London, holding on to respectability and<br> + his good connections by this poor black silk necktie.</p> + <p class="main">Among the congregation was a bright-eyed, honest-looking + lad bearing the<br> + familiar name of John Smith. Three months ago he was earning his living<br> + in a Yorkshire coal pit, when a strike among the men threw him out of<br> + work. There being no prospect of doing anything in Yorkshire, he set out<br> + for London, having, as he said, "heard it was a great place, where + work<br> + was plenty." With three shillings in his pocket he started from Leeds,<br> + and walked to London, doing the journey in nine days. He had neither<br> + recommendation nor introduction other than his bright, honest, and<br> + intelligent face, and that seems to have served him only to the extent<br> + of getting an odd job that occupied him two days.</p> + <p class="main">The service opened with singing, of which there was a plentiful<br> + repetition, the boys and girls in the foreground singing, the melancholy<br> + throng behind standing dumb. Hymn-books were supplied to them, and if<br> + they could read they might have found on the page from which the first<br> + hymn was taken a hymn so curiously infelicitous to the occasion that it<br> + is worth quoting a couple of verses. These are the two first:--</p> + <blockquote> + <p class="main"> <span class="smallquote">Let us gather up the sunbeams<br> + Lying all around our path;<br> + Let us keep the wheat and roses,<br> + Casting out the thorns and chaff;<br> + Let us find our sweetest comfort<br> + In the blessings of to-day<br> + With a patient hand removing<br> + All the briars from the way.</span></p> + <p class="smallquote"> Strange we never prize the music<br> + Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown,<br> + Strange that we should slight the violets<br> + Till the lovely flowers are gone;<br> + Strange that summer skies and sunshine<br> + Never seem one half so fair<br> + As when winter's snowy pinions<br> + Shake the white down in the air.</p> + </blockquote> + <p class="main">After the opening hymns <span class="italic">Sankey's Sacred + Song-Book</span>, in which this rhymed<br> + nonsense appears, was abandoned, and the congregation took to the<br> + admirable little selection of hymns compiled for the use of the<br> + institution, containing much less sentiment, and perhaps on the whole<br> + more suitable. After prayer and a short address, the boys and girls<br> + filed out as they had come in. Then the rest of the congregation rose,<br> + and as they passed out received a large piece of bread, supplemented by<br> + the distribution from a room on a lower storey of a cup of hot cocoa.<br> + Stretching all down the long flight of stone steps, they drank their<br> + cocoa and greedily munched the bread, and when it was done passed out<br> + into the sabbath noon, to slouch about the great city till the doors of<br> + the casual wards were open.</p> + <p class="main">They had "gathered up all the sunbeams lying around + their path" as far<br> + as the day had advanced, and there was no more for them till, at eight<br> + o'clock in the evening, the bread and tea should be set out before them<br> + under the workhouse roof.</p> + </td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" noshade> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FACES AND PLACES***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 25624-h.txt or 25624-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/6/2/25624">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/6/2/25624</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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