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diff --git a/497-h/497-h.htm b/497-h/497-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2078856 --- /dev/null +++ b/497-h/497-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11489 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Tracks of a Rolling Stone, by Henry J. Coke</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Tracks of a Rolling Stone, by Henry J. Coke + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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 www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Tracks of a Rolling Stone + + +Author: Henry J. Coke + + + +Release Date: November 8, 2012 [eBook #497] +[This file was first posted on February 24, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1905 Smith, Elder, & Co. edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org. Second proofed by +Margaret Price.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Photograph of Henry John Coke" +title= +"Photograph of Henry John Coke" +src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>TRACKS<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OF</span><br /> +A ROLLING STONE</h1> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY +THE</span><br /> +HONOURABLE HENRY J. COKE</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">AUTHOR +OF</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">‘A RIDE OVER THE ROCKY +MOUNTAINS’ ‘CREEDS OF THE DAY’ ETC.</span></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">WITH A PORTRAIT</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>SECOND EDITION</i></p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE<br /> +1905</p> +<p style="text-align: center">[All rights reserved]</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">TO</span><br +/> +MY DAUGHTER SYBIL</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2>PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> First Edition of this book was +written, from beginning to end, in the short space of five +months, without the aid of diary or notes, beyond those cited as +such from a former work.</p> +<p>The Author, having no expectation that his reminiscences would +be received with the kind indulgence of which this Second Edition +is the proof, with diffidence ventured to tell so many tales +connected with his own unimportant life as he has done. +Emboldened by the reception his ‘Tracks’ have met +with, he now adds a few stories which he trusts may further amuse +its readers.</p> +<p><i>June</i> 1905.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> know more of the early days of +the Pyramids or of ancient Babylon than we do of our own. +The Stone age, the dragons of the prime, are not more remote from +us than is our earliest childhood. It is not so long ago +for any of us; and yet, our memories of it are but veiled +spectres wandering in the mazes of some foregone existence.</p> +<p>Are we really trailing clouds of glory from afar? Or are +our ‘forgettings’ of the outer Eden only? Or, +setting poetry aside, are they perhaps the quickening germs of +all past heredity—an epitome of our race and its +descent? At any rate <i>then</i>, if ever, our lives are +such stuff as dreams are made of. There is no connected +story of events, thoughts, acts, or feelings. We try in +vain to re-collect; but the secrets of the grave are not more +inviolable,—for the beginnings, like the endings, of life +are lost in darkness.</p> +<p>It is very difficult to affix a date to any relic of that dim +past. We may have a distinct remembrance of some pleasure, +some pain, some fright, some accident, but the vivid does not +help us to chronicle with accuracy. A year or two makes a +vast difference in our ability. We can remember well enough +when we donned the ‘<i>cauda virilis</i>,’ but not +when we left off petticoats.</p> +<p>The first remembrance to which I can correctly tack a date is +the death of George IV. I was between three and four years +old. My recollection of the fact is perfectly +distinct—distinct by its association with other facts, then +far more weighty to me than the death of a king.</p> +<p>I was watching with rapture, for the first time, the spinning +of a peg-top by one of the grooms in the stable yard, when the +coachman, who had just driven my mother home, announced the +historic news. In a few minutes four or five +servants—maids and men—came running to the stables to +learn particulars, and the peg-top, to my sorrow, had to be +abandoned for gossip and flirtation. We were a long way +from street criers—indeed, quite out of town. My +father’s house was in Kensington, a little further west +than the present museum. It was completely surrounded by +fields and hedges. I mention the fact merely to show to +what age definite memory can be authentically assigned. +Doubtless we have much earlier remembrances, though we must +reckon these by days, or by months at the outside. The +relativity of the reckoning would seem to make Time indeed a +‘Form of Thought.’</p> +<p>Two or three reminiscences of my childhood have stuck to me; +some of them on account of their comicality. I was taken to +a children’s ball at St. James’s Palace. In my +mind’s eye I have but one distinct vision of it. I +cannot see the crowd—there was nothing to distinguish that +from what I have so often seen since; nor the court dresses, nor +the soldiers even, who always attract a child’s attention +in the streets; but I see a raised dais on which were two +thrones. William IV. sat on one, Queen Adelaide on the +other. I cannot say whether we were marched past in turn, +or how I came there. But I remember the look of the king in +his naval uniform. I remember his white kerseymere +breeches, and pink silk stockings, and buckled shoes. He +took me between his knees, and asked, ‘Well, what are you +going to be, my little man?’</p> +<p>‘A sailor,’ said I, with brazen simplicity.</p> +<p>‘Going to avenge the death of Nelson—eh? +Fond o’ sugar-plums?’</p> +<p>‘Ye-es,’ said I, taking a mental inventory of +stars and anchor buttons.</p> +<p>Upon this, he fetched from the depths of his waistcoat pocket +a capacious gold box, and opened it with a tap, as though he were +about to offer me a pinch of snuff. ‘There’s +for you,’ said he.</p> +<p>I helped myself, unawed by the situation, and with my small +fist clutching the bonbons, was passed on to Queen +Adelaide. She gave me a kiss, for form’s sake, I +thought; and I scuttled back to my mother.</p> +<p>But here followed the shocking part of the <i>enfant +terrible’s</i> adventure. Not quite sure of Her +Majesty’s identity—I had never heard there was a +Queen—I naïvely asked my mother, in a very audible +stage-whisper, ‘Who is the old lady +with—?’ My mother dragged me off the instant +she had made her curtsey. She had a quick sense of humour; +and, judging from her laughter, when she told her story to +another lady in the supper room, I fancied I had said or done +something very funny. I was rather disconcerted at being +seriously admonished, and told I must never again comment upon +the breath of ladies who condescended to kiss, or to speak to, +me.</p> +<p>While we lived at Kensington, Lord Anglesey used often to pay +my mother a visit. She had told me the story of the battle +of Waterloo, in which my Uncle George—6th Lord +Albemarle—had taken part; and related how Lord Anglesey had +lost a leg there, and how one of his legs was made of cork. +Lord Anglesey was a great dandy. The cut of the Paget hat +was an heirloom for the next generation or two, and the gallant +Marquis’ boots and tightly-strapped trousers were patterns +of polish and precision. The limp was perceptible; but of +which leg, was, in spite of careful investigation, beyond my +diagnosis. His presence provoked my curiosity, till one +fine day it became too strong for resistance. While he was +busily engaged in conversation with my mother, I, watching for +the chance, sidled up to his chair, and as soon as he looked +away, rammed my heel on to his toes. They were his +toes. And considering the jump and the oath which instantly +responded to my test, I am persuaded they were abnormally tender +ones. They might have been made of corns, certainly not of +cork.</p> +<p>Another discovery I made about this period was, for me at +least, a ‘record’: it happened at Quidenham—my +grandfather the 4th Lord Albemarle’s place.</p> +<p>Some excursion was afoot, which needed an early +breakfast. When this was half over, one married couple were +missing. My grandfather called me to him (I was playing +with another small boy in one of the window bays). +‘Go and tell Lady Maria, with my love,’ said he, +‘that we shall start in half an hour. Stop, stop a +minute. Be sure you knock at the door.’ I +obeyed orders—I knocked at the door, but failed to wait for +an answer. I entered without it. And what did I +behold? Lady Maria was still in bed; and by the side of +Lady M. was, very naturally, Lady M.’s husband, also in bed +and fast asleep. At first I could hardly believe my +senses. It was within the range of my experience that boys +of my age occasionally slept in the same bed. But that a +grown up man should sleep in the same bed with his wife was quite +beyond my notion of the fitness of things. I was so +staggered, so long in taking in this astounding novelty, that I +could not at first deliver my grandfathers message. The +moment I had done so, I rushed back to the breakfast room, and in +a loud voice proclaimed to the company what I had seen. My +tale produced all the effect I had anticipated, but mainly in the +shape of amusement. One wag—my uncle Henry +Keppel—asked for details, gravely declaring he could hardly +credit my statement. Every one, however, seemed convinced +by the circumstantial nature of my evidence when I positively +asserted that their heads were not even at opposite ends of the +bed, but side by side upon the same pillow.</p> +<p>A still greater soldier than Lord Anglesey used to come to +Holkham every year, a great favourite of my father’s; this +was Lord Lynedoch. My earliest recollections of him owe +their vividness to three accidents—in the logical sense of +the term: his silky milk-white locks, his Spanish servant who +wore earrings—and whom, by the way, I used to confound with +Courvoisier, often there at the same time with his master Lord +William Russell, for the murder of whom he was hanged, as all the +world knows—and his fox terrier Nettle, which, as a special +favour, I was allowed to feed with Abernethy biscuits.</p> +<p>He was at Longford, my present home, on a visit to my father +in 1835, when, one evening after dinner, the two old +gentlemen—no one else being present but +myself—sitting in armchairs over the fire, finishing their +bottle of port, Lord Lynedoch told the wonderful story of his +adventures during the siege of Mantua by the French, in +1796. For brevity’s sake, it were better perhaps to +give the outline in the words of Alison. ‘It was high +time the Imperialists should advance to the relief of this +fortress, which was now reduced to the last extremity from want +of provisions. At a council of war held in the end of +December, it was decided that it was indispensable that instant +intelligence should be sent to Alvinzi of their desperate +situation. An English officer, attached to the garrison, +volunteered to perform the perilous mission, which he executed +with equal courage and success. He set out, disguised as a +peasant, from Mantua on December 29, at nightfall in the midst of +a deep fall of snow, eluded the vigilance of the French patrols, +and, after surmounting a thousand hardships and dangers, arrived +at the headquarters of Alvinzi, at Bassano, on January 4, the day +after the conferences at Vicenza were broken up.</p> +<p>‘Great destinies awaited this enterprising +officer. He was Colonel Graham, afterwards victor at +Barrosa, and the first British general who planted the English +standard on the soil of France.’</p> +<p>This bare skeleton of the event was endued ‘with sense +and soul’ by the narrator. The ‘hardships and +dangers’ thrilled one’s young nerves. Their two +salient features were ice perils, and the no less imminent one of +being captured and shot as a spy. The crossing of the +rivers stands out prominently in my recollection. All the +bridges were of course guarded, and he had two at least within +the enemy’s lines to get over—those of the Mincio and +of the Adige. Probably the lagunes surrounding the invested +fortress would be his worst difficulty. The Adige he +described as beset with a two-fold risk—the avoidance of +the bridges, which courted suspicion, and the thin ice and only +partially frozen river, which had to be traversed in the +dark. The vigour, the zest with which the wiry veteran +‘shoulder’d his crutch and show’d how fields +were won’ was not a thing to be forgotten.</p> +<p>Lord Lynedoch lived to a great age, and it was from his house +at Cardington, in Bedfordshire, that my brother Leicester married +his first wife, Miss Whitbread, in 1843. That was the last +time I saw him.</p> +<p>Perhaps the following is not out of place here, although it is +connected with more serious thoughts:</p> +<p>Though neither my father nor my mother were more pious than +their neighbours, we children were brought up religiously. +From infancy we were taught to repeat night and morning the +Lord’s Prayer, and invoke blessings on our parents. +It was instilled into us by constant repetition that God did not +love naughty children—our naughtiness being for the most +part the original sin of disobedience, rooted in the love of +forbidden fruit in all its forms of allurement. Moses +himself could not have believed more faithfully in the direct and +immediate intervention of an avenging God. The pain in +one’s stomach incident to unripe gooseberries, no less than +the consequent black dose, or the personal chastisement of a +responsible and apprehensive nurse, were but the just visitations +of an offended Deity.</p> +<p>Whether my religious proclivities were more pronounced than +those of other children I cannot say, but certainly, as a child, +I was in the habit of appealing to Omnipotence to gratify every +ardent desire.</p> +<p>There were peacocks in the pleasure grounds at Holkham, and I +had an æsthetic love for their gorgeous plumes. As I +hunted under and amongst the shrubs, I secretly prayed that my +search might be rewarded. Nor had I a doubt, when +successful, that my prayer had been granted by a beneficent +Providence.</p> +<p>Let no one smile at this infantine credulity, for is it not +the basis of that religious trust which helps so many of us to +support the sorrows to which our stoicism is unequal? Who +that might be tempted thoughtlessly to laugh at the child does +not sometimes sustain the hope of finding his +‘plumes’ by appeals akin to those of his +childhood? Which of us could not quote a hundred instances +of such a soothing delusion—if delusion it be? I +speak not of saints, but of sinners: of the countless hosts who +aspire to this world’s happiness; of the dying who would +live, of the suffering who would die, of the poor who would be +rich, of the aggrieved who seek vengeance, of the ugly who would +be beautiful, of the old who would appear young, of the guilty +who would not be found out, and of the lover who would +possess. Ah! the lover. Here possibility is a +negligible element. Consequences are of no +consequence. Passion must be served. When could a +miracle be more pertinent?</p> +<p>It is just fifty years ago now; it was during the Indian +Mutiny. A lady friend of mine did me the honour to make me +her confidant. She paid the same compliment to +many—most of her friends; and the friends (as is their +wont) confided in one another. Poor thing! her case was a +sad one. Whose case is not? She was, by her own +account, in the forty-second year of her virginity; and it may be +added, parenthetically, an honest fourteen stone in weight.</p> +<p>She was in love with a hero of Lucknow. It cannot be +said that she knew him only by his well-earned fame. She +had seen him, had even sat by him at dinner. He was young, +he was handsome. It was love at sight, accentuated by much +meditation—‘obsessions [peradventure] des images +génétiques.’ She told me (and her other +confidants, of course) that she prayed day and night that this +distinguished officer, this handsome officer, might return her +passion. And her letters to me (and to other confidants) +invariably ended with the entreaty that I (and her other, +&c.) would offer up a similar prayer on her behalf. +Alas! poor soul, poor body! I should say, the distinguished +officer, together with the invoked Providence, remained equally +insensible to her supplications. The lady rests in +peace. The soldier, though a veteran, still exults in +war.</p> +<p>But why do I cite this single instance? Are there not +millions of such entreaties addressed to Heaven on this, and on +every day? What difference is there, in spirit, between +them and the child’s prayer for his feather? Is there +anything great or small in the eye of Omniscience? Or is it +not our thinking only that makes it so?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Soon</span> after I was seven years old, I +went to what was then, and is still, one of the most favoured of +preparatory schools—Temple Grove—at East Sheen, then +kept by Dr. Pinkney. I was taken thither from Holkham by a +great friend of my father’s, General Sir Ronald Ferguson, +whose statue now adorns one of the niches in the façade of +Wellington College. The school contained about 120 boys; +but I cannot name any one of the lot who afterwards achieved +distinction. There were three Macaulays there, nephews of +the historian—Aulay, Kenneth, and Hector. But I have +lost sight of all.</p> +<p>Temple Grove was a typical private school of that +period. The type is familiar to everyone in its photograph +as Dotheboys Hall. The progress of the last century in many +directions is great indeed; but in few is it greater than in the +comfort and the cleanliness of our modern schools. The +luxury enjoyed by the present boy is a constant source of +astonishment to us grandfathers. We were half starved, we +were exceedingly dirty, we were systematically bullied, and we +were flogged and caned as though the master’s pleasure was +in inverse ratio to ours. The inscription on the threshold +should have been ‘Cave canem.’</p> +<p>We began our day as at Dotheboys Hall with two large spoonfuls +of sulphur and treacle. After an hour’s lessons we +breakfasted on one bowl of milk—‘Skyblue’ we +called it—and one hunch of buttered bread, unbuttered at +discretion. Our dinner began with pudding—generally +rice—to save the butcher’s bill. Then +mutton—which was quite capable of taking care of +itself. Our only other meal was a basin of +‘Skyblue’ and bread as before.</p> +<p>As to cleanliness, I never had a bath, never bathed (at the +school) during the two years I was there. On Saturday +nights, before bed, our feet were washed by the housemaids, in +tubs round which half a dozen of us sat at a time. Woe to +the last comers! for the water was never changed. How we +survived the food, or rather the want of it, is a marvel. +Fortunately for me, I used to discover, when I got into bed, a +thickly buttered crust under my pillow. I believed, I never +quite made sure, (for the act was not admissible), that my good +fairy was a fiery-haired lassie (we called her +‘Carrots,’ though I had my doubts as to this being +her Christian name) who hailed from Norfolk. I see her now: +her jolly, round, shining face, her extensive mouth, her ample +person. I recall, with more pleasure than I then endured, +the cordial hugs she surreptitiously bestowed upon me when we met +by accident in the passages. Kind, affectionate +‘Carrots’! Thy heart was as bounteous as thy +bosom. May the tenderness of both have met with their +earthly deserts; and mayest thou have shared to the full the +pleasures thou wast ever ready to impart!</p> +<p>There were no railways in those times. It amuses me to +see people nowadays travelling by coach, for pleasure. How +many lives must have been shortened by long winter journeys in +those horrible coaches. The inside passengers were hardly +better off than the outside. The corpulent and heavy +occupied the scanty space allotted to the weak and +small—crushed them, slept on them, snored over them, and +monopolised the straw which was supposed to keep their feet +warm.</p> +<p>A pachydermatous old lady would insist upon an open +window. A wheezy consumptive invalid would insist on a +closed one. Everybody’s legs were in their own, and +in every other body’s, way. So that when the distance +was great and time precious, people avoided coaching, and +remained where they were.</p> +<p>For this reason, if a short holiday was given—less than +a week say—Norfolk was too far off; and I was not permitted +to spend it at Holkham. I generally went to Charles +Fox’s at Addison Road, or to Holland House. Lord +Holland was a great friend of my father’s; but, if Creevey +is to be trusted—which, as a rule, my recollection of him +would permit me to doubt, though perhaps not in this +instance—Lord Holland did not go to Holkham because of my +father’s dislike to Lady Holland.</p> +<p>I speak here of my introduction to Holland House, for although +Lady Holland was then in the zenith of her ascendency, (it was +she who was the Cabinet Minister, not her too amiable husband,) +although Holland House was then the resort of all the potentates +of Whig statecraft, and Whig literature, and Whig wit, in the +persons of Lord Grey, Brougham, Jeffrey, Macaulay, Sydney Smith, +and others, it was not till eight or ten years later that I knew, +when I met them there, who and what her Ladyship’s +brilliant satellites were. I shall not return to Lady +Holland, so I will say a parting word of her forthwith.</p> +<p>The woman who corresponded with Buonaparte, and consoled the +prisoner of St. Helena with black currant jam, was no ordinary +personage. Most people, I fancy, were afraid of her. +Her stature, her voice, her beard, were obtrusive marks of her +masculine attributes. It is questionable whether her amity +or her enmity was most to be dreaded. She liked those best +whom she could most easily tyrannise over. Those in the +other category might possibly keep aloof. For my part I +feared her patronage. I remember when I was about +seventeen—a self-conscious hobbledehoy—Mr. Ellice +took me to one of her large receptions. She received her +guests from a sort of elevated dais. When I came +up—very shy—to make my salute, she asked me how old I +was. ‘Seventeen,’ was the answer. +‘That means next birthday,’ she grunted. +‘Come and give me a kiss, my dear.’ I, a +man!—a man whose voice was (sometimes) as gruff as +hers!—a man who was beginning to shave for a +moustache! Oh! the indignity of it!</p> +<p>But it was not Lady Holland, or her court, that concerned me +in my school days, it was Holland Park, or the extensive grounds +about Charles Fox’s house (there were no other houses at +Addison Road then), that I loved to roam in. It was the +birds’-nesting; it was the golden carp I used to fish for +on the sly with a pin; the shying at the swans, the hunt for +cockchafers, the freedom of mischief generally, and the excellent +food—which I was so much in need of—that made the +holiday delightful.</p> +<p>Some years later, when dining at Holland House, I happened to +sit near the hostess. It was a large dinner party. +Lord Holland, in his bath-chair (he nearly always had the gout), +sat at the far end of the table a long way off. But my lady +kept an eye on him, for she had caught him drinking +champagne. She beckoned to the groom of the chambers, who +stood behind her; and in a gruff and angry voice shouted: +‘Go to my Lord. Take away his wine, and tell him if +he drinks any more you have my orders to wheel him into the next +room.’ If this was a joke it was certainly a +practical one. And yet affection was behind it. +There’s a tender place in every heart.</p> +<p>Like all despots, she was subject to fits of +cowardice—especially, it was said, with regard to a future +state, which she professed to disbelieve in. Mr. Ellice +told me that once, in some country house, while a fearful storm +was raging, and the claps of thunder made the windows rattle, +Lady Holland was so terrified that she changed dresses with her +maid, and hid herself in the cellar. Whether the story be a +calumny or not, it is at least characteristic.</p> +<p>After all, it was mainly due to her that Holland House became +the focus of all that was brilliant in Europe. In the +memoirs of her father—Sydney Smith—Mrs. Austin +writes: ‘The world has rarely seen, and will rarely, if +ever, see again all that was to be found within the walls of +Holland House. Genius and merit, in whatever rank of life, +became a passport there; and all that was choicest and rarest in +Europe seemed attracted to that spot as their natural +soil.’</p> +<p>Did we learn much at Temple Grove? Let others answer for +themselves. Acquaintance with the classics was the staple +of a liberal education in those times. Temple Grove was the +<i>atrium</i> to Eton, and gerund-grinding was its <i>raison +d’être</i>. Before I was nine years old I +daresay I could repeat—parrot, that is—several +hundreds of lines of the Æneid. This, and some +elementary arithmetic, geography, and drawing, which last I took +to kindly, were dearly paid for by many tears, and by temporarily +impaired health. It was due to my pallid cheeks that I was +removed. It was due to the following six +months—summer months—of a happy life that my health +was completely restored.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Edward Ellice</span>, who constantly +figures in the memoirs of the last century as ‘Bear +Ellice’ (an outrageous misnomer, by the way), and who later +on married my mother, was the chief controller of my youthful +destiny. His first wife was a sister of the Lord Grey of +Reform Bill fame, in whose Government he filled the office of War +Minister. In many respects Mr. Ellice was a notable +man. He possessed shrewd intelligence, much force of +character, and an autocratic spirit—to which he owed his +sobriquet. His kindness of heart, his powers of +conversation, with striking personality and ample wealth, +combined to make him popular. His house in Arlington +Street, and his shooting lodge at Glen Quoich, were famous for +the number of eminent men who were his frequent guests.</p> +<p>Mr. Ellice’s position as a minister, and his habitual +residence in Paris, had brought him in touch with the leading +statesmen of France. He was intimately acquainted with +Louis Philippe, with Talleyrand, with Guizot, with Thiers, and +most of the French men and French women whose names were bruited +in the early part of the nineteenth century.</p> +<p>When I was taken from Temple Grove, I was placed, by the +advice and arrangement of Mr. Ellice, under the charge of a +French family, which had fallen into decay—through the +change of dynasty. The Marquis de Coubrier had been Master +of the Horse to Charles X. His widow—an old lady +between seventy and eighty—with three maiden daughters, all +advanced in years, lived upon the remnant of their estates in a +small village called Larue, close to Bourg-la-Reine, which, it +may be remembered, was occupied by the Prussians during the siege +of Paris. There was a château, the former seat of the +family; and, adjoining it, in the same grounds, a pretty and +commodious cottage. The first was let as a country house to +some wealthy Parisians; the cottage was occupied by the Marquise +and her three daughters.</p> +<p>The personal appearances of each of these four elderly ladies, +their distinct idiosyncrasies, and their former high position as +members of a now moribund nobility, left a lasting impression on +my memory. One might expect, perhaps, from such a prelude, +to find in the old Marquise traces of stately demeanour, or a +regretted superiority. Nothing of the kind. She +herself was a short, square-built woman, with large head and +strong features, framed in a mob cap, with a broad frill which +flopped over her tortoise-shell spectacles. She wore a +black bombazine gown, and list slippers. When in the +garden, where she was always busy in the summer-time, she put on +wooden sabots over her slippers.</p> +<p>Despite this homely exterior, she herself was a +‘lady’ in every sense of the word. Her manner +was dignified and courteous to everyone. To her daughters +and to myself she was gentle and affectionate. Her voice +was sympathetic, almost musical. I never saw her temper +ruffled. I never heard her allude to her antecedents.</p> +<p>The daughters were as unlike their mother as they were to one +another. Adèle, the eldest, was very stout, with a +profusion of grey ringlets. She spoke English +fluently. I gathered, from her mysterious nods and tosses +of the head, (to be sure, her head wagged a little of its own +accord, the ringlets too, like lambs’ tails,) that she had +had an <i>affaire de cœur</i> with an Englishman, and that +the perfidious islander had removed from the Continent with her +misplaced affections. She was a trifle bitter, I +thought—for I applied her insinuations to +myself—against Englishmen generally. But, though +cynical in theory, she was perfectly amiable in practice. +She superintended the ménage and spent the rest of her +life in making paper flowers. I should hardly have known +they were flowers, never having seen their prototypes in +nature. She assured me, however, that they were beautiful +copies—undoubtedly she believed them to be so.</p> +<p>Henriette, the youngest, had been the beauty of the +family. This I had to take her own word for, since here +again there was much room for imagination and faith. She +was a confirmed invalid, and, poor thing! showed every symptom of +it. She rarely left her room except for meals; and although +it was summer when I was there, she never moved without her +chauffrette. She seemed to live for the sake of patent +medicines and her chauffrette; she was always swallowing the one, +and feeding the other.</p> +<p>The middle daughter was Agläé. Mademoiselle +Agläé took charge—I may say, +possession—of me. She was tall, gaunt, and bony, with +a sharp aquiline nose, pomegranate cheek-bones, and large saffron +teeth ever much in evidence. Her speciality, as I soon +discovered, was sentiment. Like her sisters, she had had +her ‘affaires’ in the plural. A Greek prince, +so far as I could make out, was the last of her adorers. +But I sometimes got into scrapes by mixing up the Greek prince +with a Polish count, and then confounding either one or both with +a Hungarian pianoforte player.</p> +<p>Without formulating my deductions, I came instinctively to the +conclusion that ‘En fait d’amour,’ as Figaro +puts it, ‘trop n’est pas même +assez.’ From Miss Agläé’s point of +view a lover was a lover. As to the superiority of one over +another, this was—nay, is—purely subjective. +‘We receive but what we give.’ And, from what +Mademoiselle then told me, I cannot but infer that she had given +without stint.</p> +<p>Be that as it may, nothing could be more kind than her care of +me. She tucked me up at night, and used to send for me in +the morning before she rose, to partake of her +<i>café-au-lait</i>. In return for her indulgences, +I would ‘make eyes’ such as I had seen Auguste, the +young man-servant, cast at Rose the cook. I would present +her with little scraps which I copied in roundhand from a volume +of French poems. Once I drew, and coloured with red ink, +two hearts pierced with an arrow, a copious pool of red ink +beneath, emblematic of both the quality and quantity of my +passion. This work of art produced so deep a sigh that I +abstained thenceforth from repeating such sanguinary +endearments.</p> +<p>Not the least interesting part of the family was the +servants. I say ‘family,’ for a French family, +unlike an English one, includes its domestics; wherein our +neighbours have the advantage over us. In the British +establishment the household is but too often thought of and +treated as furniture. I was as fond of Rose the cook and +maid-of-all-work as I was of anyone in the house. She +showed me how to peel potatoes, break eggs, and make +<i>pot-au-feu</i>. She made me little delicacies in +pastry—swans with split almonds for wings, comic little +pigs with cloves in their eyes—for all of which my +affection and my liver duly acknowledged receipt in full. +She taught me more provincial pronunciation and bad grammar than +ever I could unlearn. She was very intelligent, and radiant +with good humour. One peculiarity especially took my +fancy—the yellow bandana in which she enveloped her +head. I was always wondering whether she was born without +hair—there was none to be seen. This puzzled me so +that one day I consulted Auguste, who was my chief +companion. He was quite indignant, and declared with warmth +that Mam’selle Rose had the most beautiful hair he had ever +beheld. He flushed even with enthusiasm. If it +hadn’t been for his manner, I should have asked him how he +knew. But somehow I felt the subject was a delicate +one.</p> +<p>How incessantly they worked, Auguste and Rose, and how +cheerfully they worked! One could hear her singing, and him +whistling, at it all day. Yet they seemed to have abundant +leisure to exchange a deal of pleasantry and harmless +banter. Auguste was a Swiss, and a bigoted Protestant, and +never lost an opportunity of holding forth on the superiority of +the reformed religion. If he thought the family were out of +hearing, he would grow very animated and declamatory. But +Rose, who also had hopes, though perhaps faint, for my salvation, +would suddenly rush into the room with the carpet broom, and +drive him out, with threats of Miss Agläé, and the +broomstick.</p> +<p>The gardener, Monsieur Benoît, was also a great +favourite of mine, and I of his, for I was never tired of +listening to his wonderful adventures. He had, so he +informed me, been a soldier in the <i>Grande +Armée</i>. He enthralled me with hair-raising +accounts of his exploits: how, when leading a storming +party—he was always the leader—one dark and terrible +night, the vivid and incessant lightning betrayed them by the +flashing of their bayonets; and how in a few minutes they were +mowed down by <i>mitraille</i>. He had led forlorn hopes, +and performed deeds of astounding prowess. How many +Life-guardsmen he had annihilated: ‘Ah! ben oui!’ he +was afraid to say. He had been personally noticed by +‘Le p’tit caporal.’ There were many, +whose deeds were not to compare with his, who had been made +princes and mareschals. <i>Parbleu</i>! but his luck was +bad. ‘Pas d’chance! pas d’chance! +Mo’sieu Henri.’ As Monsieur Benoît +recorded his feats, and witnessed my unbounded admiration, his +voice would grow more and more sepulchral, till it dropped to a +hoarse and scarcely audible whisper.</p> +<p>I was a little bewildered one day when, having breathlessly +repeated some of his heroic deeds to the Marquise, she with a +quiet smile assured me that ‘ce petit bon-homme,’ as +she called him, had for a short time been a drummer in the +National Guard, but had never been a soldier. This was a +blow to me; moreover, I was troubled by the composure of the +Marquise. Monsieur Benoît had actually been telling +me what was not true. Was it, then, possible that grown-up +people acquired the privilege of fibbing with impunity? I +wondered whether this right would eventually become mine!</p> +<p>At Bourg-la-Reine there is, or was, a large school. +Three days in the week I had to join one of the classes there; on +the other three one of the ushers came up to Larue for a couple +of hours of private tuition. At the school itself I did not +learn very much, except that boys everywhere are pretty similar, +especially in the badness of their manners. I also learnt +that shrugging the shoulders while exhibiting the palms of the +hands, and smiting oneself vehemently on the chest, are +indispensable elements of the French idiom. The +indiscriminate use of the word ‘parfaitement’ I also +noticed to be essential when at a loss for either language or +ideas, and have made valuable use of it ever since.</p> +<p>Monsieur Vincent, my tutor, was a most good-natured and +patient teacher. I incline, however, to think that I taught +him more English than he taught me French. He certainly +worked hard at his lessons. He read English aloud to me, +and made me correct his pronunciation. The mental agony +this caused me makes me hot to think of still. I had never +heard his kind of Franco-English before. To my ignorance it +was the most comic language in the world. There were some +words which, in spite of my endeavours, he persisted in +pronouncing in his own way. I have since got quite used to +the most of them, and their only effect is to remind me of my own +rash ventures in a foreign tongue. There are one or two +words which recall the pain it gave me to control my +emotions. He would produce his penknife, for instance; and, +contemplating it with a despondent air, would declare it to be +the most difficult word in the English language to +pronounce. ‘Ow you say ’im?’ +‘Penknife,’ I explained. He would bid me write +it down; then having spelt it, he would, with much effort, and a +sound like sneezing—oh! the pain I endured!—slowly +repeat ‘Penkneef.’ I gave it up at last; and he +was gratified with his success. As my explosion generally +occurred about five minutes afterwards, Monsieur Vincent failed +to connect cause and effect. When we parted he gave me a +neatly bound copy of La Bruyère as a prize—for his +own proficiency, I presume. Many a pleasant half-hour have +I since spent with the witty classic.</p> +<p>Except the controversial harangues of the zealot Auguste, my +religious teaching was neglected on week days. On Sundays, +if fine, I was taken to a Protestant church in Paris; not +infrequently to the Embassy. I did not enjoy this at +all. I could have done very well without it. I liked +the drive, which took about an hour each way. Occasionally +Agläé and I went in the Bourg-la-Reine coucou. +But Mr. Ellice had arranged that a carriage should be hired for +me. Probably he was not unmindful of the convenience of the +old ladies. They were not. The carriage was always +filled. Even Mademoiselle Henriette managed to go +sometimes—aided by a little patent medicine, and when it +was too hot for the chauffrette. If she was unable, a +friend in the neighbourhood was offered a seat; and I had to sit +bodkin, or on Mademoiselle Agläé’s lap. I +hated the ‘friend’; for, secretly, I felt the +carriage was mine, though of course I never had the bad taste to +say so.</p> +<p>They went to Mass, and I was allowed to go with them, in +addition to my church, as a special favour. I liked the +music, the display of candles, the smell of the incense, and the +dresses of the priests; and wondered whether when +undressed—unrobed, that is—they were funny old +gentlemen like Monsieur le Curé at Larue, and took such a +prodigious quantity of snuff up their noses and under their +finger-nails. The ladies did a good deal of shopping, and +we finished off at the Flower Market by the Madeleine, where I, +through the agency of Mademoiselle Agläé, bought +plants for ‘Maman.’ This gave +‘Maman’ <i>un plaisir inouï</i>, and me too; for +the dear old lady always presented me with a stick of +barley-sugar in return. As I never possessed a sou (Miss +Agläé kept account of all my expenses and +disbursements) I was strongly in favour of buying plants for +‘Maman.’</p> +<p>I loved the garden. It was such a beautiful garden; so +beautifully kept by Monsieur Benoît, and withered old +Mère Michèle, who did the weeding and helped Rose +once a week in the laundry. There were such pretty +trellises, covered with roses and clematis; such masses of bright +flowers and sweet mignonette; such tidy gravel walks and clipped +box edges; such floods of sunshine; so many butterflies and +lizards basking in it; the birds singing with excess of +joy. I used to fancy they sang in gratitude to the dear old +Marquise, who never forgot them in the winter snows.</p> +<p>What a quaint but charming picture she was amidst this +quietude,—she who had lived through the Reign of Terror: +her mob cap, garden apron, and big gloves; a trowel in one hand, +a watering-pot in the other; potting and unpotting; so busy, +seemingly so happy. She loved to have me with her, and let +me do the watering. What a pleasure that was! The +scores of little jets from the perforated rose, the gushing +sound, the freshness and the sparkle, the gratitude of the +plants, to say nothing of one’s own wet legs. +‘Maman’ did not approve of my watering my own +legs. But if the watering-pot was too big for me how could +I help it? By and by a small one painted red within and +green outside was discovered in Bourg-la-Reine, and I was happy +ever afterwards.</p> +<p>Much of my time was spent with the children and nurses of the +family which occupied the château. The costume of the +head nurse with her high Normandy cap (would that I had a female +pen for details) invariably suggested to me that she would make +any English showman’s fortune, if he could only exhibit her +stuffed. At the cottage they called her ‘La Grosse +Normande.’ Not knowing her by any other name, I +always so addressed her. She was not very quick-witted, but +I think she a little resented my familiarity, and retaliated by +comparisons between her compatriots and mine, always in a tone +derogatory to the latter. She informed me as a matter of +history, patent to all nurses, that the English race were +notoriously bow-legged; and that this was due to the vicious +practice of allowing children to use their legs before the +gristle had become bone. Being of an inquiring turn of +mind, I listened with awe to this physiological revelation, and +with chastened and depressed spirits made a mental note of our +national calamity. Privately I fancied that the mottled and +spasmodic legs of Achille—whom she carried in her +arms—or at least so much of the infant Pelides’ legs +as were not enveloped in a napkin, gave every promise of refuting +her generalisation.</p> +<p>One of my amusements was to set brick traps for small +birds. At Holkham in the winter time, by baiting with a few +grains of corn, I and my brothers used, in this way, to capture +robins, hedge-sparrows, and tits. Not far from the +château was a large osier bed, resorted to by flocks of the +common sparrow. Here I set my traps. But it being +summer time, and (as I complained when twitted with want of +success) French birds being too stupid to know what the traps +were for, I never caught a feather. Now this osier bed was +a favourite game covert for the sportsmen of the château; +and what was my delight and astonishment when one morning I found +a dead hare with its head under the fallen brick of my +trap. How triumphantly I dragged it home, and showed it to +Rose and Auguste,—who more than the rest had ‘mocked +themselves’ of my traps, and then carried it in my arms, +all bloody as it was (I could not make out how both its hind legs +were broken) into the salon to show it to the old Marquise. +Mademoiselle Henriette, who was there, gave a little scream (for +effect) at sight of the blood. Everybody was pleased. +But when I overheard Rose’s <i>sotto voce</i> to the +Marquise: ‘Comme ils sont gentils!’ I indignantly +retorted that ‘it wasn’t kind of the hare at all: it +was entirely due to my skill in setting the traps. They +would catch anything that put its head into them. Just you +try.’</p> +<p>How severe are the shocks of early disillusionment! It +was not until long after the hare was skinned, roasted, served as +<i>civet</i> and as <i>purée</i> that I discovered the +truth. I was not at all grateful to the gentlemen of the +château whose dupe I had been; was even wrath with my dear +old ‘Maman’ for treating them with extra courtesy for +their kindness to her <i>petit chéri</i>.</p> +<p>That was a happy summer. After it was ended, and it was +time for me to return to England and begin my education for the +Navy I never again set eyes on Larue, or that charming nest of +old ladies who had done their utmost to spoil me. Many and +many a time have I been to Paris, but nothing could tempt me to +visit Larue. So it is with me. Often have I +questioned the truth of the <i>nessun maggior dolore</i> than the +memory of happy times in the midst of sorry ones. The +thought of happiness, it would seem, should surely make us +happier, and yet—not of happiness for ever lost. And +are not the deepening shades of our declining sun deepened by +youth’s contrast? Whatever our sweetest songs may +tell us of, we are the sadder for our sweetest memories. +The grass can never be as green again to eyes grown watery. +The lambs that skipped when we did were long since served as +mutton. And if</p> +<blockquote><p>Die Füsse tragen mich so muthig nicht +empor<br /> +Die hohen Stufen die ich kindisch übersprang,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>why, I will take the fact for granted. My youth is fled, +my friends are dead. The daisies and the snows whiten by +turns the grave of him or her—the dearest I have +loved. Shall I make a pilgrimage to that sepulchre? +Drop futile tears upon it? Will they warm what is no +more? I for one have not the heart for that. Happily +life has something else for us to do. Happily ’tis +best to do it.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> passage from the romantic to +the realistic, from the chimerical to the actual, from the +child’s poetic interpretation of life to life’s +practical version of itself, is too gradual to be noticed while +the process is going on. It is only in the retrospect we +see the change. There is still, for yet another stage, the +same and even greater receptivity,—delight in new +experiences, in gratified curiosity, in sensuous enjoyment, in +the exercise of growing faculties. But the belief in the +impossible and the bliss of ignorance are seen, when looking +back, to have assumed almost abruptly a cruder state of maturer +dulness. Between the public schoolboy and the child there +is an essential difference; and this in a boy’s case is +largely due, I fancy, to the diminished influence of woman, and +the increased influence of men.</p> +<p>With me, certainly, the rough usage I was ere long to undergo +materially modified my view of things in general. In 1838, +when I was eleven years old, my uncle, Henry Keppel, the future +Admiral of the Fleet, but then a dashing young commander, took me +(as he mentions in his Autobiography) to the Naval Academy at +Gosport. The very afternoon of my admittance—as an +illustration of the above remarks—I had three fights with +three different boys. After that the ‘new boy’ +was left to his own devices,—<i>qua</i> ‘new +boy,’ that is; as an ordinary small boy, I had my +share. I have spoken of the starvation at Dr. +Pinkney’s; here it was the terrible bullying that left its +impress on me—literally its mark, for I still bear the scar +upon my hand.</p> +<p>Most boys, I presume, know the toy called a whirligig, made by +stringing a button on a loop of thread, the twisting and +untwisting of which by approaching and separating the hands +causes the button to revolve. Upon this design, and by +substituting a jagged disk of slate for the button, the senior +‘Bull-dogs’ (we were all called ‘Burney’s +bull-dogs’) constructed a very simple instrument of +torture. One big boy spun the whirligig, while another held +the small boy’s palm till the sharp slate-edge gashed +it. The wound was severe. For many years a long white +cicatrice recorded the fact in my right hand. The ordeal +was, I fancy, unique—a prerogative of the naval +‘bull-dogs.’ The other torture was, in those +days, not unknown to public schools. It was to hold a +boy’s back and breech as near to a hot fire as his clothes +would bear without burning. I have an indistinct +recollection of a boy at one of our largest public schools being +thus exposed, and left tied to chairs while his companions were +at church. When church was over the boy was +found—roasted.</p> +<p>By the advice of a chum I submitted to the scorching without a +howl, and thus obtained immunity, and admission to the roasting +guild for the future. What, however, served me best, in all +matters of this kind, was that as soon as I was twelve years old +my name was entered on the books of the ‘Britannia,’ +then flag-ship in Portsmouth Harbour, and though I remained at +the Academy, I always wore the uniform of a volunteer of the +first class, now called a naval cadet. The uniform was +respected, and the wearer shared the benefit.</p> +<p>During the winter of 1839–40 I joined H.M.S. +‘Blonde,’ a 46-gun frigate commanded by Captain +Bouchier, afterwards Sir Thomas, whose portrait is now in the +National Portrait Gallery. He had seen much service, and +had been flag-captain to Nelson’s Hardy. In the +middle of that winter we sailed for China, where troubles had +arisen anent the opium trade.</p> +<p>What would the cadet of the present day think of the treatment +we small boys had to put up with sixty or seventy years +ago? Promotion depended almost entirely on interest. +The service was entered at twelve or thirteen. After two +years at sea, if the boy passed his examination, he mounted the +white patch, and became a midshipman. At the end of four +years more he had to pass a double examination,—one for +seamanship before a board of captains, and another for navigation +at the Naval College. He then became a master’s mate, +and had to serve for three years as such before he was eligible +for promotion to a lieutenancy. Unless an officer had +family interest he often stuck there, and as often had to serve +under one more favoured, who was not born when he himself was +getting stale.</p> +<p>Naturally enough these old hands were jealous of the fortunate +youngsters, and, unless exceptionally amiable, would show them +little mercy.</p> +<p>We left Portsmouth in December 1839. It was bitter +winter. The day we sailed, such was the severity of the +gale and snowstorm, that we had to put back and anchor at St. +Helens in the Isle of Wight. The next night we were at +sea. It happened to be my middle watch. I had to turn +out of my hammock at twelve to walk the deck till four in the +morning. Walk! I could not stand. Blinded with snow, +drenched by the seas, frozen with cold, home sick and sea sick +beyond description, my opinion of the Royal Navy—as a +profession—was, in the course of these four hours, +seriously subverted. Long before the watch ended. I +was reeling about more asleep than awake; every now and then +brought to my senses by breaking my shins against the carronade +slides; or, if I sat down upon one of them to rest, by a playful +whack with a rope’s end from one of the crusty old mates +aforesaid, who perhaps anticipated in my poor little personality +the arrogance of a possible commanding officer. Oh! those +cruel night watches! But the hard training must have been a +useful tonic too. One got accustomed to it by degrees; and +hence, indifferent to exposure, to bad food, to kicks and cuffs, +to calls of duty, to subordination, and to all that constitutes +discipline.</p> +<p>Luckily for me, the midshipman of my watch, Jack Johnson, was +a trump, and a smart officer to boot. He was six years +older than I, and, though thoroughly good-natured, was formidable +enough from his strength and determination to have his will +respected. He became my patron and protector. +Rightly, or wrongly I am afraid, he always took my part, made +excuses for me to the officer of our watch if I were caught +napping under the half-deck, or otherwise neglecting my +duty. Sometimes he would even take the blame for this upon +himself, and give me a ‘wigging’ in private, which +was my severest punishment. He taught me the ropes, and +explained the elements of seamanship. If it was very cold +at night he would make me wear his own comforter, and, in short, +took care of me in every possible way. Poor Jack! I never +had a better friend; and I loved him then, God knows. He +was one of those whose advancement depended on himself. I +doubt whether he would ever have been promoted but for an +accident which I shall speak of presently.</p> +<p>When we got into warm latitudes we were taught not only to +knot and splice, but to take in and set the mizzen royal. +There were four of us boys, and in all weathers at last we were +practised aloft until we were as active and as smart as any of +the ship’s lads, even in dirty weather or in sudden +squalls.</p> +<p>We had a capital naval instructor for lessons in navigation, +and the quartermaster of the watch taught us how to handle the +wheel and con.</p> +<p>These quartermasters—there was one to each of the three +watches—were picked men who had been captains of tops or +boatswains’ mates. They were much older than any of +the crew. Our three in the ‘Blonde’ had all +seen service in the French and Spanish wars. One, a tall, +handsome old fellow, had been a smuggler; and many a fight with, +or narrow escape from, the coast-guard he had to tell of. +The other two had been badly wounded. Old Jimmy Bartlett of +my watch had a hole in his chest half an inch deep from a +boarding pike. He had also lost a finger, and a bullet had +passed through his cheek. One of his fights was in the +‘Amethyst’ frigate when, under Sir Michael Seymour, +she captured the ‘Niemen’ in 1809. Often in the +calm tropical nights, when the helm could take care of itself +almost, he would spin me a yarn about hot actions, cutting-outs, +press-gangings, and perils which he had gone through, +or—what was all one to me—had invented.</p> +<p>From England to China round the Cape was a long voyage before +there was a steamer in the Navy. It is impossible to +describe the charm of one’s first acquaintance with +tropical vegetation after the tedious monotony unbroken by any +event but an occasional flogging or a man overboard. The +islands seemed afloat in an atmosphere of blue; their jungles +rooting in the water’s edge. The strange birds in the +daytime, the flocks of parrots, the din of every kind of life, +the flying foxes at night, the fragrant and spicy odours, +captivate the senses. How delicious, too, the fresh fruits +brought off by the Malays in their scooped-out logs, one’s +first taste of bananas, juicy shaddocks, mangoes, and custard +apples—after months of salt junk, disgusting salt pork, and +biscuit all dust and weevils. The water is so crystal-clear +it seems as though one could lay one’s hands on strange +coloured fish and coral beds at any depth. This, indeed, +was ‘kissing the lips of unexpected change.’ It +was a first kiss moreover. The tropics now have ceased to +remind me even of this spell of novelty and wonder.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> first time I ‘smelt +powder’ was at Amoy. The ‘Blonde’ carried +out Lord Palmerston’s letter to the Chinese +Government. Never was there a more iniquitous war than +England then provoked with China to force upon her the opium +trade with India in spite of the harm which the Chinese +authorities believed that opium did to their people.</p> +<p>Even Macaulay advocated this shameful imposition. China +had to submit, and pay into the bargain four and a half millions +sterling to prove themselves in the wrong. Part of this +went as prize money. My share of it—the +<i>douceur</i> for a middy’s participation in the +crime—was exactly 100<i>l.</i></p> +<p>To return to Amoy. When off the mouth of the Canton +river we had taken on board an interpreter named Thom. What +our instructions were I know not; I can only tell what +happened. Our entry into Amoy harbour caused an immediate +commotion on land. As soon as we dropped anchor, about half +a mile from the shore, a number of troops, with eight or ten +field-pieces, took up their position on the beach, evidently +resolved to prevent our landing. We hoisted a flag of +truce, at the same time cleared the decks for action, and dropped +a kedge astern so as to moor the ship broadside to the forts and +invested shore. The officer of my watch, the late Sir +Frederick Nicholson, together with the interpreter, were ordered +to land and communicate with the chief mandarin. To carry +out this as inoffensively as possible, Nicholson took the +jolly-boat, manned by four lads only. As it was my watch, I +had charge of the boat. A napkin or towel served for a flag +of truce. But long before we reached the shore, several +mandarins came down to the water’s edge waving their swords +and shouting angrily to warn us off. Mr. Thom, who +understood what they said, was frightened out of his wits, +assuring us we should all be sawed in half if we attempted to +land. Sir Frederick was not the man to disobey orders even +on such a penalty; he, however, took the precaution—a very +wise one as it happened—to reverse the boat, and back her +in stern foremost.</p> +<p>No sooner did the keel grate on the shingle than a score of +soldiers rushed down to seize us. Before they could do so +we had shoved off. The shore was very steep. In a +moment we were in deep water, and our lads pulling for dear +life. Then came a storm of bullets from matchlocks and +jingals and the bigger guns, fortunately just too high to hit +us. One bullet only struck the back-board, but did no +harm. What, however, seemed a greater danger was the fire +from the ship. Ere we were halfway back broadside after +broadside was fired over our heads into the poor devils massed +along the beach. This was kept up until not a living +Chinaman was to be seen.</p> +<p>I may mention here a curious instance of cowardice. One +of our men, a ship’s painter, soon after the firing began +and was returned by the fort’s guns, which in truth were +quite harmless, jumped overboard and drowned himself. I +have seen men’s courage tried under fire, and in many other +ways since; yet I have never known but one case similar to this, +when a friend of my own, a rich and prosperous man, shot himself +to avoid death! So that there are men like ‘Monsieur +Grenouille, qui se cachait dans l’eau pour éviter la +pluie.’ Often have I seen timid and nervous men, who +were thought to be cowards, get so excited in action that their +timidity has turned to rashness. In truth ‘on est +souvent ferme par faiblesse, et audacieux par +timidité.’</p> +<p>Partly for this reason, and partly because I look upon it as a +remnant of our predatory antecedents and of animal pugnacity, I +have no extravagant admiration for mere combativeness or physical +courage. Honoured and rewarded as one of the noblest of +manly attributes, it is one of the commonest of +qualities,—one which there is not a mammal, a bird, a fish, +or an insect even, that does not share with us. Such is the +esteem in which it is held, such the ignominy which punishes the +want of it, that the most cautious and the most timid by nature +will rather face the uncertain risks of a fight than the certain +infamy of imputed cowardice.</p> +<p>Is it likely that courage should be rare under such +circumstances, especially amongst professional fighters, who in +England at least have chosen their trade? That there are +poltroons, and plenty of them, amongst our soldiers and sailors, +I do not dispute. But with the fear of shame on one hand, +the hope of reward on the other, the merest dastard will fight +like a wild beast, when his blood is up. The extraordinary +merit of his conduct is not so obvious to the peaceful +thinker. I speak not of such heroism as that of the +Japanese,—their deeds will henceforth be bracketed with +those of Leonidas and his three hundred, who died for a like +cause. With the Japanese, as it was with the Spartans, +every man is a patriot; nor is the proportionate force of their +barbaric invaders altogether dissimilar.</p> +<p>Is then the Victoria Cross an error? To say so would be +an outrage in this age of militarism. And what would all +the Queens of Beauty think, from Sir Wilfred Ivanhoe’s days +to ours, if mighty warriors ceased to poke each other in the +ribs, and send one another’s souls untimely to the +‘viewless shades,’ for the sake of their ‘doux +yeux?’ Ah! who knows how many a mutilation, how many +a life, has been the price of that requital? Ye gentle +creatures who swoon at the sight of blood, is it not the hero who +lets most of it that finds most favour in your eyes? +Possibly it may be to the heroes of moral courage that some +distant age will award its choicest decorations. As it is, +the courage that seeks the rewards of Fame seems to me about on a +par with the virtue that invests in Heaven.</p> +<p>Though an anachronism as regards this stage of my career, I +cannot resist a little episode which pleasantly illustrates moral +courage, or chivalry at least, combined with physical +bravery.</p> +<p>In December, 1899, I was a passenger on board a Norddeutscher +Lloyd on my way to Ceylon. The steamer was crowded with +Germans; there were comparatively few English. Things had +been going very badly with us in the Transvaal, and the telegrams +both at Port Said and at Suez supplemented the previous +ill-news. At the latter place we heard of the catastrophe +at Magersfontein, of poor Wauchope’s death, and of the +disaster to the Highland Light Infantry. The moment it +became known the Germans threw their caps into the air, and +yelled as if it were they who had defeated us.</p> +<p>Amongst the steerage passengers was a Major—in the +English army—returning from leave to rejoin his regiment at +Colombo. If one might judge by his choice of a second-class +fare, and by his much worn apparel, he was what one would call a +professional soldier. He was a tall, powerfully-built, +handsome man, with a weather-beaten determined face, and keen +eye. I was so taken with his looks that I often went to the +fore part of the ship on the chance of getting a word with +him. But he was either shy or proud, certainly reserved; +and always addressed me as ‘Sir,’ which was not +encouraging.</p> +<p>That same evening, after dinner in the steerage cabin, a +German got up and, beginning with some offensive allusions to the +British army, proposed the health of General Cronje and the +heroic Boers. This was received with deafening +‘Hochs.’ To cap the enthusiasm up jumped +another German, and proposed ‘unglück—bad luck +to all Englanders and to their Queen.’ This also was +cordially toasted. When the ceremony was ended and silence +restored, my reserved friend calmly rose, tapped the table with +the handle of his knife (another steerage passenger—an +Australian—told me what happened), took his watch from his +pocket, and slowly said: ‘It is just six minutes to +eight. If the person who proposed the last toast has not +made a satisfactory apology to me before the hand of my watch +points to the hour, I will thrash him till he does. I am an +officer in the English army, and always keep my +word.’ A small band of Australians was in the +cabin. One and all of them applauded this laconic +speech. It was probably due in part to these that the +offender did not wait till the six minutes had expired.</p> +<p>Next day I congratulated my reserved friend. He was +reticent as usual. All I could get out of him was, ‘I +never allow a lady to be insulted in my presence, +sir.’ It was his Queen, not his cloth, that had +roused the virility in this quiet man.</p> +<p>Let us turn to another aspect of the deeds of war. About +daylight on the morning following our bombardment, it being my +morning watch, I was ordered to take the surgeon and assistant +surgeon ashore. There were many corpses, but no living or +wounded to be seen. One object only dwells visually in my +memory.</p> +<p>At least a quarter of a mile from the dead soldiers, a stray +shell had killed a grey-bearded old man and a young woman. +They were side by side. The woman was still in her teens +and pretty. She lay upon her back. Blood was oozing +from her side. A swarm of flies were buzzing in and out of +her open mouth. Her little deformed feet, cased in the +high-heeled and embroidered tiny shoes, extended far beyond her +petticoats. It was these feet that interested the men of +science. They are now, I believe, in a jar of spirits at +Haslar hospital. At least, my friend the assistant surgeon +told me, as we returned to the ship, that that was their ultimate +destination. The mutilated body, as I turned from it with +sickening horror, left a picture on my youthful mind not easily +to be effaced.</p> +<p>After this we joined the rest of the squadron: the +‘Melville’ (a three-decker, Sir W. Parker’s +flagship), the ‘Blenheim,’ the ‘Druid,’ +the ‘Calliope,’ and several 18-gun brigs. We +took Hong Kong, Chusan, Ningpo, Canton, and returned to take +Amoy. One or two incidents only in the several engagements +seem worth recording.</p> +<p>We have all of us supped full with horrors this last year or +so, and I have no thought of adding to the surfeit. But +sometimes common accidents appear exceptional, if they befall +ourselves, or those with whom we are intimate. If the +sufferer has any special identity, we speculate on his peculiar +way of bearing his misfortune; and are thus led on to place +ourselves in his position, and imagine ourselves the +sufferers.</p> +<p>Major Daniel, the senior marine officer of the +‘Blonde,’ was a reserved and taciturn man. He +was quiet and gentlemanlike, always very neat in his dress; +rather severe, still kind to his men. His aloofness was in +no wise due to lack of ideas, nor, I should say, to +pride—unless, perhaps, it were the pride which some men +feel in suppressing all emotion by habitual restraint of +manner. Whether his <i>sangfroid</i> was constitutional, or +that nobler kind of courage which feels and masters timidity and +the sense of danger, none could tell. Certain it is he was +as calm and self-possessed in action as in repose. He was +so courteous one fancied he would almost have apologised to his +foe before he remorselessly ran him through.</p> +<p>On our second visit to Amoy, a year or more after the first, +we met with a warmer reception. The place was much more +strongly fortified, and the ship was several-times hulled. +We were at very close quarters, as it is necessary to pass under +high ground as the harbour is entered. Those who had the +option, excepting our gallant old captain, naturally kept under +shelter of the bulwarks and hammock nettings. Not so Major +Daniel. He stood in the open gangway watching the effect of +the shells, as though he were looking at a game of +billiards. While thus occupied a round shot struck him full +in the face, and simply left him headless.</p> +<p>Another accident, partly due to an ignorance of dynamics, +happened at the taking of Canton. The whole of the naval +brigade was commanded by Sir Thomas Bouchier. Our men were +lying under the ridge of a hill protected from the guns on the +city walls. Fully exposed to the fire, which was pretty +hot, ‘old Tommy’ as we called him, paced to and fro +with contemptuous indifference, stopping occasionally to spy the +enemy with his long ship’s telescope. A number of +bluejackets, in reserve, were stationed about half a mile further +off at the bottom of the protecting hill. They were +completely screened from the fire by some buildings of the +suburbs abutting upon the slope. Those in front were +watching the cannon-balls which had struck the crest and were +rolling as it were by mere force of gravitation down the +hillside. Some jokes were made about football, when +suddenly a smart and popular young officer—Fox, first +lieutenant of one of the brigs—jumped out at one of these +spent balls, which looked as though it might have been picked up +by the hands, and gave it a kick. It took his foot off just +above the ankle. There was no surgeon at hand, and he was +bleeding to death before one could be found. Sir Thomas had +come down the hill, and seeing the wounded officer on the ground +with a group around him, said in passing, ‘Well, Fox, this +is a bad job, but it will make up the pair of epaulets, which is +something.’</p> +<p>‘Yes sir,’ said the dying man feebly, ‘but +without a pair of legs.’ Half an hour later he was +dead.</p> +<p>I have spoken lightly of courage, as if, by implication, I +myself possessed it. Let me make a confession. From +my soul I pity the man who is or has been such a miserable coward +as I was in my infancy, and up to this youthful period of my +life. No fear of bullets or bayonets could ever equal +mine. It was the fear of ghosts. As a child, I think +that at times when shut up for punishment, in a dark cellar for +instance, I must have nearly gone out of my mind with this +appalling terror.</p> +<p>Once when we were lying just below Whampo, the captain took +nearly every officer and nearly the whole ship’s crew on a +punitive expedition up the Canton river. They were away +about a week. I was left behind, dangerously ill with fever +and ague. In his absence, Sir Thomas had had me put into +his cabin, where I lay quite alone day and night, seeing hardly +anyone save the surgeon and the captain’s steward, who was +himself a shadow, pretty nigh. Never shall I forget my +mental sufferings at night. In vain may one attempt to +describe what one then goes through; only the victims know what +that is. My ghost—the ghost of the Whampo +Reach—the ghost of those sultry and miasmal nights, had no +shape, no vaporous form; it was nothing but a presence, a vague +amorphous dread. It may have floated with the swollen and +putrid corpses which hourly came bobbing down the stream, but it +never appeared; for there was nothing to appear. Still it +might appear. I expected every instant through the night to +see it in some inconceivable form. I expected it to touch +me. It neither stalked upon the deck, nor hovered in the +dark, nor moved, nor rested anywhere. And yet it was there +about me,—where, I knew not. On every side I was +threatened. I feared it most behind the head of my cot, +because I could not see it if it were so.</p> +<p>This, it will be said, is the description of a +nightmare. Exactly so. My agony of fright was a +nightmare; but a nightmare when every sense was strained with +wakefulness, when all the powers of imagination were concentrated +to paralyse my shattered reason.</p> +<p>The experience here spoken of is so common in some form or +other that we may well pause to consider it. What is the +meaning of this fear of ghosts?—how do we come by it? +It may be thought that its cradle is our own, that we are +purposely frightened in early childhood to keep us calm and +quiet. But I do not believe that nurses’ stories +would excite dread of the unknown if the unknown were not already +known. The susceptibility to this particular terror is +there before the terror is created. A little reflection +will convince us that we must look far deeper for the solution of +a mystery inseparable from another, which is of the last +importance to all of us.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> belief in phantoms, ghosts, or +spirits, has frequently been discussed in connection with +speculations on the origin of religion. According to Mr. +Spencer (‘Principles of Sociology’) ‘the first +traceable conception of a supernatural being is the conception of +a ghost.’ Even Fetichism is ‘an extension of +the ghost theory.’ The soul of the Fetich ‘in +common with supernatural agents at large, is originally the +double of a dead man.’ How do we get this +notion—‘the double of a dead man?’ +Through dreams. In the Old Testament we are told: +‘God came to’ Abimelech, Laban, Solomon, and others +‘in a dream’; also that ‘the angel of the +Lord’ appeared to Joseph ‘in a dream.’ +That is to say, these men dreamed that God came to them. So +the savage, who dreams of his dead acquaintance, believes he has +been visited by the dead man’s spirit. This belief in +ghosts is confirmed, Mr. Spencer argues, by other +phenomena. The savage who faints from the effect of a wound +sustained in fight looks just like the dead man beside him. +The spirit of the wounded man returns after a long or short +period of absence: why should the spirit of the other not do +likewise? If reanimation follows comatose states, why +should it not follow death? Insensibility is but an affair +of time. All the modes of preserving the dead, in the +remotest ages, evince the belief in casual separation of body and +soul, and of their possible reunion.</p> +<p>Take another theory. Comte tells us there is a primary +tendency in man ‘to transfer the sense of his own nature, +in the radical explanation of all phenomena +whatever.’ Writing in the same key, Schopenhauer +calls man ‘a metaphysical animal.’ He is +speaking of the need man feels of a theory, in regard to the +riddle of existence, which forces itself upon his notice; +‘a need arising from the consciousness that behind the +physical in the world, there is a metaphysical something +permanent as the foundation of constant change.’ +Though not here alluding to the ghost theory, this bears +indirectly on the conception, as I shall proceed to show.</p> +<p>We need not entangle ourselves in the vexed question of innate +ideas, nor inquire whether the principle of casuality is, as Kant +supposed, like space and time, a form of intuition given <i>a +priori</i>. That every change has a cause must necessarily +(without being thus formulated) be one of the initial beliefs of +conscious beings far lower in the scale than man, whether derived +solely from experience or otherwise. The reed that shakes +is obviously shaken by the wind. But the riddle of the wind +also forces itself into notice; and man explains this by +transferring to the wind ‘the sense of his own +nature.’ Thunderstorms, volcanic disturbances, ocean +waves, running streams, the motions of the heavenly bodies, had +to be accounted for as involving change. And the +natural—the primitive—explanation was by reference to +life, analogous, if not similar, to our own. Here then, it +seems to me, we have the true origin of the belief in ghosts.</p> +<p>Take an illustration which supports this view. While +sitting in my garden the other day a puff of wind blew a +lady’s parasol across the lawn. It rolled away close +to a dog lying quietly in the sun. The dog looked at it for +a moment, but seeing nothing to account for its movements, barked +nervously, put its tail between its legs, and ran away, turning +occasionally to watch and again bark, with every sign of +fear.</p> +<p>This was animism. The dog must have accounted for the +eccentric behaviour of the parasol by endowing it with an uncanny +spirit. The horse that shies at inanimate objects by the +roadside, and will sometimes dash itself against a tree or a +wall, is actuated by a similar superstition. Is there any +essential difference between this belief of the dog or horse and +the belief of primitive man? I maintain that an intuitive +animistic tendency (which Mr. Spencer repudiates), and not +dreams, lies at the root of all spiritualism. Would Mr. +Spencer have had us believe that the dog’s fear of the +rolling parasol was a logical deduction from its canine +dreams? This would scarcely elucidate the problem. +The dog and the horse share apparently Schopenhauer’s +metaphysical propensity with man.</p> +<p>The familiar aphorism of Statius: <i>Primus in orbe Deos fecit +timor</i>, points to the relation of animism first to the belief +in ghosts, thence to Polytheism, and ultimately to +Monotheism. I must apologise to those of the transcendental +school who, like Max Müller for instance (Introduction to +the ‘Science of Religion’), hold that we have +‘a primitive intuition of God’; which, after all, the +professor derives, like many others, from the ‘yearning for +something that neither sense nor reason can supply’; and +from the assumption that ‘there was in the heart of man +from the very first a feeling of incompleteness, of weakness, of +dependency, &c.’ All this, I take it, is due to +the aspirations of a much later creature than the +‘Pithecanthropus erectus,’ to whom we here refer.</p> +<p>Probably spirits and ghosts were originally of an evil +kind. Sir John Lubbock (‘The Origin of +Civilisation’) says: ‘The baying of the dog to the +moon is as much an act of worship as some ceremonies which have +been so described by travellers.’ I think he would +admit that fear is the origin of the worship. In his essay +on ‘Superstition,’ Hume writes: ‘Weakness, +fear, melancholy, together with ignorance, are the true sources +of superstition.’ Also ‘in such a state of +mind, infinite unknown evils are dreaded from unknown +agents.’</p> +<p>Man’s impotence to resist the forces of nature, and +their terrible ability to injure him, would inspire a sense of +terror; which in turn would give rise to the twofold notion of +omnipotence and malignity. The savage of the present day +lives in perpetual fear of evil spirits; and the superstitious +dread, which I and most others have suffered, is inherited from +our savage ancestry. How much further back we must seek it +may be left to the sage philosophers of the future.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next winter we lay for a couple +of months off Chinhai, which we had stormed, blockading the mouth +of the Ningpo river. Here, I regret to think, I committed +an act which has often haunted my conscience as a crime; although +I had frequently promised the captain of a gun a glass of grog to +let me have a shot, and was mightily pleased if death and +destruction rewarded my aim.</p> +<p>Off Chinhai, lorchers and fast sailing junks laden with +merchandise would try to run the blockade before daylight. +And it sometimes happened that we youngsters had a long chase in +a cutter to overhaul them. This meant getting back to a +nine or ten o’clock breakfast at the end of the +morning’s watch; equivalent to five or six hours’ +duty on an empty stomach.</p> +<p>One cold morning I had a hard job to stop a small junk. +The men were sweating at their oars like galley slaves, and +muttering curses at the apparent futility of their labour. +I had fired a couple of shots from a ‘brown +Bess’—the musket of the day—through the +fugitive’s sails; and fearing punishment if I let her +escape, I next aimed at the boat herself. Down came the +mainsail in a crack. When I boarded our capture, I found I +had put a bullet through the thigh of the man at the +tiller. Boys are not much troubled with scruples about +bloodguiltiness, and not unfrequently are very cruel, for cruelty +as a rule (with exceptions) mostly proceeds from +thoughtlessness. But when I realised what I had done, and +heard the wretched man groan, I was seized with remorse for what, +at a more hardened stage, I should have excused on the score of +duty.</p> +<p>It was during this blockade that the accident, which I have +already alluded to, befell my dear protector, Jack Johnson.</p> +<p>One night, during his and my middle watch, the forecastle +sentries hailed a large sampan, like a Thames barge, drifting +down stream and threatening to foul us. Sir Frederick +Nicholson, the officer of the watch, ordered Johnson to take the +cutter and tow her clear.</p> +<p>I begged leave to go with him. Sir Frederick refused, +for he at once suspected mischief. The sampan was reached +and diverted just before she swung athwart our bows. But +scarcely was this achieved, when an explosion took place. +My friend was knocked over, and one or two of the men fell back +into the cutter. This is what had happened: Johnson finding +no one in the sampan, cautiously raised one of the deck hatches +with a boat-hook before he left the cutter. The mine (for +such it proved) was so arranged that examination of this kind +drew a lighted match on to the magazine, which instantly +exploded.</p> +<p>Poor Jack! what was my horror when we got him on board! +Every trace of his handsome features was gone. He was +alive, and that seemed to be all. In a few minutes his head +and face swelled so that all was a round black charred +ball. One could hardly see where the eyes were, buried +beneath the powder-ingrained and incrusted flesh.</p> +<p>For weeks, at night, I used to sit on a chest near his +hammock, listening for his slightest movement, too happy if he +called me for something I could get him. In time he +recovered, and was invalided home, and I lost my dear companion +and protector. A couple of years afterwards I had the +happiness to dine with him on board another ship in Portsmouth, +no longer in the midshipman’s berth, but in the +wardroom.</p> +<p>Twice during this war, the ‘Blonde’ was caught in +a typhoon. The first time was in waters now famous, but +then unknown, the Gulf of Liau-tung, in full sight of +China’s great wall. We were twenty-four hours +battened down, and under storm staysails. The +‘Blenheim,’ with Captain Elliott our plenipotentiary +on board, was with us, and the one circumstance left in my memory +is the sight of a line-of-battle ship rolling and pitching so +that one caught sight of the whole of her keel from stem to stern +as if she had been a fishing smack. We had been wintering +in the Yellow Sea, and at the time I speak of were on a foraging +expedition round the Liau-tung peninsula. Those who have +followed the events of the Japanese war will have noticed on the +map, not far north of Ta-lien-wan in the Korean Bay, three groups +of islands. So little was the geography of these parts then +known, that they had no place on our charts. On this very +occasion, one group was named after Captain Elliott, one was +called the Bouchier Islands, and the other the Blonde +Islands. The first surveying of the two latter groups, and +the placing of them upon the map, was done by our naval +instructor, and he always took me with him as his assistant.</p> +<p>Our second typhoon was while we were at anchor in Hong Kong +harbour. Those who have knowledge only of the gales, +however violent, of our latitudes, have no conception of what +wind-force can mount to. To be the toy of it is enough to +fill the stoutest heart with awe. The harbour was full of +transports, merchant ships, opium clippers, besides four or five +men-of-war, and a steamer belonging to the East India +Company—the first steamship I had ever seen.</p> +<p>The coming of a typhoon is well known to the natives at least +twenty-four hours beforehand, and every preparation is made for +it. Boats are dragged far up the beach; buildings even are +fortified for resistance. Every ship had laid out its +anchors, lowered its yards, and housed its topmasts. We had +both bowers down, with cables paid out to extreme length. +The danger was either in drifting on shore or, what was more +imminent, collision. When once the tornado struck us there +was nothing more to be done; no men could have worked on +deck. The seas broke by tons over all; boats beached as +described were lifted from the ground, and hurled, in some +instances, over the houses. The air was darkened by the +spray.</p> +<p>But terrible as was the raging of wind and water, far more +awful was the vain struggle for life of the human beings who +succumbed to it. In a short time almost all the ships +except the men-of-war, which were better provided with anchors, +began to drift from their moorings. Then wreck followed +wreck. I do not think the ‘Blonde’ moved; but +from first to last we were threatened with the additional weight +and strain of a drifting vessel. Had we been so hampered +our anchorage must have given way. As a single example of +the force of a typhoon, the ‘Phlegethon’ with three +anchors down, and engines working at full speed, was blown past +us out of the harbour.</p> +<p>One tragic incident I witnessed, which happened within a few +fathoms of the ‘Blonde.’ An opium clipper had +drifted athwart the bow of a large merchantman, which in turn was +almost foul of us. In less than five minutes the clipper +sank. One man alone reappeared on the surface. He was +so close, that from where I was holding on and crouching under +the lee of the mainmast I could see the expression of his +face. He was a splendidly built man, and his strength and +activity must have been prodigious. He clung to the cable +of the merchantman, which he had managed to clasp. As the +vessel reared between the seas he gained a few feet before he was +again submerged. At last he reached the hawse-hole. +Had he hoped, in spite of his knowledge, to find it large enough +to admit his body? He must have known the truth; and yet he +struggled on. Did he hope that, when thus within +arms’ length of men in safety, some pitying hand would be +stretched out to rescue him,—a rope’s end perhaps +flung out to haul him inboard? Vain desperate hope! +He looked upwards: an imploring look. Would Heaven be more +compassionate than man? A mountain of sea towered above his +head; and when again the bow was visible, the man was gone for +ever.</p> +<p>Before taking leave of my seafaring days, I must say one word +about corporal punishment. Sir Thomas Bouchier was a good +sailor, a gallant officer, and a kind-hearted man; but he was one +of the old school. Discipline was his watchword, and he +endeavoured to maintain it by severity. I dare say that, on +an average, there was a man flogged as often as once a month +during the first two years the ‘Blonde’ was in +commission. A flogging on board a man-of-war with a +‘cat,’ the nine tails of which were knotted, and the +lashes of which were slowly delivered, up to the four dozen, at +the full swing of the arm, and at the extremity of lash and +handle, was very severe punishment. Each knot brought +blood, and the shock of the blow knocked the breath out of a man +with an involuntary ‘Ugh!’ however stoically he bore +the pain.</p> +<p>I have seen many a bad man flogged for unpardonable conduct, +and many a good man for a glass of grog too much. My firm +conviction is that the bad man was very little the better; the +good man very much the worse. The good man felt the +disgrace, and was branded for life. His self-esteem was +permanently maimed, and he rarely held up his head or did his +best again. Besides which,—and this is true of all +punishment—any sense of injustice destroys respect for the +punisher. Still I am no sentimentalist; I have a contempt +for, and even a dread of, sentimentalism. For boy +housebreakers, and for ruffians who commit criminal assaults, the +rod or the lash is the only treatment.</p> +<p>A comic piece of insubordination on my part recurs to me in +connection with flogging. About the year 1840 or 1841, a +midshipman on the Pacific station was flogged. I think the +ship was the ‘Peak.’ The event created some +sensation, and was brought before Parliament. Two frigates +were sent out to furnish a quorum of post-captains to try the +responsible commander. The verdict of the court-martial was +a severe reprimand. This was, of course, nuts to every +midshipman in the service.</p> +<p>Shortly after it became known I got into a scrape for laughing +at, and disobeying the orders of, our first-lieutenant,—the +head of the executive on board a frigate. As a matter of +fact, the orders were ridiculous, for the said officer was +tipsy. Nevertheless, I was reported, and had up before the +captain. ‘Old Tommy’ was, or affected to be, +very angry. I am afraid I was very +‘cheeky.’ Whereupon Sir Thomas did lose his +temper, and threatened to send for the boatswain to tie me up and +give me a dozen,—not on the back, but where the back leaves +off. Undismayed by the threat, and mindful of the episode +of the ‘Peak’ (?) I looked the old gentleman in the +face, and shrilly piped out, ‘It’s as much as your +commission is worth, sir.’ In spite of his previous +wrath, he was so taken aback by my impudence that he burst out +laughing, and, to hide it, kicked me out of the cabin.</p> +<p>After another severe attack of fever, and during a long +convalescence, I was laid up at Macao, where I enjoyed the +hospitality of Messrs. Dent and of Messrs. Jardine and +Matheson. Thence I was invalided home, and took my passage +to Bombay in one of the big East India tea-ships. As I was +being carried up the side in the arms of one of the boatmen, I +overheard another exclaim: ‘Poor little beggar. +He’ll never see land again!’</p> +<p>The only other passenger was Colonel Frederick Cotton, of the +Madras Engineers, one of a distinguished family. He, too, +had been through the China campaign, and had also broken +down. We touched at Manila, Batavia, Singapore, and several +other ports in the Malay Archipelago, to take in cargo. +While that was going on, Cotton, the captain, and I made +excursions inland. Altogether I had a most pleasant time of +it till we reached Bombay.</p> +<p>My health was now re-established; and after a couple of weeks +at Bombay, where I lived in a merchant’s house, Cotton took +me to Poonah and Ahmadnagar; in both of which places I stayed +with his friends, and messed with the regiments. Here a +copy of the ‘Times’ was put into my hands; and I saw +a notice of the death of my father.</p> +<p>After a fortnight’s quarantine at La Valetta, where two +young Englishmen—one an Oxford man—shared the same +rooms in the fort with me, we three returned to England; and (I +suppose few living people can say the same) travelled from Naples +to Calais before there was a single railway on the Continent.</p> +<p>At the end of two months’ leave in England I was +appointed to the ‘Caledonia,’ flagship at +Plymouth. Sir Thomas Bouchier had written to the Admiral, +Sir Edward Codrington, of Navarino fame (whose daughter Sir +Thomas afterwards married), giving me ‘a +character.’ Sir Edward sent for me, and was most +kind. He told me I was to go to the Pacific in the first +ship that left for South America, which would probably be in a +week or two; and he gave me a letter to his friend, Admiral +Thomas, who commanded on that station.</p> +<p>About this time, and for a year or two later, the relations +between England and America were severely strained by what was +called ‘the Oregon question.’ The dispute was +concerning the right of ownership of the mouth of the Columbia +river, and of Vancouver’s Island. The President as +well as the American people took the matter up very warmly; and +much discretion was needed to avert the outbreak of +hostilities.</p> +<p>In Sir Edward’s letter, which he read out and gave to me +open, he requested Admiral Thomas to put me into any ship +‘that was likely to see service’; and quoted a word +or two from my dear old captain Sir Thomas, which would probably +have given me a lift.</p> +<p>The prospect before me was brilliant. What could be more +delectable than the chance of a war? My fancy pictured all +sorts of opportunities, turned to the best account,—my +seniors disposed of, and myself, with a pair of epaulets, +commanding the smartest brig in the service.</p> +<p>Alack-a-day! what a climb down from such high flights my life +has been. The ship in which I was to have sailed to the +west was suddenly countermanded to the east. She was to +leave for China the following week, and I was already appointed +to her, not even as a ‘super.’</p> +<p>My courage and my ambition were wrecked at a blow. The +notion of returning for another three years to China, where all +was now peaceful and stale to me, the excitement of the war at an +end, every port reminding me of my old comrades, visions of +renewed fevers and horrible food,—were more than I could +stand.</p> +<p>I instantly made up my mind to leave the Navy. It was a +wilful, and perhaps a too hasty, impulse. But I am +impulsive by nature; and now that my father was dead, I fancied +myself to a certain extent my own master. I knew moreover, +by my father’s will, that I should not be dependent upon a +profession. Knowledge of such a fact has been the ruin of +many a better man than I. I have no virtuous superstitions +in favour of poverty—quite the reverse—but I am +convinced that the rich man, who has never had to earn his +position or his living, is more to be pitied and less respected +than the poor man whose comforts certainly, if not his bread, +have depended on his own exertions.</p> +<p>My mother had a strong will of her own, and I could not guess +what line she might take. I also apprehended the opposition +of my guardians. On the whole, I opined a woman’s +heart would be the most suitable for an appeal <i>ad +misericordiam</i>. So I pulled out the agony stop, and +worked the pedals of despair with all the anguish at my +command.</p> +<p>‘It was easy enough for her to <i>revel in luxury</i> +and consign me to a life worse than a +<i>convict’s</i>. But how would <i>she</i> like to +live on <i>salt junk</i>, to keep <i>night watches</i>, to have +to cut up her blankets for <i>ponchos</i> (I knew she had never +heard the word, and that it would tell accordingly), to save her +from being <i>frozen to death</i>? How would <i>she</i> +like to be mast-headed when a ship was rolling gunwale +under? As to the wishes of my guardians, were <i>their +feelings</i> to be considered before mine? I should like to +see Lord Rosebery or Lord Spencer in my place! They’d +very soon wish they had a mother who &c. &c.’</p> +<p>When my letter was finished I got leave to go ashore to post +it. Feeling utterly miserable, I had my hair cut; and, +rendered perfectly reckless by my appearance, I consented to have +what was left of it tightly curled with a pair of tongs. I +cannot say that I shared in any sensible degree the pleasure +which this operation seemed to give to the artist. But when +I got back to the ship the sight of my adornment kept my +messmates in an uproar for the rest of the afternoon.</p> +<p>Whether the touching appeal to my mother produced tears, or of +what kind, matters little; it effectually determined my +career. Before my new ship sailed for China, I was home +again, and in full possession of my coveted freedom as a +civilian.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was settled that after a course +of three years at a private tutor’s I was to go to +Cambridge. The life I had led for the past three years was +not the best training for the fellow-pupil of lads of fifteen or +sixteen who had just left school. They were much more ready +to follow my lead than I theirs, especially as mine was always in +the pursuit of pleasure.</p> +<p>I was first sent to Mr. B.’s, about a couple of miles +from Alnwick. Before my time, Alnwick itself was considered +out of bounds. But as nearly half the sin in this world +consists in being found out, my companions and I managed never to +commit any in this direction.</p> +<p>We generally returned from the town with a bottle of some +noxious compound called ‘port’ in our pockets, which +was served out in our ‘study’ at night, while I read +aloud the instructive adventures of Mr. Thomas Jones. We +were, of course, supposed to employ these late hours in preparing +our work for the morrow. One boy only protested that, under +the combined seductions of the port and Miss Molly Seagrim, he +could never make his verses scan.</p> +<p>Another of our recreations was poaching. From my +earliest days I was taught to shoot, myself and my brothers being +each provided with his little single-barrelled flint and steel +‘Joe Manton.’ At — we were surrounded by +grouse moors on one side, and by well-preserved coverts on the +other. The grouse I used to shoot in the evening while they +fed amongst the corn stooks; for pheasants and hares, I used to +get the other pupils to walk through the woods, while I with a +gun walked outside. Scouts were posted to look out for +keepers.</p> +<p>Did our tutor know? Of course he knew. But think +of the saving in the butcher’s bill! Besides which, +Mr. B. was otherwise preoccupied; he was in love with Mrs. +B. I say ‘in love,’ for although I could not be +sure of it then, (having no direct experience of the <i>amantium +iræ</i>,) subsequent observation has persuaded me that +their perpetual quarrels could mean nothing else. This was +exceedingly favourable to the independence of Mr. B.’s +pupils. But when asked by Mr. Ellice how I was getting on, +I was forced in candour to admit that I was in a fair way to +forget all I ever knew.</p> +<p>By the advice of Lord Spencer I was next placed under the +tuition of one of the minor canons of Ely. The Bishop of +Ely—Dr. Allen—had been Lord Spencer’s tutor, +hence his elevation to the see. The Dean—Dr. Peacock, +of algebraic and Trinity College fame—was good enough to +promise ‘to keep an eye’ on me. Lord Spencer +himself took me to Ely; and there I remained for two years. +They were two very important years of my life. Having no +fellow pupil to beguile me, I was the more industrious. But +it was not from the better acquaintance with ancient literature +that I mainly benefited,—it was from my initiation to +modern thought. I was a constant guest at the Deanery; +where I frequently met such men as Sedgwick, Airey the +Astronomer-Royal, Selwyn, Phelps the Master of Sydney, Canon +Heaviside the master of Haileybury, and many other friends of the +Dean’s, distinguished in science, literature, and +art. Here I heard discussed opinions on these subjects by +some of their leading representatives. Naturally, as many +of them were Churchmen, conversation often turned on the bearing +of modern science, of geology especially if Sedgwick were of the +party, upon Mosaic cosmogony, or Biblical exegesis generally.</p> +<p>The knowledge of these learned men, the lucidity with which +they expressed their views, and the earnestness with which they +defended them, captivated my attention, and opened to me a new +world of surpassing interest and gravity.</p> +<p>What startled me most was the spirit in which a man of +Sedgwick’s intellectual power protested against the +possible encroachments of his own branch of science upon the +orthodox tenets of the Church. Just about this time an +anonymous book appeared, which, though long since forgotten, +caused no slight disturbance amongst dogmatic theologians. +The tendency of this book, ‘Vestiges of the +Creation,’ was, or was then held to be, antagonistic to the +arguments from design. Familiar as we now are with the +theory of evolution, such a work as the ‘Vestiges’ +would no more stir the <i>odium theologicum</i> than +Franklin’s kite. Sedgwick, however, attacked it with +a vehemence and a rancour that would certainly have roasted its +author had the professor held the office of Grand Inquisitor.</p> +<p>Though incapable of forming any opinion as to the scientific +merits of such a book, or of Hugh Miller’s writings, which +he also attacked upon purely religious grounds, I was staggered +by the fact that the Bible could possibly be impeached, or that +it was not profanity to defend it even. Was it not the +‘Word of God’? And if so, how could any +theories of creation, any historical, any philological +researches, shake its eternal truth?</p> +<p>Day and night I pondered over this new revelation. I +bought the books—the wicked books—which nobody ought +to read. The <i>Index Expurgatorius</i> became my guide for +books to be digested. I laid hands on every heretical work +I could hear of. By chance I made the acquaintance of a +young man who, together with his family, were Unitarians. I +got, and devoured, Channing’s works. I found a +splendid copy of Voltaire in the Holkham library, and hunted +through the endless volumes, till I came to the ‘Dialogues +Philosophiques.’ The world is too busy, fortunately, +to disturb its peace with such profane satire, such withering +sarcasm as flashes through an ‘entretien’ like that +between ‘Frère Rigolet’ and +‘L’Empereur de la Chine.’ Every French +man of letters knows it by heart; but it would wound our English +susceptibilities were I to cite it here. Then, too, the +impious paraphrase of the Athanasian Creed, with its terrible +climax, from the converting Jesuit: ‘Or vous voyez bien . . +. qu’un homme qui ne croit pas cette histoire doit +être brûlé dans ce monde ci, et dans +l’autre.’ To which +‘L’Empereur’ replies: ‘Ça +c’est clair comme le jour.’</p> +<p>Could an ignorant youth, fevered with curiosity and the first +goadings of the questioning spirit, resist such logic, such +scorn, such scathing wit, as he met with here?</p> +<p>Then followed Rousseau; ‘Emile’ became my +favourite. Froude’s ‘Nemesis of Faith’ I +read, and many other books of a like tendency. Passive +obedience, blind submission to authority, was never one of my +virtues, and once my faith was shattered, I knew not where to +stop—what to doubt, what to believe. If the +injunction to ‘prove all things’ was anything more +than an empty apophthegm, inquiry, in St. Paul’s eyes at +any rate, could not be sacrilege.</p> +<p>It was not happiness I sought,—not peace of mind at +least; for assuredly my thirst for knowledge, for truth, brought +me anything but peace. I never was more restless, or, at +times, more unhappy. Shallow, indeed, must be the soul that +can lightly sever itself from beliefs which lie at the roots of +our moral, intellectual, and emotional being, sanctified too by +associations of our earliest love and reverence. I used to +wander about the fields, and sit for hours in sequestered spots, +longing for some friend, some confidant to take counsel +with. I knew no such friend. I did not dare to speak +of my misgivings to others. In spite of my earnest desire +for guidance, for more light, the strong grip of +childhood’s influences was impossible to shake off. I +could not rid my conscience of the sin of doubt.</p> +<p>It is this difficulty, this primary dependence on others, +which develops into the child’s first religion, that +perpetuates the infantile character of human creeds; and, what is +worse, generates the hideous bigotry which justifies that sad +reflection of Lucretius: ‘Tantum Religio potuit suadere +malorum!’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">To</span> turn again to narrative, and to +far less serious thoughts. The last eighteen months before +I went to Cambridge, I was placed, or rather placed myself, under +the tuition of Mr. Robert Collyer, rector of Warham, a living +close to Holkham in the gift of my brother Leicester. +Between my Ely tutor and myself there was but little +sympathy. He was a man of much refinement, but with not +much indulgence for such aberrant proclivities as mine. +Without my knowledge, he wrote to Mr. Ellice lamenting my secret +recusancy, and its moral dangers. Mr. Ellice came expressly +from London, and stayed a night at Ely. He dined with us in +the cloisters, and had a long private conversation with my tutor, +and, before he left, with me. I indignantly resented the +clandestine representations of Mr. S., and, without a word to Mr. +Ellice or to anyone else, wrote next day to Mr. Collyer to beg +him to take me in at Warham, and make what he could of me, before +I went to Cambridge. It may here be said that Mr. Collyer +had been my father’s chaplain, and had lived at Holkham for +several years as family tutor to my brothers and myself, as we in +turn left the nursery. Mr. Collyer, upon receipt of my +letter, referred the matter to Mr. Ellice; with his approval I +was duly installed at Warham. Before describing my time +there, I must tell of an incident which came near to affecting me +in a rather important way.</p> +<p>My mother lived at Longford in Derbyshire, an old place, now +my home, which had come into the Coke family in James I.’s +reign, through the marriage of a son of Chief Justice +Coke’s with the heiress of the De Langfords, an ancient +family from that time extinct. While staying there during +my summer holidays, my mother confided to me that she had had an +offer of marriage from Mr. Motteux, the owner of considerable +estates in Norfolk, including two houses—Beachamwell and +Sandringham. Mr. Motteux—‘Johnny +Motteux,’ as he was called—was, like Tristram +Shandy’s father, the son of a wealthy ‘Turkey +merchant,’ which, until better informed, I always took to +mean a dealer in poultry. ‘Johnny,’ like +another man of some notoriety, whom I well remember in my younger +days—Mr. Creevey—had access to many large houses such +as Holkham; not, like Creevey, for the sake of his scandalous +tongue, but for the sake of his wealth. He had no (known) +relatives; and big people, who had younger sons to provide for, +were quite willing that one of them should be his heir. +Johnny Motteux was an epicure with the best of +<i>chefs</i>. His capons came from Paris, his salmon from +Christchurch, and his Strasburg pies were made to order. +One of these he always brought with him as a present to my +mother, who used to say, ‘Mr. Motteux evidently thinks the +nearest way to my heart is down my throat.’</p> +<p>A couple of years after my father’s death, Motteux wrote +to my mother proposing marriage, and, to enhance his personal +attractions, (in figure and dress he was a duplicate of the +immortal Pickwick,) stated that he had made his will and had +bequeathed Sandringham to me, adding that, should he die without +issue, I was to inherit the remainder of his estates.</p> +<p>Rather to my surprise, my mother handed the letter to me with +evident signs of embarrassment and distress. My first +exclamation was: ‘How jolly! The shooting’s +first rate, and the old boy is over seventy, if he’s a +day.’</p> +<p>My mother apparently did not see it in this light. She +clearly, to my disappointments did not care for the shooting; and +my exultation only brought tears into her eyes.</p> +<p>‘Why, mother,’ I exclaimed, ‘what’s +up? Don’t you—don’t you care for Johnny +Motteux?’</p> +<p>She confessed that she did not.</p> +<p>‘Then why don’t you tell him so, and not bother +about his beastly letter?’</p> +<p>‘If I refuse him you will lose Sandringham.’</p> +<p>‘But he says here he has already left it to +me.’</p> +<p>‘He will alter his will.’</p> +<p>‘Let him!’ cried I, flying out at such prospective +meanness. ‘Just you tell him you don’t care a +rap for him or for Sandringham either.’</p> +<p>In more lady-like terms she acted in accordance with my +advice; and, it may be added, not long afterwards married Mr. +Ellice.</p> +<p>Mr. Motteux’s first love, or one of them, had been Lady +Cowper, then Lady Palmerston. Lady Palmerston’s +youngest son was Mr. Spencer Cowper. Mr. Motteux died a +year or two after the above event. He made a codicil to his +will, and left Sandringham and all his property to Mr. Spencer +Cowper. Mr. Spencer Cowper was a young gentleman of costly +habits. Indeed, he bore the slightly modified name of +‘Expensive Cowper.’ As an attaché at +Paris he was famous for his patronage of dramatic art—or +artistes rather; the votaries of Terpsichore were especially +indebted to his liberality. At the time of Mr. +Motteux’s demise, he was attached to the Embassy at St. +Petersburg. Mr. Motteux’s solicitors wrote +immediately to inform him of his accession to their late +client’s wealth. It being one of Mr. Cowper’s +maxims never to read lawyers’ letters, (he was in daily +receipt of more than he could attend to,) he flung this one +unread into the fire; and only learnt his mistake through the +congratulations of his family.</p> +<p>The Prince Consort happened about this time to be in quest of +a suitable country seat for his present Majesty; and Sandringham, +through the adroit negotiations of Lord Palmerston, became the +property of the Prince of Wales. The soul of the +‘Turkey merchant,’ we cannot doubt, will repose in +peace.</p> +<p>The worthy rector of Warham St. Mary’s was an oddity +deserving of passing notice. Outwardly he was no +Adonis. His plain features and shock head of foxy hair, his +antiquated and neglected garb, his copious jabot—much +affected by the clergy of those days—were becoming +investitures of the inward man. His temper was +inflammatory, sometimes leading to excesses, which I am sure he +rued in mental sackcloth and ashes. But visitors at Holkham +(unaware of the excellent motives and moral courage which +inspired his conduct) were not a little amazed at the austerity +with which he obeyed the dictates of his conscience.</p> +<p>For example, one Sunday evening after dinner, when the +drawing-room was filled with guests, who more or less preserved +the decorum which etiquette demands in the presence of royalty, +(the Duke of Sussex was of the party,) Charles Fox and Lady +Anson, great-grandmother of the present Lord Lichfield, happened +to be playing at chess. When the irascible dominie beheld +them he pushed his way through the bystanders, swept the pieces +from the board, and, with rigorous impartiality, denounced these +impious desecrators of the Sabbath eve.</p> +<p>As an example of his fidelity as a librarian, Mr. Panizzi used +to relate with much glee how, whenever he was at Holkham, Mr. +Collyer dogged him like a detective. One day, not wishing +to detain the reverend gentleman while he himself spent the +forenoon in the manuscript library, (where not only the ancient +manuscripts, but the most valuable of the printed books, are kept +under lock and key,) he considerately begged Mr. Collyer to leave +him to his researches. The dominie replied ‘that he +knew his duty, and did not mean to neglect it.’ He +did not lose sight of Mr. Panizzi.</p> +<p>The notion that he—the great custodian of the +nation’s literary treasures—would snip out and pocket +the title-page of the folio edition of Shakespeare, or of the +Coverdale Bible, tickled Mr. Panizzi’s fancy vastly.</p> +<p>In spite, however, of our rector’s fiery temperament, or +perhaps in consequence of it, he was remarkably susceptible to +the charms of beauty. We were constantly invited to dinner +and garden parties in the neighbourhood; nor was the good rector +slow to return the compliment. It must be confessed that +the pupil shared to the full the impressibility of the tutor; +and, as it happened, unknown to both, the two were in one case +rivals.</p> +<p>As the young lady afterwards occupied a very distinguished +position in Oxford society, it can only be said that she was +celebrated for her many attractions. She was then sixteen, +and the younger of her suitors but two years older. As far +as age was concerned, nothing could be more compatible. Nor +in the matter of mutual inclination was there any disparity +whatever. What, then, was the pupil’s dismay when, +after a dinner party at the rectory, and the company had left, +the tutor, in a frantic state of excitement, seized the pupil by +both hands, and exclaimed: ‘She has accepted me!’</p> +<p>‘Accepted you?’ I asked. ‘Who has +accepted you?’</p> +<p>‘Who? Why, Miss —, of course! Who else +do you suppose would accept me?’</p> +<p>‘No one,’ said I, with doleful sincerity. +‘But did you propose to her? Did she understand what +you said to her? Did she deliberately and seriously say +“Yes?”’</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes, yes,’ and his disordered jabot and +touzled hair echoed the fatal word.</p> +<p>‘O Smintheus of the silver bow!’ I groaned. +‘It is the woman’s part to create delusions, +and—destroy them! To think of it! after all that has +passed between us these—these three weeks, next +Monday! “Once and for ever.” Did ever +woman use such words before? And I—believed +them!’ ‘Did you speak to the mother?’ I +asked in a fit of desperation.</p> +<p>‘There was no time for that. Mrs. — was in +the carriage, and I didn’t pop [the odious word!] till I +was helping her on with her cloak. The cloak, you see, made +it less awkward. My offer was a sort of <i>obiter +dictum</i>—a by-the-way, as it were.’</p> +<p>‘To the carriage, yes. But wasn’t she taken +by surprise?’</p> +<p>‘Not a bit of it. Bless you! they always +know. She pretended not to understand, but that’s a +way they have.’</p> +<p>‘And when you explained?’</p> +<p>‘There wasn’t time for more. She laughed, +and sprang into the carriage.’</p> +<p>‘And that was all?’</p> +<p>‘All! would you have had her spring into my +arms?’</p> +<p>‘God forbid! You will have to face the mother +to-morrow,’ said I, recovering rapidly from my +despondency.</p> +<p>‘Face? Well, I shall have to call upon Mrs. +—, if that’s what you mean. A mere matter of +form. I shall go over after lunch. But it +needn’t interfere with your work. You can go on with +the “Anabasis” till I come back. And +remember—<i>Neaniskos</i> is not a proper name, ha! ha! +ha! The quadratics will keep till the evening.’ +He was merry over his prospects, and I was not altogether +otherwise.</p> +<p>But there was no Xenophon, no algebra, that day! Dire +was the distress of my poor dominie when he found the mother as +much bewildered as the daughter was frightened, by the +mistake. ‘She,’ the daughter, ‘had never +for a moment imagined, &c., &c.’</p> +<p>My tutor was not long disheartened by such caprices—so +he deemed them, as Miss Jemima’s (she had a prettier name, +you may be sure), and I did my best (it cost me little now) to +encourage his fondest hopes. I proposed that we should +drink the health of the future mistress of Warham in tea, which +he cheerfully acceded to, all the more readily, that it gave him +an opportunity to vent one of his old college jokes. +‘Yes, yes,’ said he, with a laugh, +‘there’s nothing like tea. <i>Te veniente +die</i>, <i>te decedente canebam</i>.’ Such sallies +of innocent playfulness often smoothed his path in life. He +took a genuine pleasure in his own jokes. Some men +do. One day I dropped a pot of marmalade on a new carpet, +and should certainly have been reprimanded for carelessness, had +it not occurred to him to exclaim: ‘<i>Jam satis +terris</i>!’ and then laugh immoderately at his wit.</p> +<p>That there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it, +was a maxim he acted upon, if he never heard it. Within a month +of the above incident he proposed to another lady upon the sole +grounds that, when playing a game of chess, an exchange of pieces +being contemplated, she innocently, but incautiously, observed, +‘If you take me, I will take you.’ He referred +the matter next day to my ripe judgment. As I had no +partiality for the lady in question, I strongly advised him to +accept so obvious a challenge, and go down on his knees to her at +once. I laid stress on the knees, as the accepted form of +declaration, both in novels and on the stage.</p> +<p>In this case the beloved object, who was not embarrassed by +excess of amiability, promptly desired him, when he urged his +suit, ‘not to make a fool of himself.’</p> +<p>My tutor’s peculiarities, however, were not confined to +his endeavours to meet with a lady rectoress. He sometimes +surprised his hearers with the originality of his abstruse +theories. One morning he called me into the stable yard to +join in consultation with his gardener as to the advisability of +killing a pig. There were two, and it was not easy to +decide which was the fitter for the butcher. The rector +selected one, I the other, and the gardener, who had nurtured +both from their tenderest age, pleaded that they should be +allowed to ‘put on another score.’ The point +was warmly argued all round.</p> +<p>‘The black sow,’ said I (they were both sows, you +must know)—‘The black sow had a litter of ten last +time, and the white one only six. Ergo, if history repeats +itself, as I have heard you say, you should keep the black, and +sacrifice the white.’</p> +<p>‘But,’ objected the rector, ‘that was the +white’s first litter, and the black’s second. +Why shouldn’t the white do as well as the black next +time?’</p> +<p>‘And better, your reverence,’ chimed in the +gardener. ‘The number don’t allays depend on +the sow, do it?’</p> +<p>‘That is neither here nor there,’ returned the +rector.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said the gardener, who stood to his guns, +‘if your reverence is right, as no doubt you will be, +that’ll make just twenty little pigs for the butcher, come +Michaelmas.’</p> +<p>‘We can’t kill ’em before they are +born,’ said the rector.</p> +<p>‘That’s true, your reverence. But it comes +to the same thing.’</p> +<p>‘Not to the pigs,’ retorted the rector.</p> +<p>‘To your reverence, I means.’</p> +<p>‘A pig at the butcher’s,’ I suggested, +‘is worth a dozen unborn.’</p> +<p>‘No one can deny it,’ said the rector, as he +fingered the small change in his breeches pocket; and pointing +with the other hand to the broad back of the black sow, +exclaimed, ‘This is the one, <i>Duplex agitur per lumbos +spina</i>! She’s got a back like an alderman’s +chin.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Epicuri de grege porcus</i>,’ I assented, and +the fate of the black sow was sealed.</p> +<p>Next day an express came from Holkham, to say that Lady +Leicester had given birth to a daughter. My tutor jumped +out of his chair to hand me the note. ‘Did I not +anticipate the event’? he cried. ‘What a +wonderful world we live in! Unconsciously I made room for +the infant by sacrificing the life of that pig.’ As I +never heard him allude to the doctrine of Pythagoras, as he had +no leaning to Buddhism, and, as I am sure he knew nothing of the +correlation of forces, it must be admitted that the conception +was an original one.</p> +<p>Be this as it may, Mr. Collyer was an upright and +conscientious man. I owe him much, and respect his +memory. He died at an advanced age, an honorary canon, +and—a bachelor.</p> +<p>Another portrait hangs amongst the many in my memory’s +picture gallery. It is that of his successor to the +vicarage, the chaplaincy, and the librarianship, at +Holkham—Mr. Alexander Napier—at this time, and until +his death fifty years later, one of my closest and most cherished +friends. Alexander Napier was the son of Macvey Napier, +first editor of the ‘Edinburgh Review.’ Thus, +associated with many eminent men of letters, he also did some +good literary work of his own. He edited Isaac +Barrow’s works for the University of Cambridge, also +Boswell’s ‘Johnson,’ and gave various other +proofs of his talents and his scholarship. He was the most +delightful of companions; liberal-minded in the highest degree; +full of quaint humour and quick sympathy; an excellent parish +priest,—looking upon Christianity as a life and not a +dogma; beloved by all, for he had a kind thought and a kind word +for every needy or sick being in his parish.</p> +<p>With such qualities, the man always predominated over the +priest. Hence his large-hearted charity and indulgence for +the faults—nay, crimes—of others. Yet, if taken +aback by an outrage, or an act of gross stupidity, which even the +perpetrator himself had to suffer for, he would momentarily lose +his patience, and rap out an objurgation that would stagger the +straiter-laced gentlemen of his own cloth, or an outsider who +knew less of him than—the recording angel.</p> +<p>A fellow undergraduate of Napier’s told me a +characteristic anecdote of his impetuosity. Both were +Trinity men, and had been keeping high jinks at a supper party at +Caius. The friend suddenly pointed to the clock, reminding +Napier they had but five minutes to get into college before +Trinity gates were closed. ‘D—n the +clock!’ shouted Napier, and snatching up the sugar basin +(it was not <i>eau sucrée</i> they were drinking), +incontinently flung it at the face of the offending +timepiece.</p> +<p>This youthful vivacity did not desert him in later +years. An old college friend—also a +Scotchman—had become Bishop of Edinburgh. Napier paid +him a visit (he described it to me himself). They talked of +books, they talked of politics, they talked of English Bards and +Scotch Reviewers, of Brougham, Horner, Wilson, Macaulay, Jeffrey, +of Carlyle’s dealings with Napier’s +father—‘Nosey,’ as Carlyle calls him. +They chatted into the small hours of the night, as boon +companions, and as what Bacon calls ‘full’ men, are +wont. The claret, once so famous in the ‘land of +cakes,’ had given place to toddy; its flow was in due +measure to the flow of soul. But all that ends is +short—the old friends had spent their last evening +together. Yes, their last, perhaps. It was bed-time, +and quoth Napier to his lordship, ‘I tell you what it is, +Bishop, I am na fou’, but I’ll be hanged if I +haven’t got two left legs.’</p> +<p>‘I see something odd about them,’ says his +lordship. ‘We’d better go to bed.’</p> +<p>Who the bishop was I do not know, but I’ll answer for it +he was one of the right sort.</p> +<p>In 1846 I became an undergraduate of Trinity College, +Cambridge. I do not envy the man (though, of course, one +ought) whose college days are not the happiest to look back +upon. One should hope that however profitably a young man +spends his time at the University, it is but the preparation for +something better. But happiness and utility are not +necessarily concomitant; and even when an undergraduate’s +course is least employed for its intended purpose (as, alas! mine +was)—for happiness, certainly not pure, but simple, give me +life at a University.</p> +<p>Heaven forbid that any youth should be corrupted by my +confession! But surely there are some pleasures pertaining +to this unique epoch that are harmless in themselves, and are +certainly not to be met with at any other. These are the +first years of comparative freedom, of manhood, of +responsibility. The novelty, the freshness of every +pleasure, the unsatiated appetite for enjoyment, the animal +vigour, the ignorance of care, the heedlessness of, or rather, +the implicit faith in, the morrow, the absence of mistrust or +suspicion, the frank surrender to generous impulses, the +readiness to accept appearances for realities—to believe in +every profession or exhibition of good will, to rush into the +arms of every friendship, to lay bare one’s tenderest +secrets, to listen eagerly to the revelations which make us all +akin, to offer one’s time, one’s energies, +one’s purse, one’s heart, without a selfish +afterthought—these, I say, are the priceless pleasures, +never to be repeated, of healthful average youth.</p> +<p>What has after-success, honour, wealth, fame, or, +power—burdened, as they always are, with ambitions, +blunders, jealousies, cares, regrets, and failing health—to +match with this enjoyment of the young, the bright, the bygone, +hour? The wisdom of the worldly teacher—at least, the +<i>carpe diem</i>—was practised here before the injunction +was ever thought of. <i>Du bist so schön</i> was the +unuttered invocation, while the <i>Verweile doch</i> was deemed +unneedful.</p> +<p>Little, I am ashamed to own, did I add either to my small +classical or mathematical attainments. But I made +friendships—lifelong friendships, that I would not barter +for the best of academical prizes.</p> +<p>Amongst my associates or acquaintances, two or three of whom +have since become known—were the last Lord Derby, Sir +William Harcourt, the late Lord Stanley of Alderley, Latimer +Neville, late Master of Magdalen, Lord Calthorpe, of racing fame, +with whom I afterwards crossed the Rocky Mountains, the last Lord +Durham, my cousin, Sir Augustus Stephenson, ex-solicitor to the +Treasury, Julian Fane, whose lyrics were edited by Lord Lytton, +and my life-long friend Charles Barrington, private secretary to +Lord Palmerston and to Lord John Russell.</p> +<p>But the most intimate of them was George Cayley, son of the +member for the East Riding of Yorkshire. Cayley was a young +man of much promise. In his second year he won the +University prize poem with his ‘Balder,’ and soon +after published some other poems, and a novel, which met with +merited oblivion. But it was as a talker that he +shone. His quick intelligence, his ready wit, his command +of language, made his conversation always lively, and sometimes +brilliant. For several years after I left Cambridge I lived +with him in his father’s house in Dean’s Yard, and +thus made the acquaintance of some celebrities whom his +fascinating and versatile talents attracted thither. As I +shall return to this later on, I will merely mention here the +names of such men as Thackeray, Tennyson, Frederick Locker, +Stirling of Keir, Tom Taylor the dramatist, Millais, Leighton, +and others of lesser note. Cayley was a member of, and +regular attendant at, the Cosmopolitan Club; where he met +Dickens, Foster, Shirley Brooks, John Leech, Dicky Doyle, and the +wits of the day; many of whom occasionally formed part of our +charming coterie in the house I shared with his father.</p> +<p>Speaking of Tom Taylor reminds me of a good turn he once did +me in my college examination at Cambridge. Whewell was then +Master of Trinity. One of the subjects I had to take up was +either the ‘Amicitia’ or the ‘Senectute’ +(I forget which). Whewell, more formidable and alarming +than ever, opened the book at hazard, and set me on to +construe. I broke down. He turned over the page; +again I stuck fast. The truth is, I had hardly looked at my +lesson,—trusting to my recollection of parts of it to carry +me through, if lucky, with the whole.</p> +<p>‘What’s your name, sir?’ was the +Master’s gruff inquiry. He did not catch it. +But Tom Taylor—also an examiner—sitting next to him, +repeated my reply, with the addition, ‘Just returned from +China, where he served as a midshipman in the late +war.’ He then took the book out of Whewell’s +hands, and giving it to me closed, said good-naturedly: +‘Let us have another try, Mr. Coke.’ The chance +was not thrown away; I turned to a part I knew, and rattled off +as if my first examiner had been to blame, not I.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> dropping the curtain on my +college days I must relate a little adventure which is amusing as +an illustration of my reverend friend Napier’s enthusiastic +spontaneity. My own share in the farce is a subordinate +matter.</p> +<p>During the Christmas party at Holkham I had ‘fallen in +love,’ as the phrase goes, with a young lady whose uncle +(she had neither father nor mother) had rented a place in the +neighbourhood. At the end of his visit he invited me to +shoot there the following week. For what else had I paid +him assiduous attention, and listened like an angel to the +interminable history of his gout? I went; and before I +left, proposed to, and was accepted by, the young lady. I +was still at Cambridge, not of age, and had but moderate +means. As for the maiden, ‘my face is my +fortune’ she might have said. The aunt, therefore, +very properly pooh-poohed the whole affair, and declined to +entertain the possibility of an engagement; the elderly gentleman +got a bad attack of gout; and every wire of communication being +cut, not an obstacle was wanting to render persistence the +sweetest of miseries.</p> +<p>Napier was my confessor, and became as keen to circumvent the +‘old she-dragon,’ so he called her, as I was. +Frequent and long were our consultations, but they generally +ended in suggestions and schemes so preposterous, that the only +result was an immoderate fit of laughter on both sides. At +length it came to this (the proposition was not mine): we were to +hire a post chaise and drive to the inn at G—. I was +to write a note to the young lady requesting her to meet me at +some trysting place. The note was to state that a clergyman +would accompany me, who was ready and willing to unite us there +and then in holy matrimony; that I would bring the licence in my +pocket; that after the marriage we could confer as to ways and +means; and that—she could leave the <i>rest</i> to me.</p> +<p>No enterprise was ever more merrily conceived, or more +seriously undertaken. (Please to remember that my friend +was not so very much older than I; and, in other respects, was +quite as juvenile.)</p> +<p>Whatever was to come of it, the drive was worth the +venture. The number of possible and impossible +contingencies provided for kept us occupied by the hour. +Furnished with a well-filled luncheon basket, we regaled +ourselves and fortified our courage; while our hilarity increased +as we neared, or imagined that we neared, the climax. +Unanimously we repeated Dr. Johnson’s exclamation in a post +chaise: ‘Life has not many things better than +this.’</p> +<p>But where were we? Our watches told us that we had been +two hours covering a distance of eleven miles.</p> +<p>‘Hi! Hullo! Stop!’ shouted +Napier. In those days post horses were ridden, not driven; +and about all we could see of the post boy was what Mistress +Tabitha Bramble saw of Humphrey Clinker. ‘Where the +dickens have we got to now?’</p> +<p>‘Don’t know, I’m sure, sir,’ says the +boy; ‘never was in these ’ere parts afore.’</p> +<p>‘Why,’ shouts the vicar, after a survey of the +landscape, ‘if I can see a church by daylight, that’s +Blakeney steeple; and we are only three miles from where we +started.’</p> +<p>Sure enough it was so. There was nothing for it but to +stop at the nearest house, give the horses a rest and a feed, and +make a fresh start,—better informed as to our +topography.</p> +<p>It was past four on that summer afternoon when we reached our +destination. The plan of campaign was cut and dried. +I called for writing materials, and indicted my epistle as agreed +upon.</p> +<p>‘To whom are you telling her to address the +answer?’ asked my accomplice. ‘We’re +<i>incog.</i> you know. It won’t do for either of us +to be known.’</p> +<p>‘Certainly not,’ said I. ‘What shall +it be? White? Black? Brown? or Green?’</p> +<p>‘Try Browne with an E,’ said he. ‘The +E gives an aristocratic flavour. We can’t afford to +risk our respectability.’</p> +<p>The note sealed, I rang the bell for the landlord, desired him +to send it up to the hall and tell the messenger to wait for an +answer.</p> +<p>As our host was leaving the room he turned round, with his +hand on the door, and said:</p> +<p>‘Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Cook, would you and Mr. +Napeer please to take dinner here? I’ve soom beatiful +lamb chops, and you could have a ducklin’ and some nice +young peas to your second course. The post-boy says the +’osses is pretty nigh done up; but by the +time—’</p> +<p>‘How did you know our names?’ asked my +companion.</p> +<p>‘Law sir! The post-boy, he told me. But, +beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Napeer, my daughter, she lives in +Holkham willage; and I’ve heard you preach afore +now.’</p> +<p>‘Let’s have the dinner by all means,’ said +I.</p> +<p>‘If the Bishop sequesters my living,’ cried +Napier, with solemnity, ‘I’ll summon the landlord for +defamation of character. But time’s up. You +must make for the boat-house, which is on the other side of the +park. I’ll go with you to the head of the +lake.’</p> +<p>We had not gone far, when we heard the sound of an approaching +vehicle. What did we see but an open carriage, with two +ladies in it, not a hundred yards behind us.</p> +<p>‘The aunt! by all that’s—!’</p> +<p>What— I never heard; for, before the sentence was +completed, the speaker’s long legs were scampering out of +sight in the direction of a clump of trees, I following as hard +as I could go.</p> +<p>As the carriage drove past, my Friar Lawrence was lying in a +ditch, while I was behind an oak. We were near enough to +discern the niece, and consequently we feared to be +recognised. The situation was neither dignified nor +romantic. My friend was sanguine, though big ardour was +slightly damped by the ditch water. I doubted the +expediency of trying the boat-house, but he urged the risk of her +disappointment, which made the attempt imperative.</p> +<p>The padre returned to the inn to dry himself, and, in due +course, I rejoined him. He met me with the answer to my +note. ‘The boat-house,’ it declared, ‘was +out of the question. But so, of course, was the +<i>possibility</i> of <i>change</i>. We must put our trust +in <i>Providence</i>. Time could make <i>no</i> difference +in <i>our</i> case, whatever it might do with +<i>others</i>. <i>She</i>, at any rate, could wait for +<span class="GutSmall">YEARS</span>.’ Upon the whole +the result was comforting—especially as the +‘years’ dispensed with the necessity of any immediate +step more desperate than dinner. This we enjoyed like men +who had earned it; and long before I deposited my dear friar in +his cell both of us were snoring in our respective corners of the +chaise.</p> +<p>A word or two will complete this romantic episode. The +next long vacation I spent in London, bent, needless to say, on a +happy issue to my engagement. How simple, in the +retrospect, is the frustration of our hopes! I had not been +a week in town, had only danced once with my +<i>fiancée</i>, when, one day, taking a tennis lesson from +the great Barre, a forced ball grazed the frame of my racket, and +broke a blood vessel in my eye.</p> +<p>For five weeks I was shut up in a dark room. It was two +more before I again met my charmer. She did not tell me, +but her man did, that their wedding day was fixed for the 10th of +the following month; and he ‘hoped they would have the +pleasure of seeing me at the breakfast!’ [I made the +following note of the fact: N.B.—A woman’s tears may +cost her nothing; but her smiles may be expensive.]</p> +<p>I must, however, do the young lady the justice to state that, +though her future husband was no great things as a +‘man,’ as she afterwards discovered, he was the heir +to a peerage and great wealth. Both he and she, like most +of my collaborators in this world, have long since passed into +the other.</p> +<p>The fashions of bygone days have always an interest for the +living: the greater perhaps the less remote. We like to +think of our ancestors of two or three generations off—the +heroes and heroines of Jane Austen, in their pantaloons and +high-waisted, short-skirted frocks, their pigtails and powdered +hair, their sandalled shoes, and Hessian boots. Our near +connection with them entrances our self-esteem. Their prim +manners, their affected bows and courtesies, the ‘dear Mr. +So-and-So’ of the wife to her husband, the +‘Sir’ and ‘Madam’ of the children to +their parents, make us wonder whether their flesh and blood were +ever as warm as ours; or whether they were a race of prigs and +puppets?</p> +<p>My memory carries me back to the remnants of these lost +externals—that which is lost was nothing more; the men and +women were every whit as human as ourselves. My +half-sisters wore turbans with birds-of-paradise in them. +My mother wore gigot sleeves; but objected to my father’s +pigtail, so cut it off. But my father powdered his head, +and kept to his knee-breeches to the last; so did all elderly +gentlemen, when I was a boy. For the matter of that, I saw +an old fellow with a pigtail walking in the Park as late as +1845. He, no doubt, was an ultra-conservative.</p> +<p>Fashions change so imperceptibly that it is difficult for the +historian to assign their initiatory date. Does the young +dandy of to-day want to know when white ties came into +vogue?—he knows that his great-grandfather wore a white +neckcloth, and takes it for granted, may be, that his grandfather +did so too. Not a bit of it. The young Englander of +the Coningsby type—the Count d’Orsays of my youth, +scorned the white tie alike of their fathers and their +sons. At dinner-parties or at balls, they adorned +themselves in satin scarfs, with a jewelled pin or chained pair +of pins stuck in them. I well remember the +rebellion—the protest against effeminacy—which the +white tie called forth amongst some of us upon its first invasion +on evening dress. The women were in favour of it, and, of +course, carried the day; but not without a struggle. One +night at Holkham—we were a large party, I daresay at least +fifty at dinner—the men came down in black scarfs, the +women in white ‘chokers.’ To make the contest +complete, these all sat on one side of the table, and we men on +the other. The battle was not renewed; both factions +surrendered. But the women, as usual, got their way, +and—their men.</p> +<p>For my part I could never endure the original white +neckcloth. It was stiffly starched, and wound twice round +the neck; so I abjured it for the rest of my days; now and then I +got the credit of being a coxcomb—not for my pains, but for +my comfort. Once, when dining at the Viceregal Lodge at +Dublin, I was ‘pulled up’ by an aide-de-camp for my +unbecoming attire; but I stuck to my colours, and was none the +worse. Another time my offence called forth a touch of good +nature on the part of a great man, which I hardly know how to +speak of without writing me down an ass. It was at a +crowded party at Cambridge House. (Let me plead my youth; I +was but two-and-twenty.) Stars and garters were scarcely a +distinction. White ties were then as imperative as shoes +and stockings; I was there in a black one. My candid +friends suggested withdrawal, my relations cut me assiduously, +strangers by my side whispered at me aloud, women turned their +shoulders to me; and my only prayer was that my accursed tie +would strangle me on the spot. One pair of sharp eyes, +however, noticed my ignominy, and their owner was moved by +compassion for my sufferings. As I was slinking away, Lord +Palmerston, with a <i>bonhomie</i> peculiarly his own, came up to +me; and with a shake of the hand and hearty manner, asked after +my brother Leicester, and when he was going to bring me into +Parliament?—ending with a smile: ‘Where are you off +to in such a hurry?’ That is the sort of tact that +makes a party leader. I went to bed a proud, instead of a +humiliated, man; ready, if ever I had the chance, to vote that +black was white, should he but state it was so.</p> +<p>Beards and moustache came into fashion after the Crimean +war. It would have been an outrage to wear them before that +time. When I came home from my travels across the Rocky +Mountains in 1851, I was still unshaven. Meeting my younger +brother—a fashionable guardsman—in St. James’s +Street, he exclaimed, with horror and disgust at my barbarity, +‘I suppose you mean to cut off that thing!’</p> +<p>Smoking, as indulged in now, was quite out of the question +half a century ago. A man would as soon have thought of +making a call in his dressing-gown as of strolling about the West +End with a cigar in his mouth. The first whom I ever saw +smoke a cigarette at a dining-table after dinner was the King; +some forty years ago, or more perhaps. One of the many +social benefits we owe to his present Majesty.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">During</span> my blindness I was +hospitably housed in Eaten Place by Mr. Whitbread, the head of +the renowned firm. After my recovery I had the good fortune +to meet there Lady Morgan, the once famous authoress of the +‘Wild Irish Girl.’ She still bore traces of her +former comeliness, and had probably lost little of her sparkling +vivacity. She was known to like the company of young +people, as she said they made her feel young; so, being the +youngest of the party, I had the honour of sitting next her at +dinner. When I recall her conversation and her pleasing +manners, I can well understand the homage paid both abroad and at +home to the bright genius of the Irish actor’s +daughter.</p> +<p>We talked a good deal about Byron and Lady Caroline +Lamb. This arose out of my saying I had been reading +‘Glenarvon,’ in which Lady Caroline gives +Byron’s letters to herself as Glenarvon’s letters to +the heroine. Lady Morgan had been the confidante of Lady +Caroline, had seen many of Byron’s letters, and possessed +many of her friend’s—full of details of the +extraordinary intercourse which had existed between the two.</p> +<p>Lady Morgan evidently did not believe (in spite of Lady +Caroline’s mad passion for the poet) that the liaison ever +reached the ultimate stage contemplated by her lover. This +opinion was strengthened by Lady Caroline’s undoubted +attachment to her husband—William Lamb, afterwards Lord +Melbourne—who seems to have submitted to his wife’s +vagaries with his habitual stoicism and good humour.</p> +<p>Both Byron and Lady Caroline had violent tempers, and were +always quarrelling. This led to the final rupture, when, +according to my informant, the poet’s conduct was +outrageous. He sent her some insulting lines, which Lady +Morgan quoted. The only one I remember is:</p> +<blockquote><p>Thou false to him, thou fiend to me!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Among other amusing anecdotes she told was one of +Disraeli. She had met him (I forget where), soon after his +first success as the youthful author of ‘Vivian +Grey.’ He was naturally made much of, but rather in +the Bohemian world than by such queens of society as Lady Holland +or Lady Jersey. ‘And faith!’ she added, with +the piquante accent which excitement evoked, ‘he took the +full shine out of his janius. And how do ye think he was +dressed? In a black velvet jacket and suit to match, with a +red sash round his waist, in which was stuck a dagger with a +richly jew’lled sheath and handle.’</p> +<p>The only analogous instance of self-confidence that I can call +to mind was Garibaldi’s costume at a huge reception at +Stafford House. The <i>élite</i> of society was +there, in diamonds, ribbons, and stars, to meet him. +Garibaldi’s uppermost and outermost garment was a red +flannel shirt, nothing more nor less.</p> +<p>The crowd jostled and swayed around him. To get out of +the way of it, I retreated to the deserted picture gallery. +The only person there was one who interested me more than the +scarlet patriot, Bulwer-Lytton the First. He was sauntering +to and fro with his hands behind his back, looking dingy in his +black satin scarf, and dejected. Was he envying the Italian +hero the obsequious reverence paid to his miner’s +shirt? (Nine tenths of the men, and still more of the women +there, knew nothing of the wearer, or his cause, beyond +that.) Was he thinking of similar honours which had been +lavished upon himself when <i>his</i> star was in the +zenith? Was he muttering to himself the usual consolation +of the ‘have-beens’—<i>vanitas +vanitatum</i>? Or what new fiction, what old love, was +flitting through that versatile and fantastic brain? Poor +Bulwer! He had written the best novel, the best play, and +had made the most eloquent parliamentary oration of any man of +his day. But, like another celebrated statesman who has +lately passed away, he strutted his hour and will soon be +forgotten—‘Quand on broute sa gloire en herbe de son +vivant, on ne la récolte pas en épis après +sa mort.’ The ‘Masses,’ so courted by the +one, however blatant, are not the arbiters of immortal fame.</p> +<p>To go back a few years before I met Lady Morgan: when my +mother was living at 18 Arlington Street, Sydney Smith used to be +a constant visitor there. One day he called just as we were +going to lunch. He had been very ill, and would not eat +anything. My mother suggested the wing of a chicken.</p> +<p>‘My dear lady,’ said he, ‘it was only +yesterday that my doctor positively refused my request for the +wing of a butterfly.’</p> +<p>Another time when he was making a call I came to the door +before it was opened. When the footman answered the bell, +‘Is Lady Leicester at home?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘No, sir,’ was the answer.</p> +<p>‘That’s a good job,’ he exclaimed, but with +a heartiness that fairly took Jeames’ breath away.</p> +<p>As Sydney’s face was perfectly impassive, I never felt +quite sure whether this was for the benefit of myself or of the +astounded footman; or whether it was the genuine expression of an +absent mind. He was a great friend of my mother’s, +and of Mr. Ellice’s, but his fits of abstraction were +notorious.</p> +<p>He himself records the fact. ‘I knocked at a door +in London, asked, “Is Mrs. B— at home?” +“Yes, sir; pray what name shall I say?” I +looked at the man’s face astonished. What name? what +name? aye, that is the question. What is my name? I +had no more idea who I was than if I had never existed. I +did not know whether I was a dissenter or a layman. I felt +as dull as Sternhold and Hopkins. At last, to my great +relief, it flashed across me that I was Sydney Smith.’</p> +<p>In the summer of the year 1848 Napier and I stayed a couple of +nights with Captain Marryat at Langham, near Blakeney. He +used constantly to come over to Holkham to watch our cricket +matches. His house was a glorified cottage, very +comfortable and prettily decorated. The dining and +sitting-rooms were hung with the original water-colour +drawings—mostly by Stanfield, I think—which +illustrated his minor works. Trophies from all parts of the +world garnished the walls. The only inmates beside us two +were his son, a strange, but clever young man with considerable +artistic abilities, and his talented daughter, Miss Florence, +since so well known to novel readers.</p> +<p>Often as I had spoken to Marryat, I never could quite make him +out. Now that I was his guest his habitual reserve +disappeared, and despite his failing health he was geniality +itself. Even this I did not fully understand at +first. At the dinner-table his amusement seemed, I +won’t say to make a ‘butt’ of me—his +banter was too good-natured for that—but he treated me as +Dr. Primrose treated his son after the bushel-of-green-spectacles +bargain. He invented the most wonderful stories, and told +them with imperturbable sedateness. Finding a credulous +listener in me, he drew all the more freely upon his +invention. When, however, he gravely asserted that Jonas +was not the only man who had spent three days and three nights in +a whale’s belly, but that he himself had caught a whale +with a man inside it who had lived there for more than a year on +blubber, which, he declared, was better than turtle soup, it was +impossible to resist the fooling, and not forget that one was the +Moses of the extravaganza.</p> +<p>In the evening he proposed that his son and daughter and I +should act a charade. Napier was the audience, and Marryat +himself the orchestra—that is, he played on his fiddle such +tunes as a ship’s fiddler or piper plays to the heaving of +the anchor, or for hoisting in cargo. Everyone was in +romping spirits, and notwithstanding the cheery Captain’s +signs of fatigue and worn looks, which he evidently strove to +conceal, the evening had all the freshness and spirit of an +impromptu pleasure.</p> +<p>When I left, Marryat gave me his violin, with some sad words +about his not being likely to play upon it more. Perhaps he +knew better than we how prophetically he was speaking. +Barely three weeks afterwards I learnt that the humorous creator +of ‘Midshipman Easy’ would never make us laugh +again.</p> +<p>In 1846 Lord John Russell succeeded Sir Robert Peel as +premier. At the General Election, a brother of mine was the +Liberal candidate for the seat in East Norfolk. He was +returned; but was threatened with defeat through an occurrence in +which I was innocently involved.</p> +<p>The largest landowner in this division of the county, next to +my brother Leicester, was Lord Hastings—great-grandfather +of the present lord. On the occasion I am referring to, he +was a guest at Holkham, where a large party was then +assembled. Leicester was particularly anxious to be civil +to his powerful neighbour; and desired the members of his family +to show him every attention. The little lord was an +exceedingly punctilious man: as scrupulously dapper in manner as +he was in dress. Nothing could be more courteous, more +smiling, than his habitual demeanour; but his bite was worse than +his bark, and nobody knew which candidate his agents had +instructions to support in the coming contest. It was quite +on the cards that the secret order would turn the scales.</p> +<p>One evening after dinner, when the ladies had left us, the men +were drawn together and settled down to their wine. It was +before the days of cigarettes, and claret was plentifully +imbibed. I happened to be seated next to Lord Hastings on +his left; on the other side of him was Spencer Lyttelton, uncle +of our Colonial Secretary. Spencer Lyttelton was a notable +character. He had much of the talents and amiability of his +distinguished family; but he was eccentric, exceedingly comic, +and dangerously addicted to practical jokes. One of these +he now played upon the spruce and vigilant little potentate whom +it was our special aim to win.</p> +<p>As the decanters circulated from right to left, Spencer filled +himself a bumper, and passed the bottles on. Lord Hastings +followed suit. I, unfortunately, was speaking to Lyttelton +behind Lord Hastings’s back, and as he turned and pushed +the wine to me, the incorrigible joker, catching sight of the +handkerchief sticking out of my lord’s coat-tail, quick as +thought drew it open and emptied his full glass into the gaping +pocket. A few minutes later Lord Hastings, who took snuff, +discovered what had happened. He held the dripping cloth up +for inspection, and with perfect urbanity deposited it on his +dessert plate.</p> +<p>Leicester looked furious, but said nothing till we joined the +ladies. He first spoke to Hastings, and then to me. +What passed between the two I do not know. To me, he said: +‘Hastings tells me it was you who poured the claret into +his pocket. This will lose the election. After +to-morrow, I shall want your room.’ Of course, the +culprit confessed; and my brother got the support we hoped +for. Thus it was that the political interests of several +thousands of electors depended on a glass of wine.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>I <span class="GutSmall">HAD</span> completed my second year +at the University, when, in October 1848, just as I was about to +return to Cambridge after the long vacation, an old +friend—William Grey, the youngest of the +ex-Prime-Minister’s sons—called on me at my London +lodgings. He was attached to the Vienna Embassy, where his +uncle, Lord Ponsonby, was then ambassador. Shortly before +this there had been serious insurrections both in Paris, Vienna, +and Berlin.</p> +<p>Many may still be living who remember how Louis Philippe fled +to England; how the infection spread over this country; how +25,000 Chartists met on Kennington Common; how the upper and +middle classes of London were enrolled as special constables, +with the future Emperor of the French amongst them; how the +promptitude of the Iron Duke saved London, at least, from the +fate of the French and Austrian capitals.</p> +<p>This, however, was not till the following spring. Up to +October, no overt defiance of the Austrian Government had yet +asserted itself; but the imminence of an outbreak was the anxious +thought of the hour. The hot heads of Germany, France, and +England were more than meditating—they were threatening, +and preparing for, a European revolution. Bloody battles +were to be fought; kings and emperors were to be dethroned and +decapitated; mobs were to take the place of parliaments; the +leaders of the ‘people’—<i>i.e.</i> the stump +orators—were to rule the world; property was to be divided +and subdivided down to the shirt on a man’s—a rich +man’s—back; and every ‘po’r’ man +was to have his own, and—somebody else’s. This +was the divine law of Nature, according to the gospels of Saint +Jean Jacques and Mr. Feargus O’Connor. We were all +naked under our clothes, which clearly proved our equality. +This was the simple, the beautiful programme; once carried out, +peace, fraternal and eternal peace, would reign—till it +ended, and the earthly Paradise would be an accomplished +fact.</p> +<p>I was an ultra-Radical—a younger-son Radical—in +those days. I was quite ready to share with my elder +brother; I had no prejudice in favour of my superiors; I had +often dreamed of becoming a leader of the +‘people’—a stump orator, <i>i.e.</i>—with +the handsome emoluments of ministerial office.</p> +<p>William Grey came to say good-bye. He was suddenly +recalled in consequence of the insurrection. ‘It is a +most critical state of affairs,’ he said. ‘A +revolution may break out all over the Continent at any +moment. There’s no saying where it may end. We +are on the eve of a new epoch in the history of Europe. I +wouldn’t miss it on any account.’</p> +<p>‘Most interesting! most interesting!’ I +exclaimed. ‘How I wish I were going with +you!’</p> +<p>‘Come,’ said he, with engaging brevity.</p> +<p>‘How can I? I’m just going back to +Cambridge.’</p> +<p>‘You are of age, aren’t you?’</p> +<p>I nodded.</p> +<p>‘And your own master? Come; you’ll never +have such a chance again.’</p> +<p>‘When do you start?’</p> +<p>‘To-morrow morning early.’</p> +<p>‘But it is too late to get a passport.’</p> +<p>‘Not a bit of it. I have to go to the Foreign +Office for my despatches. Dine with me to-night at my +mother’s—nobody else—and I’ll bring your +passport in my pocket.’</p> +<p>‘So be it, then. Billy Whistle [the irreverend +nickname we undergraduates gave the Master of Trinity] will +rusticate me to a certainty. It can’t be +helped. The cause is sacred. I’ll meet you at +Lady Grey’s to-night.’</p> +<p>We reached our destination at daylight on October 9. We +had already heard, while changing carriages at Breslau station, +that the revolution had broken out at Vienna, that the rails were +torn up, the Bahn-hof burnt, the military defeated and driven +from the town. William Grey’s official papers, aided +by his fluent German, enabled us to pass the barriers, and find +our way into the city. He went straight to the Embassy, and +sent me on to the ‘Erzherzog Carl’ in the +Kärnthner Thor Strasse, at that time the best hotel in +Vienna. It being still nearly dark, candles were burning in +every window by order of the insurgents.</p> +<p>The preceding day had been an eventful one. The +proletariats, headed by the students, had sacked the arsenal, the +troops having made but slight resistance. They then marched +to the War Office and demanded the person of the War Minister, +Count Latour, who was most unpopular on account of his known +appeal to Jellachich, the Ban of Croatia, to assist, if required, +in putting down the disturbances. Some sharp fighting here +took place. The rioters defeated the small body of soldiers +on the spot, captured two guns, and took possession of the +building. The unfortunate minister was found in one of the +upper garrets of the palace. The ruffians dragged him from +his place of concealment, and barbarously murdered him. +They then flung his body from the window, and in a few minutes it +was hanging from a lamp-post above the heads of the infuriated +and yelling mob.</p> +<p>In 1848 the inner city of Vienna was enclosed within a broad +and lofty bastion, fosse, and glacis. These were levelled +in 1857. As soon as the troops were expelled, cannon were +placed on the Bastei so as to command the approaches from +without. The tunnelled gateways were built up, and +barricades erected across every principal thoroughfare. +Immediately after these events Ferdinand I. abdicated in favour +of the present Emperor Francis Joseph, who retired with the Court +to Schöbrunn. Foreigners at once took flight, and the +hotels were emptied. The only person left in the +‘Archduke Charles’ beside myself was Mr. Bowen, +afterwards Sir George, Governor of New Zealand, with whom I was +glad to fraternise.</p> +<p>These humble pages do not aspire to the dignity of History; +but a few words as to what took place are needful for the +writer’s purposes. The garrison in Vienna had been +comparatively small; and as the National Guard had joined the +students and proletariats, it was deemed advisable by the +Government to await the arrival of reinforcements under Prince +Windischgrätz, who, together with a strong body of Servians +and Croats under Jellachich, might overawe the insurgents; or, if +not, recapture the city without unnecessary bloodshed. The +rebels were buoyed up by hopes of support from the Hungarians +under Kossuth. But in this they were disappointed. In +less than three weeks from the day of the outbreak the city was +beleaguered. Fighting began outside the town on the +24th. On the 25th the soldiers occupied the Wieden and +Nussdorf suburbs. Next day the Gemeinderath (Municipal +Council) sent a <i>Parlementär</i> to treat with +Windischgrätz. The terms were rejected, and the city +was taken by storm on October 30.</p> +<p>A few days before the bombardment, the Austrian commander gave +the usual notice to the Ambassadors to quit the town. This +they accordingly did. Before leaving, Lord Ponsonby kindly +sent his private secretary, Mr. George Samuel, to warn me and +invite me to join him at Schönbrunn. I politely +elected to stay and take my chance. After the attack on the +suburbs began I had reason to regret the decision. The +hotels were entered by patrols, and all efficient waiters +<i>kommandiere’d</i> to work at the barricades, or carry +arms. On the fourth day I settled to change sides. +The constant banging of big guns, and rattle of musketry, with +the impossibility of getting either air or exercise without the +risk of being indefinitely deprived of both, was becoming less +amusing than I had counted on. I was already provided with +a <i>Passierschein</i>, which franked me inside the town, and up +to the insurgents’ outposts. The difficulty was how +to cross the neutral ground and the two opposing lines. +Broad daylight was the safest time for the purpose; the officious +sentry is not then so apt to shoot his friend. With much +stalking and dodging I made a bolt; and, notwithstanding violent +gesticulations and threats, got myself safely seized and hurried +before the nearest commanding officer.</p> +<p>He happened to be a general or a colonel. He was a +fierce looking, stout old gentleman with a very red face, all the +redder for his huge white moustache and well-filled white +uniform. He began by fuming and blustering as if about to +order me to summary execution. He spoke so fast, it was not +easy to follow him. Probably my amateur German was as +puzzling to him. The <i>Passierschein</i>, which I +produced, was not in my favour; unfortunately I had forgotten my +Foreign Office passport. What further added to his +suspicion was his inability to comprehend why I had not availed +myself of the notice, duly given to all foreigners, to leave the +city before active hostilities began. How anyone, who had +the choice, could be fool enough to stay and be shelled or +bayoneted, was (from his point of view) no proof of +respectability. I assured him he was mistaken if he thought +I had a predilection for either of these alternatives.</p> +<p>‘It was just because I desired to avoid both that I had +sought, not without risk, the protection I was so sure of finding +at the hands of a great and gallant soldier.’</p> +<p>‘Dummes Zeug! dummes Zeug!’ (stuff o’ +nonsense), he puffed. But a peppery man’s good humour +is often as near the surface as his bad. I detected a +pleasant sparkle in his eye.</p> +<p>‘Pardon me, Excellenz,’ said I, ‘my presence +here is the best proof of my sincerity.’</p> +<p>‘That,’ said he sharply, ‘is what every +rascal might plead when caught with a rebel’s pass in his +pocket. Geleitsbriefe für Schurken sind Steckbriefe +für die Gerechtigkeit.’ (Safe-conduct passes for +knaves are writs of capias to honest men.)</p> +<p>I answered: ‘But an English gentleman is not a knave; +and no one knows the difference better than your +Excellenz.’ The term ‘Schurken’ (knaves) +had stirred my fire; and though I made a deferential bow, I +looked as indignant as I felt.</p> +<p>‘Well, well,’ he said pacifically, ‘you may +go about your business. But <i>sehen Sie</i>, young man, +take my advice, don’t satisfy your curiosity at the cost of +a broken head. Dazu gehören Kerle die eigens +geschaffen sind.’ As much as to say: ‘Leave +halters to those who are born to be hanged.’ Indeed, +the old fellow looked as if he had enjoyed life too well to +appreciate parting with it gratuitously.</p> +<p>I had nothing with me save the clothes on my back. When +I should again have access to the ‘Erzherzcg Carl’ +was impossible to surmise. The only decent inn I knew of +outside the walls was the ‘Golden Lámm,’ on +the suburb side of the Donau Canal, close to the Ferdinand bridge +which faces the Rothen Thurm Thor. Here I entered, and +found it occupied by a company of Nassau +<i>jägers</i>. A barricade was thrown up across the +street leading to the bridge. Behind it were two +guns. One end of the barricade abutted on the ‘Golden +Lámm.’ With the exception of the soldiers, the +inn seemed to be deserted; and I wanted both food and +lodging. The upper floor was full of +<i>jägers</i>. The front windows over-looked the +Bastei. These were now blocked with mattresses, to protect +the men from bullets. The distance from the ramparts was +not more than 150 yards, and woe to the student or the fat +grocer, in his National Guard uniform, who showed his head above +the walls. While I was in the attics a gun above the city +gate fired at the battery below. I ran down a few minutes +later to see the result. One artilleryman had been +killed. He was already laid under the gun-carriage, his +head covered with a cloak.</p> +<p>The storming took place a day or two afterwards. One of +the principal points of resistance had been at the bottom of the +Jägerzeile. The insurgents had a battery of several +guns here; and the handsome houses at the corners facing the +Prater had been loop-holed and filled with students. I +walked round the town after all was over, and was especially +impressed with the horrors I witnessed. The beautiful +houses, with their gorgeous furniture, were a mass of smoking +ruins. Not a soul was to be seen, not even a prowling +thief. I picked my way into one or two of them without +hindrance. Here and there were a heap of bodies, some burnt +to cinders, some with their clothes still smouldering. The +smell of the roasted flesh was a disgusting association for a +long time to come. But the whole was sickening to look at, +and still more so, if possible, to reflect upon; for this was the +price which so often has been, so often will be, paid for the +alluring dream of liberty, and for the pursuit of that +mischievous will-o’-the-wisp—jealous Equality.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Vienna</span> in the early part of the +last century was looked upon as the gayest capital in +Europe. Even the frightful convulsion it had passed through +only checked for a while its chronic pursuit of pleasure. +The cynical philosopher might be tempted to contrast this not +infrequent accessory of paternal rule with the purity and +contentment so fondly expected from a democracy—or shall we +say a demagoguey? The cherished hopes of the so-called +patriots had been crushed; and many were the worse for the +struggle. But the majority naturally subsided into their +customary vocations—beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, music, +dancing, and play-going.</p> +<p>The Vienna of 1848 was the Vienna described by Madame de +Staël in 1810: ‘Dans ce pays, l’on traite les +plaisirs comme les devoirs. . . . Vous verrez des hommes et des +femmes exécuter gravement, l’un vis-à-vis de +l’autre, les pas d’un menuet dont ils sont +imposé l’amusement, . . . comme s’il [the +couple] dansait pour l’acquit de sa conscience.’</p> +<p>Every theatre and place of amusement was soon re-opened. +There was an excellent opera; Strauss—the +original—presided over weekly balls and concerts. For +my part, being extremely fond of music, I worked industriously at +the violin, also at German. My German master, Herr Mauthner +by name, was a little hump-backed Jew, who seemed to know every +man and woman (especially woman) worth knowing in Vienna. +Through him I made the acquaintance of several families of the +middle class,—amongst them that of a veteran musician who +had been Beethoven’s favourite flute-player. As my +veneration for Beethoven was unbounded, I listened with awe to +every trifling incident relating to the great master. I +fear the conviction left on my mind was that my idol, though +transcendent amongst musicians, was a bear amongst men. +Pride (according to his ancient associate) was his strong +point. This he vindicated by excessive rudeness to everyone +whose social position was above his own. Even those that +did him a good turn were suspected of patronising. +Condescension was a prerogative confined to himself. In +this respect, to be sure, there was nothing singular.</p> +<p>At the house of the old flutist we played family +quartets,—he, the father, taking the first violin part on +his flute, I the second, the son the ’cello, and his +daughter the piano. It was an atmosphere of music that we +all inhaled; and my happiness on these occasions would have been +unalloyed, had not the young lady—a damsel of +six-and-forty—insisted on poisoning me (out of compliment +to my English tastes) with a bitter decoction she was pleased to +call tea. This delicate attention, I must say, proved an +effectual souvenir till we met again—I dreaded it.</p> +<p>Now and then I dined at the Embassy. One night I met +there Prince Paul Esterhazy, so distinguished by his diamonds +when Austrian Ambassador at the coronation of Queen +Victoria. He talked to me of the Holkham sheep-shearing +gatherings, at which from 200 to 300 guests sat down to dinner +every day, including crowned heads, and celebrities from both +sides of the Atlantic. He had twice assisted at these in my +father’s time. He also spoke of the shooting; and +promised, if I would visit him in Hungary, he would show me as +good sport as had ever seen in Norfolk. He invited Mr. +Magenis—the Secretary of Legation—to accompany +me.</p> +<p>The following week we two hired a <i>britzcka</i>, and posted +to Eisenstadt. The lordly grandeur of this last of the +feudal princes manifested itself soon after we crossed the +Hungarian frontier. The first sign of it was the livery and +badge worn by the postillions. Posting houses, horses and +roads, were all the property of His Transparency.</p> +<p>Eisenstadt itself, though not his principal seat, is a large +palace—three sides of a triangle. One wing is the +residence, that opposite the barrack, (he had his own troops,) +and the connecting base part museum and part concert-hall. +This last was sanctified by the spirit of Joseph Haydn, for so +many years Kapellmeister to the Esterhazy family. The +conductor’s stand and his spinet remained intact. +Even the stools and desks in the orchestra (so the Prince assured +me) were ancient. The very dust was sacred. Sitting +alone in the dim space, one could fancy the great little man +still there, in his snuff-coloured coat and ruffles, half buried +(as on state occasions) in his ‘<i>allonge +perücke</i>.’ A tap of his magic wand starts +into life his quaint old-fashioned band, and the powder flies +from their wigs. Soft, distant, ghostly harmonies of the +Surprise Symphony float among the rafters; and now, as in a +dream, we are listening to—nay, beholding—the +glorious process of Creation; till suddenly the mighty chord is +struck, and we are startled from our trance by the burst of +myriad voices echoing the command and its fulfilment, ‘Let +there be light: and there was light.’</p> +<p>Only a family party was assembled in the house. A Baron +something, and a Graf something—both relations,—and +the son, afterwards Ambassador at St. Petersburg during the +Crimean War. The latter was married to Lady Sarah Villiers, +who was also there. It is amusing to think that the +beautiful daughter of the proud Lady Jersey should be looked upon +by the Austrians as somewhat of a <i>mésalliance</i> for +one of the chiefs of their nobility. Certain it is that the +young Princess was received by them, till they knew her, with +more condescension than enthusiasm.</p> +<p>An air of feudal magnificence pervaded the palace: spacious +reception-rooms hung with armour and trophies of the chase; +numbers of domestics in epauletted and belaced, but ill-fitting, +liveries; the prodigal supply and nationality of the +comestibles—wild boar with marmalade, venison and game of +all sorts with excellent ‘Eingemachtes’ and +‘Mehlspeisen’ galore—a feast for a Gamache or a +Gargantua. But then, all save three, remember, were +Germans—and Germans! Noteworthy was the delicious +Château Y’quem, of which the Prince declared he had a +monopoly—meaning the best, I presume. After dinner +the son, his brother-in-law, and I, smoked our meerschaums and +played pools of <i>écarté</i> in the young +Prince’s room. Magenis, who was much our senior, had +his rubber downstairs with the elders.</p> +<p>The life was pleasant enough, but there was one little +medieval peculiarity which almost made one look for retainers in +goat-skins and rushes on the floor,—there was not a bath +(except the Princess’s) in the palace! It was with +difficulty that my English servant foraged a tub from the kitchen +or the laundry. As to other sanitary arrangements, they +were what they doubtless had been in the days of Almos and his +son, the mighty Arped. In keeping with these venerable +customs, I had a sentry at the door of my apartments; to protect +me, belike, from the ghosts of predatory barons and +marauders.</p> +<p>During the week we had two days’ shooting; one in the +coverts, quite equal to anything of the kind in England, the +other at wild boar. For the latter, a tract of the +Carpathian Mountains had been driven for some days before into a +wood of about a hundred acres. At certain points there were +sheltered stands, raised four or five feet from the ground, so +that the sportsmen had a commanding view of the broad alley or +clearing in front of him, across which the stags or boar were +driven by an army of beaters.</p> +<p>I had my own double-barrelled rifle; but besides this, a man +with a rack on his back bearing three rifles of the +prince’s, a loader, and a <i>Förster</i>, with a +hunting knife or short sword to despatch the wounded +quarry. Out of the first rush of pigs that went by I +knocked over two; and, in my keenness, jumped out of the stand +with the <i>Förster</i> who ran to finish them off. I +was immediately collared and brought back; and as far as I could +make out, was taken for a lunatic, or at least for a +‘duffer,’ for my rash attempt to approach unarmed a +wounded tusker. When we all met at the end of the day, the +bag of the five guns was forty-five wild boars. The +biggest—and he was a monster—fell to the rifle of the +Prince, as was of course intended.</p> +<p>The old man took me home in his carriage. It was a +beautiful drive. One’s idea of an English +park—even such a park as Windsor’s—dwindled +into that of a pleasure ground, when compared with the boundless +territory we drove through. To be sure, it was no more a +park than is the New Forest; but it had all the character of the +best English scenery—miles of fine turf, dotted with clumps +of splendid trees, and gigantic oaks standing alone in their +majesty. Now and then a herd of red deer were startled in +some sequestered glade; but no cattle, no sheep, no sign of +domestic care. Struck with the charm of this primeval +wilderness, I made some remark about the richness of the pasture, +and wondered there were no sheep to be seen. +‘There,’ said the old man, with a touch of pride, as +he pointed to the blue range of the Carpathians; ‘that is +my farm. I will tell you. All the celebrities of the +day who were interested in farming used to meet at Holkham for +what was called the sheep-shearing. I once told your father +I had more shepherds on my farm than there were sheep on +his.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It was</span> with a sorry heart that I +bade farewell to my Vienna friends, my musical comrades, the +Legation hospitalities, and my faithful little Israelite. +But the colt frisks over the pasture from sheer superfluity of +energy; and between one’s second and third decades +instinctive restlessness—spontaneous movement—is the +law of one’s being. ’Tis then that ‘Hope +builds as fast as knowledge can destroy.’ The +enjoyment we abandon is never so sweet as that we seek. +‘Pleasure never is at home.’ Happiness means +action for its own sake, change, incessant change.</p> +<p>I sought and found it in Bavaria, Bohemia, Russia, all over +Germany, and dropped anchor one day in Cracow; a week afterwards +in Warsaw. These were out-of-the-way places then; there +were no tourists in those days; I did not meet a single +compatriot either in the Polish or Russian town.</p> +<p>At Warsaw I had an adventure not unlike that which befell me +at Vienna. The whole of Europe, remember, was in a state of +political ferment. Poland was at least as ready to rise +against its oppressor then as now; and the police was +proportionately strict and arbitrary. An army corps was +encamped on the right bank of the Vistula, ready for expected +emergencies. Under these circumstances, passports, as may +be supposed, were carefully inspected; except in those of British +subjects, the person of the bearer was described—his +height, the colour of his hair (if he had any), or any mark that +distinguished him.</p> +<p>In my passport, after my name, was added ‘<i>et son +domestique</i>.’ The inspector who examined it at the +frontier pointed to this, and, in indifferent German, asked me +where that individual was. I replied that I had sent him +with my baggage to Dresden, to await my arrival there. A +consultation thereupon took place with another official, in a +language I did not understand; and to my dismay I was informed +that I was—in custody. The small portmanteau I had +with me, together with my despatch-box, was seized; the latter +contained a quantity of letters and my journal. Money only +was I permitted to retain.</p> +<p>Quite by the way, but adding greatly to my discomfort, was the +fact that since leaving Prague, where I had relinquished +everything I could dispense with, I had had much night travelling +amongst native passengers, who so valued cleanliness that they +economised it with religious care. By the time I reached +Warsaw, I may say, without metonymy, that I was itching (all +over) for a bath and a change of linen. My irritation, +indeed, was at its height. But there was no appeal; and on +my arrival I was haled before the authorities.</p> +<p>Again, their head was a general officer, though not the least +like my portly friend at Vienna. His business was to sit in +judgment upon delinquents such as I. He was a spare, +austere man, surrounded by a sharp-looking aide-de-camp, several +clerks in uniform, and two or three men in mufti, whom I took to +be detectives. The inspector who arrested me was present +with my open despatch-box and journal. The journal he +handed to the aide, who began at once to look it through while +his chief was disposing of another case.</p> +<p>To be suspected and dragged before this tribunal was, for the +time being (as I afterwards learnt) almost tantamount to +condemnation. As soon as the General had sentenced my +predecessor, I was accosted as a self-convicted criminal. +Fortunately he spoke French like a Frenchman; and, as it +presently appeared, a few words of English.</p> +<p>‘What country do you belong to?’ he asked, as if +the question was but a matter of form, put for decency’s +sake—a mere prelude to committal.</p> +<p>‘England, of course; you can see that by my +passport.’ I was determined to fence him with his own +weapons. Indeed, in those innocent days of my youth, I +enjoyed a genuine British contempt for foreigners—in the +lump—which, after all, is about as impartial a sentiment as +its converse, that one’s own country is always in the +wrong.</p> +<p>‘Where did you get it?’ (with a face of +stone).</p> +<p><i>Prisoner</i> (<i>naïvely</i>): ‘Where did I get +it? I do not follow you.’ (Don’t forget, +please, that said prisoner’s apparel was unvaleted, his +hands unwashed, his linen unchanged, his hair unkempt, and his +face unshaven).</p> +<p><i>General</i> (stonily): ‘“Where did you get +it?” was my question.’</p> +<p><i>Prisoner</i> (quietly): ‘From Lord +Palmerston.’</p> +<p><i>General</i> (glancing at that Minister’s signature): +‘It says here, “et son domestique”—you +have no domestique.’</p> +<p><i>Prisoner</i> (calmly): ‘Pardon me, I have a +domestic.’</p> +<p><i>General</i> (with severity), ‘Where is he?’</p> +<p><i>Prisoner</i>: ‘At Dresden by this time, I +hope.’</p> +<p><i>General</i> (receiving journal from aide-de-camp, who +points to a certain page): ‘You state here you were caught +by the Austrians in a pretended escape from the Viennese +insurgents; and add, “They evidently took me for a +spy” [returning journal to aide]. What is your +explanation of this?’</p> +<p><i>Prisoner</i> (shrugging shoulders disdainfully): ‘In +the first place, the word “pretended” is not in my +journal. In the second, although of course it does not +follow, if one takes another person for a man of sagacity or a +gentleman—it does not follow that he is either—still, +when—’</p> +<p><i>General</i> (with signs of impatience): ‘I have here +a <i>Passierschein</i>, found amongst your papers and signed by +the rebels. They would not have given you this, had you not +been on friendly terms with them. You will be detained +until I have further particulars.’</p> +<p><i>Prisoner</i> (angrily): ‘I will assist you, through +Her Britannic Majesty’s Consul, with whom I claim the right +to communicate. I beg to inform you that I am neither a spy +nor a socialist, but the son of an English peer’ (heaven +help the relevancy!). ‘An Englishman has yet to learn +that Lord Palmerston’s signature is to be set at naught and +treated with contumacy.’</p> +<p>The General beckoned to the inspector to put an end to the +proceedings. But the aide, who had been studying the +journal, again placed it in his chief’s hands. A +colloquy ensued, in which I overheard the name of Lord +Ponsonby. The enemy seemed to waver, so I charged with a +renewed request to see the English Consul. A pause; then +some remarks in Russian from the aide; then the <i>General</i> +(in suaver tones): ‘The English Consul, I find, is absent +on a month’s leave. If what you state is true, you +acted unadvisedly in not having your passport altered and +<i>revisé</i> when you parted with your servant. How +long do you wish to remain here?’</p> +<p>Said I, ‘Vous avez bien raison, Monsieur. Je suis +évidemment dans mon tort. Ma visite à +Varsovie était une aberration. As to my stay, je +suis déjà tout ce qu’il y a de plus +ennuyé. I have seen enough of Warsaw to last for the +rest of my days.’</p> +<p>Eventually my portmanteau and despatch-box were restored to +me; and I took up my quarters in the filthiest inn (there was no +better, I believe) that it was ever my misfortune to lodge +at. It was ancient, dark, dirty, and dismal. My +sitting-room (I had a cupboard besides to sleep in) had but one +window, looking into a gloomy courtyard. The furniture +consisted of two wooden chairs and a spavined horsehair +sofa. The ceiling was low and lamp-blacked; the stained +paper fell in strips from the sweating walls; fortunately there +was no carpet; but if anything could have added to the +occupier’s depression it was the sight of his own distorted +features in a shattered glass, which seemed to watch him like a +detective and take notes of his movements—a real Russian +mirror.</p> +<p>But the resources of one-and-twenty are not easily daunted, +even by the presence of the <i>cimex lectularius</i> or the +<i>pulex irritans</i>. I inquired for a <i>laquais de +place</i>,—some human being to consort with was the most +pressing of immediate wants. As luck would have it, the +very article was in the dreary courtyard, lurking spider-like for +the innocent traveller just arrived. Elective affinity +brought us at once to friendly intercourse. He was of the +Hebrew race, as the larger half of the Warsaw population still +are. He was a typical Jew (all Jews are typical), though +all are not so thin as was Beninsky. His eyes were sunk in +sockets deepened by the sharpness of his bird-of-prey beak; a +single corkscrew ringlet dropped tearfully down each cheek; and +his one front tooth seemed sometimes in his upper, sometimes in +his lower jaw. His skull-cap and his gabardine might have +been heirlooms from the Patriarch Jacob; and his poor hands +seemed made for clawing. But there was a humble and +contrite spirit in his sad eyes. The history of his race +was written in them; but it was modern history that one read in +their hopeless and appealing look.</p> +<p>His cringing manner and his soft voice (we conversed in +German) touched my heart. I have always had a liking for +the Jews. Who shall reckon how much some of us owe +them! They have always interested me as a peculiar +people—admitting sometimes, as in poor Beninsky’s +case, of purifying, no doubt; yet, if occasionally zealous (and +who is not?) of interested works—cent. per cent. works, +often—yes, more often than we Christians—zealous of +good works, of open-handed, large-hearted munificence, of charity +in its democratic and noblest sense. Shame upon the nations +which despise and persecute them for faults which they, the +persecutors, have begotten! Shame on those who have +extorted both their money and their teeth! I think if I +were a Jew I should chuckle to see my shekels furnish all the +wars in which Christians cut one another’s Christian +weasands.</p> +<p>And who has not a tenderness for the ‘beautiful and +well-favoured’ Rachels, and the ‘tender-eyed’ +Leahs, and the tricksy little Zilpahs, and the Rebekahs, from the +wife of Isaac of Gerar to the daughter of Isaac of York? +Who would not love to sit with Jessica where moonlight sleeps, +and watch the patines of bright gold reflected in her heavenly +orbs? I once knew a Jessica, a Polish Jessica, +who—but that was in Vienna, more than half a century +ago.</p> +<p>Beninsky’s orbs brightened visibly when I bade him break +his fast at my high tea. I ordered everything they had in +the house I think,—a cold Pomeranian +<i>Gänsebrust</i>, a garlicky <i>Wurst</i>, and +<i>geräucherte Lachs</i>. I had a packet of my own +Fortnum and Mason’s Souchong; and when the stove gave out +its glow, and the samovar its music, Beninsky’s gratitude +and his hunger passed the limits of restraint. Late into +the night we smoked our meerschaums.</p> +<p>When I spoke of the Russians, he got up nervously to see the +door was shut, and whispered with bated breath. What a +relief it was to him to meet a man to whom he could pour out his +griefs, his double griefs, as Pole and Israelite. Before we +parted I made him put the remains of the sausage (!) and the +goose-breast under his petticoats. I bade him come to me in +the morning and show me all that was worth seeing in +Warsaw. When he left, with tears in his eyes, I was +consoled to think that for one night at any rate he and his +<i>Gänsebrust</i> and sausage would rest peacefully in +Abraham’s bosom. What Abraham would say to the +sausage I did not ask; nor perhaps did my poor Beninsky.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> remainder of the year ’49 +has left me nothing to tell. For me, it was the inane life +of that draff of Society—the young man-about-town: the +tailor’s, the haberdasher’s, the bootmaker’s, +and trinket-maker’s, young man; the dancing and +‘hell’-frequenting young man; the young man of the +‘Cider Cellars’ and Piccadilly saloons; the valiant +dove-slayer, the park-lounger, the young lady’s young +man—who puts his hat into mourning, and turns up his +trousers because—because the other young man does ditto, +ditto.</p> +<p>I had a share in the Guards’ omnibus box at Covent +Garden, with the privilege attached of going behind the +scenes. Ah! that was a real pleasure. To listen night +after night to Grisi and Mario, Alboni and Lablache, Viardot and +Ronconi, Persiani and Tamburini,—and Jenny Lind too, though +she was at the other house. And what an orchestra was +Costa’s—with Sainton leader, and Lindley and old +Dragonetti, who together but alone, accompanied the +<i>recitative</i> with their harmonious chords on ’cello +and double-bass. Is singing a lost art? Or is that +but a <i>temporis acti</i> question? We who heard those now +silent voices fancy there are none to match them nowadays. +Certainly there are no dancers like Taglioni, and Cerito, and +Fanny Elsler, and Carlotta Grisi.</p> +<p>After the opera and the ball, one finished the night at +Vauxhall or Ranelagh; then as gay, and exactly the same, as they +were when Miss Becky Sharpe and fat Jos supped there only +five-and-thirty years before.</p> +<p>Except at the Opera, and the Philharmonic, and Exeter Hall, +one rarely heard good music. Monsieur Jullien, that prince +of musical mountebanks—the ‘Prince of +Waterloo,’ as John Ella called him, was the first to +popularise classical music at his promenade concerts, by +tentatively introducing a single movement of a symphony here and +there in the programme of his quadrilles and waltzes and +music-hall songs.</p> +<p>Mr. Ella, too, furthered the movement with his Musical Union +and quartett parties at Willis’s Rooms, where Sainton and +Cooper led alternately, and the incomparable Piatti and Hill made +up the four. Here Ernst, Sivori, Vieuxtemps, and Bottesini, +and Mesdames Schumann, Dulcken, Arabella Goddard, and all the +famous virtuosi played their solos.</p> +<p>Great was the stimulus thus given by Ella’s energy and +enthusiasm. As a proof of what he had to contend with, and +what he triumphed over, Hallé’s ‘Life’ +may be quoted, where it says: ‘When Mr. Ella asked me [this +was in 1848] what I wished to play, and heard that it was one of +Beethoven’s pianoforte sonatas, he exclaimed +“Impossible!” and endeavoured to demonstrate that +they were not works to be played in public.’ What +seven-league boots the world has stridden in within the memory of +living men!</p> +<p>John Ella himself led the second violins in Costa’s +band, and had begun life (so I have been told) as a +pastry-cook. I knew both him and the wonderful little +Frenchman ‘at home.’ According to both, in +their different ways, Beethoven and Mozart would have been lost +to fame but for their heroic efforts to save them.</p> +<p>I used occasionally to play with Ella at the house of a lady +who gave musical parties. He was always attuned to the +highest pitch,—most good-natured, but most excitable where +music was to the fore. We were rehearsing a quintett, the +pianoforte part of which was played by the young lady of the +house—a very pretty girl, and not a bad musician, but +nervous to the point of hysteria. Ella himself was in a +hypercritical state; nothing would go smoothly; and the piano was +always (according to him) the peccant instrument. Again and +again he made us restart the movement. There were a good +many friends of the family invited to this last rehearsal, which +made it worse for the poor girl, who was obviously on the brink +of a breakdown. Presently Ella again jumped off his chair, +and shouted: ‘Not E flat! There’s no E flat +there; E natural! E natural! I never in my life knew +a young lady so prolific of flats as you.’ There was +a pause, then a giggle, then an explosion; and then the poor +girl, bursting into tears, rushed out of the room.</p> +<p>It was at Ella’s house that I first heard Joachim, then +about sixteen, I suppose. He had not yet performed in +London. All the musical celebrities were present to hear +the youthful prodigy. Two quartetts were played, Ernst +leading one and Joachim the other. After it was over, +everyone was enraptured, but no one more so than Ernst, who +unhesitatingly predicted the fame which the great artist has so +eminently achieved.</p> +<p>One more amusing little story belongs to my experiences of +these days. Having two brothers and a brother-in-law in the +Guards, I used to dine often at the Tower, or the Bank, or St. +James’s. At the Bank of England there is always at +night an officer’s guard. There is no mess, as the +officer is alone. But the Bank provides dinner for two, in +case the officer should invite a friend. On the occasion I +speak of, my brother-in-law, Sir Archibald Macdonald, was on +duty. The soup and fish were excellent, but we were young +and hungry, and the usual leg of mutton was always a dish to be +looked forward to.</p> +<p>When its cover was removed by the waiter we looked in vain; +there was plenty of gravy, but no mutton. Our surprise was +even greater than our dismay, for the waiter swore ‘So +’elp his gawd’ that he saw the cook put the leg on +the dish, and that he himself put the cover on the leg. +‘And what did you do with it then?’ questioned my +host. ‘Nothing, S’Archibald. Brought it +straight in ’ere.’ ‘Do you mean to tell +me it was never out of your hands between this and the +kitchen?’ ‘Never, but for the moment I put it +down outside the door to change the plates.’ +‘And was there nobody in the passage?’ +‘Not a soul, except the sentry.’ ‘I +see,’ said my host, who was a quick-witted man. +‘Send the sergeant here.’ The sergeant +came. The facts were related, and the order given to parade +the entire guard, sentry included, in the passage.</p> +<p>The sentry was interrogated first. ‘No, he had not +seen nobody in the passage.’ ‘No one had +touched the dish?’ ‘Nobody as ever he +seed.’ Then came the orders: ‘Attention. +Ground arms. Take off your bear-skins.’ And the +truth—<i>i.e.</i>, the missing leg—was at once +revealed; the sentry had popped it into his shako. For long +after that day, when the guard either for the Tower or Bank +marched through the streets, the little blackguard boys used to +run beside it and cry, ‘Who stole the leg o’ +mutton?’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Probably</span> the most important +historical event of the year ’49 was the discovery of gold +in California, or rather, the great Western Exodus in pursuit of +it. A restless desire possessed me to see something of +America, especially of the Far West. I had an hereditary +love of sport, and had read and heard wonderful tales of bison, +and grisly bears, and wapitis. No books had so fascinated +me, when a boy, as the ‘Deer-slayer,’ the +‘Pathfinder,’ and the beloved ‘Last of the +Mohicans.’ Here then was a new field for +adventure. I would go to California, and hunt my way across +the continent. Ruxton’s ‘Life in the Far +West’ inspired a belief in self-reliance and independence +only rivalled by Robinson Crusoe. If I could not find a +companion, I would go alone. Little did I dream of the +fortune which was in store for me, or how nearly I missed +carrying out the scheme so wildly contemplated, or indeed, any +scheme at all.</p> +<p>The only friend I could meet with both willing and able to +join me was the last Lord Durham. He could not undertake to +go to California; but he had been to New York during his +father’s reign in Canada, and liked the idea of revisiting +the States. He proposed that we should spend the winter in +the West Indies, and after some buffalo-shooting on the plains, +return to England in the autumn.</p> +<p>The notion of the West Indies gave rise to an off-shoot. +Both Durham and I were members of the old Garrick, then but a +small club in Covent Garden. Amongst our mutual friends was +Andrew Arcedeckne—pronounced Archdeacon—a character +to whom attaches a peculiar literary interest, of which +anon. Arcedeckne—Archy, as he was commonly +called—was about a couple of years older than we +were. He was the owner of Glevering Hall, Suffolk, and +nephew of Lord Huntingfield. These particulars, as well as +those of his person, are note-worthy, as it will soon appear.</p> +<p>Archy—‘Merry Andrew,’ as I used to call +him,—owned one of the finest estates in +Jamaica—Golden Grove. When he heard of our intended +trip, he at once volunteered to go with us. He had never +seen Golden Grove, but had often wished to visit it. Thus +it came to pass that we three secured our cabins in one of the +West India mailers, and left England in December 1849.</p> +<p>To return to our little Suffolk squire. The description +of his figure, as before said, is all-important, though the world +is familiar with it, as drawn by the pencil of a master +caricaturist. Arcedeckne was about five feet three inches, +round as a cask, with a small singularly round face and head, +closely cropped hair, and large soft eyes,—in a word, so +like a seal, that he was as often called ‘Phoca’ as +Archy.</p> +<p>Do you recognise the portrait? Do you need the help of +‘Glevering Hall’ (how curious the suggestion!). +And would you not like to hear him talk? Here is a specimen +in his best manner. Surely it must have been taken down by +a shorthand writer, or a phonograph:</p> +<p><i>Mr. Harry Foker loquitur</i>: ‘He inquired for Rincer +and the cold in his nose, told Mrs. Rincer a riddle, asked Miss +Rincer when she would be prepared to marry him, and paid his +compliments to Miss Brett, another young lady in the bar, all in +a minute of time, and with a liveliness and facetiousness which +set all these young ladies in a giggle. “Have a drop, +Pen: it’s recommended by the faculty, &c. Give +the young one a glass, R., and score it up to yours +truly.”’</p> +<p>I fancy the great man who recorded these words was more afraid +of Mr. Harry <i>Phoca</i> than of any other man in the Garrick +Club—possibly for the reason that honest Harry was not the +least bit afraid of him. The shy, the proud, the sensitive +satirist would steal quietly into the room, avoiding notice as +though he wished himself invisible. Phoca would be warming +his back at the fire, and calling for a glass of +‘Foker’s own.’ Seeing the giant enter, he +would advance a step or two, with a couple of extended fingers, +and exclaim, quite affably, ‘Ha! Mr. Thackry! litary +cove! Glad to see you, sir. How’s Major +Dobbings?’ and likely enough would turn to the waiter, and +bid him, ‘Give this gent a glass of the same, and score it +up to yours truly!’ We have his biographer’s +word for it, that he would have winked at the Duke of Wellington, +with just as little scruple.</p> +<p>Yes, Andrew Arcedeckne was the original of Harry Foker; and, +from the cut of his clothes to his family connection, and to the +comicality, the simplicity, the sweetness of temper (though +hardly doing justice to the loveableness of the little man), the +famous caricature fits him to a T.</p> +<p>The night before we left London we had a convivial dinner at +the Garrick—we three travellers, with Albert Smith, his +brother, and John Leech. It was a merry party, to which all +contributed good fellowship and innocent jokes. The latest +arrival at the Zoo was the first hippopotamus that had reached +England,—a present from the Khedive. Someone wondered +how it had been caught. I suggested a trout-fly; which so +tickled John Leech’s fancy that he promised to draw it for +next week’s ‘Punch.’ Albert Smith went +with us to Southampton to see us off.</p> +<p>On our way to Jamaica we stopped a night at Barbadoes to +coal. Here I had the honour of making the acquaintance of +the renowned Caroline Lee!—Miss Car’line, as the +negroes called her. She was so pleased at the assurance +that her friend Mr. Peter Simple had spread her fame all the +world over, that she made us a bowl of the most delicious iced +sangaree; and speedily got up a ‘dignity ball’ for +our entertainment. She was rather too much of an armful to +dance with herself, but there was no lack of dark beauties, (not +a white woman or white man except ourselves in the room.) +We danced pretty nearly from daylight to daylight. The +blending of rigid propriety, of the severest +‘dignity,’ with the sudden guffaw and outburst of +wildest spirits and comic humour, is beyond description, and is +only to be met with amongst these ebullient children of the +sun.</p> +<p>On our arrival at Golden Grove, there was a great turn-out of +the natives to welcome their young lord and +‘massa.’ Archy was touched and amused by their +frantic loyalty. But their mode of exhibiting it was not so +entirely to his taste. Not only the young, but the old +women wanted to hug him. ‘Eigh! Dat you, +Massa? Dat you, sar? Me no believe him. Out o’ +de way, you trash! Eigh! me too much pleased like +devil.’ The one constant and spontaneous ejaculation +was, ‘Yah! Massa too muchy handsome! +Garamighty! Buckra berry fat!’ The latter +attribute was the source of genuine admiration; but the object of +it hardly appreciated its recognition, and waved off his subjects +with a mixture of impatience and alarm.</p> +<p>We had scarcely been a week at Golden Grove, when my two +companions and Durham’s servant were down with yellow +fever. Being ‘salted,’ perhaps, I escaped +scot-free, so helped Archy’s valet and Mr. Forbes, his +factor, to nurse and to carry out professional orders. As +we were thirty miles from Kingston the doctor could only come +every other day. The responsibility, therefore, of +attending three patients smitten with so deadly a disease was no +light matter. The factor seemed to think discretion the +better part of valour, and that Jamaica rum was the best specific +for keeping his up. All physicians were <i>Sangrados</i> in +those days, and when the Kingston doctor decided upon bleeding, +the hysterical state of the darky girls (we had no men in the +bungalow except Durham’s and Archy’s servants) +rendered them worse than useless. It fell to me, therefore, +to hold the basin while Archy’s man was attending to his +master.</p> +<p>Durham, who had nerves of steel, bore his lot with the grim +stoicism which marked his character. But at one time the +doctor considered his state so serious that he thought his +lordship’s family should be informed of it. +Accordingly I wrote to the last Lord Grey, his uncle and +guardian, stating that there was little hope of his +recovery. Poor Phoca was at once tragic and comic. +His medicine had to be administered every, two hours. Each +time, he begged and prayed in lacrymose tones to be let +off. It was doing him no good. He might as well be +allowed to die in peace. If we would only spare him the +beastliness this once, on his honour he would take it next time +‘like a man.’ We were inexorable, of course, +and treated him exactly as one treats a child.</p> +<p>At last the crisis was over. Wonderful to relate, all +three began to recover. During their convalescence, I +amused myself by shooting alligators in the mangrove swamps at +Holland Bay, which was within half an hour’s ride of the +bungalow. It was curious sport. The great saurians +would lie motionless in the pools amidst the snake-like tangle of +mangrove roots. They would float with just their eyes and +noses out of water, but so still that, without a glass, (which I +had not,) it was difficult to distinguish their heads from the +countless roots and rotten logs around them. If one fired +by mistake, the sport was spoiled for an hour to come.</p> +<p>I used to sit watching patiently for one of them to show +itself, or for something to disturb the glassy surface of the +dark waters. Overhead the foliage was so dense that the +heat was not oppressive. All Nature seemed asleep. +The deathlike stillness was rarely broken by the faintest +sound,—though unseen life, amidst the heat and moisture, +was teeming everywhere; life feeding upon life. For what +purpose? To what end? Is this a primary law of +Nature? Does cannibalism prevail in Mars? Sometimes a +mocking-bird would pipe its weird notes, deepening silence by the +contrast. But besides pestilent mosquitos, the only living +things in sight were humming-birds of every hue, some no bigger +than a butterfly, fluttering over the blossoms of the orchids, or +darting from flower to flower like flashes of prismatic rays.</p> +<p>I killed several alligators; but one day, while stalking what +seemed to be an unusual monster, narrowly escaped an +accident. Under the excitement, my eye was so intently +fixed upon the object, that I rather felt than saw my way. +Presently over I went, just managed to save my rifle, and, to my +amazement, found I had set my foot on a sleeping reptile. +Fortunately the brute was as much astonished as I was, and +plunged with a splash into the adjacent pool.</p> +<p>A Cambridge friend, Mr. Walter Shirley, owned an estate at +Trelawny, on the other side of Jamaica; while the invalids were +recovering, I paid him a visit; and was initiated into the +mysteries of cane-growing and sugar-making. As the great +split between the Northern and Southern States on the question of +slavery was pending, the life, condition, and treatment of the +negro was of the greatest interest. Mr. Shirley was a +gentleman of exceptional ability, and full of valuable +information on these subjects. He passed me on to other +plantations; and I made the complete round of the island before +returning to my comrades at Golden Grove. A few weeks +afterwards I stayed with a Spanish gentleman, the Marquis +d’Iznaga, who owned six large sugar plantations in Cuba; +and rode with his son from Casilda to Cienfuegos, from which port +I got a steamer to the Havana. The ride afforded abundant +opportunities of comparing the slave with the free negro. +But, as I have written on the subject elsewhere, I will pass to +matters more entertaining.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> my arrival at the Havana I found +that Durham, who was still an invalid, had taken up his quarters +at Mr. Crauford’s, the Consul-General. Phoca, who was +nearly well again, was at the hotel, the only one in the +town. And who should I meet there but my old Cambridge +ally, Fred, the last Lord Calthorpe. This event was a +fruitful one,—it determined the plans of both of us for a +year or more to come.</p> +<p>Fred—as I shall henceforth call him—had just +returned from a hunting expedition in Texas, with another +sportsman whom he had accidentally met there. This +gentleman ultimately became of even more importance to me than my +old friend. I purposely abstain from giving either his name +or his profession, for reasons which will become obvious enough +by-and-by; the outward man may be described. He stood well +over six feet in his socks; his frame and limbs were those of a +gladiator; he could crush a horseshoe in one hand; he had a small +head with a bull-neck, purely Grecian features, thick curly hair +with crisp beard and silky moustache. He so closely +resembled a marble Hercules that (as he must have a name) we will +call him Samson.</p> +<p>Before Fred stumbled upon him, he had spent a winter camping +out in the snows of Canada, bear and elk shooting. He was +six years or so older than either of us—<i>i.e.</i> about +eight-and-twenty.</p> +<p>As to Fred Calthorpe, it would be difficult to find a more +‘manly’ man. He was unacquainted with +fear. Yet his courage, though sometimes reckless, was by no +means of the brute kind. He did not run risks unless he +thought the gain would compensate them; and no one was more +capable of weighing consequences than he. His temper was +admirable, his spirits excellent; and for any enterprise where +danger and hardship were to be encountered few men could have +been better qualified. By the end of a week these two had +agreed to accompany me across the Rocky Mountains.</p> +<p>Before leaving the Havana, I witnessed an event which, though +disgusting in itself, gives rise to serious reflections. +Every thoughtful reader is conversant enough with them; if, +therefore, he should find them out of place or trite, apology is +needless, as he will pass them by without the asking.</p> +<p>The circumstance referred to is a public execution. Mr. +Sydney Smith, the vice-consul, informed me that a criminal was to +be garrotted on the following morning; and asked me whether I +cared to look over the prison and see the man in his cell that +afternoon. We went together. The poor wretch bore the +stamp of innate brutality. His crime was the most revolting +that a human being is capable of—the violation and murder +of a mere child. When we were first admitted he was sullen, +merely glaring at us; but, hearing the warder describe his crime, +he became furiously abusive, and worked himself into such a +passion that, had he not been chained to the wall, he would +certainly have attacked us.</p> +<p>At half-past six next morning I went with Mr. Smith to the +Campo del Marte, the principal square. The crowd had +already assembled, and the tops of the houses were thronged with +spectators. The women, dressed as if for a bull-fight or a +ball, occupied the front seats. By squeezing and pushing we +contrived to get within eight or nine yards of the machine, where +I had not long been before the procession was seen moving up the +Passeo. A few mounted troops were in front to clear the +road; behind them came the Host, with a number of priests and the +prisoner on foot, dressed in white; a large guard brought up the +rear. The soldiers formed an open square. The +executioner, the culprit, and one priest ascended the steps of +the platform.</p> +<p>The garrotte is a short stout post, at the top of which is an +iron crook, just wide enough to admit the neck of a man seated in +a chair beneath it. Through the post, parallel with the +crook, is the loop of a rope, whose ends are fastened to a bar +held by the executioner. The loop, being round the throat +of the victim, is so powerfully tightened from behind by half a +turn of the bar, that an extra twist would sever a man’s +head from his body.</p> +<p>The murderer showed no signs of fear; he quietly seated +himself, but got up again to adjust the chair and make himself +comfortable! The executioner then arranged the rope round +his neck, tied his legs and his arms, and retired behind the +post. At a word or a look from the priest the wrench was +turned. For a single instant the limbs of the victim were +convulsed, and all was over.</p> +<p>No exclamation, no whisper of horror escaped from the lookers +on. Such a scene was too familiar to excite any feeling but +morbid curiosity; and, had the execution taken place at the usual +spot instead of in the town, few would have given themselves the +trouble to attend it.</p> +<p>It is impossible to see or even to think of what is here +described without gravely meditating on its suggestions. Is +capital punishment justifiable? This is the question I +purpose to consider in the following chapter.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> punishments or penal remedies +for crime, except capital punishment, may be considered from two +points of view: First, as they regard Society; secondly, as they +regard the offender.</p> +<p>Where capital punishment is resorted to, the sole end in view +is the protection of Society. The malefactor being put to +death, there can be no thought of his amendment. And so far +as this particular criminal is concerned, Society is henceforth +in safety.</p> +<p>But (looking to the individual), as equal security could be +obtained by his imprisonment for life, the extreme measure of +putting him to death needs justification. This is found in +the assumption that death being the severest of all punishments +now permissible, no other penalty is so efficacious in preventing +the crime or crimes for which it is inflicted. Is the +assumption borne out by facts, or by inference?</p> +<p>For facts we naturally turn to statistics. Switzerland +abolished capital punishment in 1874; but cases of premeditated +murder having largely increased during the next five years, it +was restored by Federal legislation in 1879. Still there is +nothing conclusive to be inferred from this fact. We must +seek for guidance elsewhere.</p> +<p>Reverting to the above assumption, we must ask: First, Is the +death punishment the severest of all evils, and to what extent +does the fear of it act as a preventive? Secondly, Is it +true that no other punishment would serve as powerfully in +preventing murder by intimidation?</p> +<p>Is punishment by death the most dreaded of all evils? +‘This assertion,’ says Bentham, ‘is true with +respect to the majority of mankind; it is not true with respect +to the greatest criminals.’ It is pretty certain that +a malefactor steeped in crime, living in extreme want, misery and +apprehension, must, if he reflects at all, contemplate a violent +end as an imminent possibility. He has no better future +before him, and may easily come to look upon death with brutal +insensibility and defiance. The indifference exhibited by +the garrotted man getting up to adjust his chair is probably +common amongst criminals of his type.</p> +<p>Again, take such a crime as that of the Cuban’s: the +passion which leads to it is the fiercest and most ungovernable +which man is subject to. Sexual jealousy also is one of the +most frequent causes of murder. So violent is this passion +that the victim of it is often quite prepared to sacrifice life +rather than forego indulgence, or allow another to supplant him; +both men and women will gloat over the murder of a rival, and +gladly accept death as its penalty, rather than survive the +possession of the desired object by another.</p> +<p>Further, in addition to those who yield to fits of passion, +there is a class whose criminal promptings are hereditary: a +large number of unfortunates of whom it may almost be said that +they were destined to commit crimes. ‘It is unhappily +a fact,’ says Mr. Francis Galton (‘Inquiries into +Human Faculty’), ‘that fairly distinct types of +criminals breeding true to their kind have become +established.’ And he gives extraordinary examples, +which fully bear out his affirmation. We may safely say +that, in a very large number of cases, the worst crimes are +perpetrated by beings for whom the death penalty has no +preventive terrors.</p> +<p>But it is otherwise with the majority. Death itself, +apart from punitive aspects, is a greater evil to those for whom +life has greater attractions. Besides this, the permanent +disgrace of capital punishment, the lasting injury to the +criminal’s family and to all who are dear to him, must be +far more cogent incentives to self-control than the mere fear of +ceasing to live.</p> +<p>With the criminal and most degraded class—with those who +are actuated by violent passions and hereditary taints, the class +by which most murders are committed—the death punishment +would seem to be useless as an intimidation or an example.</p> +<p>With the majority it is more than probable that it exercises a +strong and beneficial influence. As no mere social +distinction can eradicate innate instincts, there must be a large +proportion of the majority, the better-to-do, who are both +occasionally and habitually subject to criminal propensities, and +who shall say how many of these are restrained from the worst of +crimes by fear of capital punishment and its consequences?</p> +<p>On these grounds, if they be not fallacious, the retention of +capital punishment may be justified.</p> +<p>Secondly. Is the assumption tenable that no other +penalty makes so strong an impression or is so pre-eminently +exemplary? Bentham thus answers the question: ‘It +appears to me that the contemplation of perpetual imprisonment, +accompanied with hard labour and occasional solitary confinement, +would produce a deeper impression on the minds of persons in whom +it is more eminently desirable that that impression should be +produced than even death itself. . . . All that renders death +less formidable to them renders laborious restraint +proportionably more irksome.’ There is doubtless a +certain measure of truth in these remarks. But Bentham is +here speaking of the degraded class; and is it likely that such +would reflect seriously upon what they never see and only know by +hearsay? Think how feeble are their powers of imagination +and reflection, how little they would be impressed by such +additional seventies as ‘occasional solitary +confinement,’ the occurrence and the effects of which would +be known to no one outside the jail.</p> +<p>As to the ‘majority,’ the higher classes, the fact +that men are often imprisoned for offences—political and +others—which they are proud to suffer for, would always +attenuate the ignominy attached to +‘imprisonment.’ And were this the only penalty +for all crimes, for first-class misdemeanants and for the most +atrocious of criminals alike, the distinction would not be very +finely drawn by the interested; at the most, the severest +treatment as an alternative to capital punishment would always +savour of extenuating circumstances.</p> +<p>There remain two other points of view from which the question +has to be considered: one is what may be called the Vindictive, +the other, directly opposed to it, the Sentimental +argument. The first may be dismissed with a word or +two. In civilised countries torture is for ever abrogated; +and with it, let us hope, the idea of judicial vengeance.</p> +<p>The <i>lex talionis</i>—the Levitic law—‘Eye +for eye, tooth for tooth,’ is befitting only for +savages. Unfortunately the Christian religion still +promulgates and passionately clings to the belief in Hell as a +place or state of everlasting torment—that is to say, of +eternal torture inflicted for no ultimate end save that of +implacable vengeance. Of all the miserable superstitions +ever hatched by the brain of man this, as indicative of its +barbarous origin, is the most degrading. As an ordinance +ascribed to a Being worshipped as just and beneficent, it is +blasphemous.</p> +<p>The Sentimental argument, like all arguments based upon +feeling rather than reason, though not without merit, is fraught +with mischief which far outweighs it. There are always a +number of people in the world who refer to their feelings as the +highest human tribunal. When the reasoning faculty is not +very strong, the process of ratiocination irksome, and the issue +perhaps unacceptable, this course affords a convenient solution +to many a complicated problem. It commends itself, +moreover, to those who adopt it, by the sense of chivalry which +it involves. There is something generous and noble, albeit +quixotic, in siding with the weak, even if they be in the +wrong. There is something charitable in the judgment, +‘Oh! poor creature, think of his adverse circumstances, his +ignorance, his temptation. Let us be merciful and +forgiving.’ In practice, however, this often leads +astray. Thus in most cases, even where premeditated murder +is proved to the hilt, the sympathy of the sentimentalist is +invariably with the murderer, to the complete oblivion of the +victim’s family.</p> +<p>Bentham, speaking of the humanity plea, thus words its +argument: ‘Attend not to the sophistries of reason, which +often deceive, but be governed by your hearts, which will always +lead you right. I reject without hesitation the punishment +you propose: it violates natural feelings, it harrows up the +susceptible mind, it is tyrannical and cruel.’ Such +is the language of your sentimental orators.</p> +<p>‘But abolish any one penal law merely because it is +repugnant to the feelings of a humane heart, and, if consistent, +you abolish the whole penal code. There is not one of its +provisions that does not, in a more or less painful degree, wound +the sensibility.’</p> +<p>As this writer elsewhere observes: ‘It is only a virtue +when justice has done its work, &c. Before this, to +forgive injuries is to invite their perpetration—is to be, +not the friend, but the enemy of society. What could +wickedness desire more than an arrangement by which offences +should be always followed by pardon?’</p> +<p>Sentiment is the <i>ultima ratio feminarum</i>, and of men +whose natures are of the epicene gender. It is a luxury we +must forego in the face of the stern duties which evil compels us +to encounter.</p> +<p>There is only one other argument against capital punishment +that is worth considering.</p> +<p>The objection so strenuously pleaded by Dickens in his letters +to the ‘Times’—viz. the brutalising effects +upon the degraded crowds which witnessed public +executions—is no longer apposite. But it may still be +urged with no little force that the extreme severity of the +sentence induces all concerned in the conviction of the accused +to shirk the responsibility. Informers, prosecutors, +witnesses, judges, and jurymen are, as a rule, liable to +reluctance as to the performance of their respective parts in the +melancholy drama.’ The consequence is that ‘the +benefit of the doubt,’ while salving the consciences of +these servants of the law, not unfrequently turns a real criminal +loose upon society; whereas, had any other penalty than death +been feasible, the same person would have been found guilty.</p> +<p>Much might be said on either side, but on the whole it would +seem wisest to leave things—in this country—as they +are; and, for one, I am inclined to the belief that,</p> +<blockquote><p>Mercy murders, pardoning those that kill.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> were nearly six weeks in the +Havana, being detained by Lord Durham’s illness. I +provided myself with a capital Spanish master, and made the most +of him. This, as it turned out, proved very useful to me in +the course of my future travels. About the middle of March +we left for Charlestown in the steamer <i>Isabel</i>, and thence +on to New York. On the passage to Charlestown, we were +amused one evening by the tricks of a conjuror. I had seen +the man and his wife perform at the Egyptian Hall, +Piccadilly. She was called the ‘Mysterious +Lady.’ The papers were full of speculations as to the +nature of the mystery. It was the town talk and excitement +of the season.</p> +<p>This was the trick. The lady sat in the corner of a +large room, facing the wall, with her eyes bandaged. The +company were seated as far as possible from her. Anyone was +invited to write a few words on a slip of paper, and hand it to +the man, who walked amongst the spectators. He would simply +say to the woman ‘What has the gentleman (or lady) written +upon this paper?’ Without hesitation she would reply +correctly. The man was always the medium. One person +requested her, through the man, to read the number on his watch, +the figures being, as they always are, very minute. The man +repeated the question: ‘What is the number on this +watch?’ The woman, without hesitation, gave it +correctly. A friend at my side, a young Guardsman, took a +cameo ring from his finger, and asked for a description of the +figures in relief. There was a pause. The woman was +evidently perplexed. She confessed at last that she was +unable to answer. The spectators murmured. My friend +began to laugh. The conjuror’s bread was at stake, +but he was equal to the occasion. He at once explained to +the company that the cameo represented ‘Leeder and the Swan +in a hambigious position, which the lady didn’t profess to +know nothing about.’ This apology, needless to say, +completely re-established the lady’s character.</p> +<p>Well, recognising my friend of the Egyptian Hall, I reminded +him of the incident. He remembered it perfectly; and we +fell to chatting about the wonderful success of the +‘mystery,’ and about his and the lady’s +professional career. He had begun life when a boy as a +street acrobat, had become a street conjuror, had married the +‘mysterious lady’ out of the ‘saw-dust,’ +as he expressed it—meaning out of a travelling +circus. After that, ‘things had gone +’ard’ with them. They had exhausted their +resources in every sense. One night, lying awake, and +straining their brains to devise some means of subsistence, his +wife suddenly exclaimed, ‘How would it be if we were to try +so and so?’ explaining the trick just described. His +answer was: ‘Oh! that’s too silly. They’d +see through it directly.’ This was all I could get +out of him: this, and the fact that the trick, first and last, +had made them fairly comfortable for the rest of their days.</p> +<p>Now mark what follows, for it is the gist and moral of my +little story about this conjuror, and about two other miracle +workers whom I have to speak of presently.</p> +<p>Once upon a time, I was discussing with an acquaintance the +not unfamiliar question of Immortality. I professed +Agnosticism—strongly impregnated with incredulity. My +friend had no misgivings, no doubts on the subject +whatever. Absolute certainty is the prerogative of the +orthodox. He had taken University honours, and was a man of +high position at the Bar. I was curious to learn upon what +grounds such an one based his belief. His answer was: +‘Upon the phenomena of electro-biology, and the psychic +phenomena of mesmerism.’ His ‘first convictions +were established by the manifestations of the soul as displayed +through a woman called “The Mysterious Lady,” who, +&c., &c.’</p> +<p>When we have done with our thaumaturgist on board the +<i>Isabel</i>, I will give another instance, precisely similar to +this, of the simple origin of religious beliefs.</p> +<p>The steamer was pretty full; and the conjuror begged me to +obtain the patronage of my noble friend and the rest of our party +for an entertainment he proposed to give that evening. This +was easily secured, and a goodly sum was raised by dollar +tickets. The sleight-of-hand was excellent. But the +special performance of the evening deserves description in +full. It was that of a whist-playing dog. Three +passengers—one of us taking a hand—played as in dummy +whist, dummy’s hand being spread in a long row upon the +deck of the saloon cabin. The conjuror, as did the other +passengers, walked about behind the players, and saw all the +players’ hands, but not a word was spoken. The dog +played dummy’s hand. When it came to his turn he +trotted backwards and forwards, smelling each card that had been +dealt to him. He sometimes hesitated, then comically +shaking his head, would leave it to smell another. The +conjuror stood behind the dog’s partner, and never went +near the animal. There was no table—the cards were +thrown on the deck. They were dealt by the players; the +conjuror never touched them. When the dog’s mind was +made up, he took his card in his mouth and laid it on the +others. His play was infallible. He and his partner +won the rubber with ease.</p> +<p>Now, to those ignorant of the solution, this must, I think, +seem inexplicable. How was collusion managed between the +animal and its master? One of the conditions insisted upon +by the master himself was silence. He certainly never broke +it. I bought the trick—must I confess it? for twenty +dollars. How transparent most things are when—seen +through! When the dog smelt at the right card, the +conjuror, who saw all four hands, and had his own in his pocket, +clicked his thumb-nail against a finger-nail. The dog alone +could hear it, and played the card accordingly.</p> +<p>The other story: A few years after my return to England, a +great friend called upon me, and, in an excited state, described +a <i>séance</i> he had had with a woman who possessed the +power of ‘invoking’ spirits. These spirits had +correctly replied to questions, the answers to which were only +known to himself. The woman was an American. I am +sorry to say I have forgotten her name, but I think she was the +first of her tribe to visit this country. As in the case +spoken of, my friend was much affected by the results of the +<i>séance</i>. He was a well-educated and +intelligent man. Born to wealth, he had led a somewhat +wildish life in his youth. Henceforth he became more +serious, and eventually turned Roman Catholic. He entreated +me to see the woman, which I did.</p> +<p>I wrote to ask for an appointment. She lived in +Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square; but on the day after the morrow +she was to change her lodgings to Queen Anne Street, where she +would receive me at 11 <span class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> I +was punctual to a minute, and was shown into an ordinary +furnished room. The maid informed me that Mrs. — had +not yet arrived from Charlotte Street, but she was sure to come +before long, as she had an engagement (so she said) with a +gentleman.</p> +<p>Nothing could have suited me better. I immediately set +to work to examine the room and the furniture with the greatest +care. I looked under and moved the sofa, tables, and +armchairs. I looked behind the curtains, under the rug, and +up the chimney. I could discover nothing. There was +not the vestige of a spirit anywhere. At last the medium +entered—a plain, middle-aged matron with nothing the least +spiritual about her. She seated herself opposite to me at +the round table in the centre of the room, and demurely asked +what I wanted. ‘To communicate with the +spirits,’ I replied. She did not know whether that +was possible. It depended upon the person who sought +them. She would ask the spirits whether they would confer +with me. Whereupon she put the question: ‘Will the +spirits converse with this gentleman?’ At all events, +thought I, the term ‘gentleman’ applies to the next +world, which is a comfort. She listened for the +answer. Presently three distinct raps on the table +signified assent. She then took from her reticule a card +whereon were printed the alphabet, and numerals up to 10. +The letters were separated by transverse lines. She gave me +a pencil with these instructions: I was to think, not utter, my +question, and then put the pencil on each of the letters in +succession. When the letters were touched which spelt the +answer, the spirits would rap, and the words could be written +down.</p> +<p>My friend had told me this much, so I came prepared. I +began by politely begging the lady to move away from the table at +which we were seated, and take a chair in the furthest corner of +the room. She indignantly complied, asking if I suspected +her. I replied that ‘all ladies were dangerous, when +they were charming,’ which put us on the best of +terms. I placed my hat so as to intercept her view of my +operations, and thus pursued them.</p> +<p>Thinking the matter over beforehand, I concluded that when the +questioner, of either sex, was young, love would very probably be +the topic; the flesh, not the spirit, would be the predominant +interest. Being an ingenuous young man of the average sort, +and desperately in love with Susan, let us say, I should +naturally assist the supernatural being, if at a loss, to +understand that the one thing wanted was information about +Susan. I therefore mentally asked the question: ‘Who +is the most lovely angel without wings, and with the means of +sitting down?’ and proceeded to pass the pencil over the +letters, pausing nowhere. I now and then got a doubtful rap +on or under the table,—how delivered I know not—but +signifying nothing. It was clear the spirits needed a +cue. I put the pencil on the letter S, and kept it +there. I got a tentative rap. I passed at once to +U. I got a more confident rap. Then to S. Rap, rap, +without hesitation. A and N were assented to almost before +I touched them. Susan was an angel—the angel. +What more logical proof could I have of the immortality of the +soul?</p> +<p>Mrs. — asked me whether I was satisfied. I said it +was miraculous; so much so indeed, that I could hardly believe +the miracle, until corroborated by another. Would the +spirits be kind enough to suspend this pencil in the air? +‘Oh! that was nonsense. The spirits never lent +themselves to mere frivolity.’ ‘I beg the +spirits’ pardon, I am sure,’ said I. ‘I +have heard that they often move heavy tables. I thought +perhaps the pencil would save them trouble. Will they move +this round table up to this little one?’ I had, be it +observed, when alone, moved and changed the relative positions of +both tables; and had determined to make this my crucial +test. To my astonishment, Mrs. — replied that she +could not say whether they would or not. She would ask +them. She did so, and the spirits rapped +‘Yes.’</p> +<p>I drew my chair aside. The woman remained seated in the +corner. I watched everything. Nothing happened. +After a while, I took out my watch, and said: ‘I fear the +spirits do not intend to keep their word. I have an +appointment twenty minutes hence, and can only give them ten +minutes more.’ She calmly replied she had nothing to +do with it. I had heard what the spirits said. I had +better wait a little longer. Scarcely were the words out of +her mouth, when the table gave a distinct crack, as if about to +start. The medium instantly called my attention to +it. I jumped out of my seat, passed between the two tables, +when of a sudden the large table moved in the direction of the +smaller one, and did not stop till it had pushed the little one +over. I make no comments. No explanation to me is +conceivable. I simply narrate what happened as accurately +as I am able.</p> +<p>One other case deserves to be added to the above. I have +connected both of the foregoing with religious persuasions. +The <i>séance</i> I am about to speak of was for the +express purpose of bringing a brokenhearted and widowed mother +into communication with the soul of her only son—a young +artist of genius whom I had known, and who had died about a year +before. The occasion was, of course, a solemn one. +The interest of it was enhanced by the presence of the great +apostle of Spiritualism—Sir William Crookes. The +medium was Miss Kate Fox, again an American. The +<i>séance</i> took place in the house of a very old friend +of mine, the late Dr. George Bird. He had spiritualistic +tendencies, but was supremely honest and single-minded; utterly +incapable of connivance with deception of any kind. As far +as I know, the medium had never been in the room before. +The company present were Dr. Bird’s intimate friend Sir +William Crookes—future President of the Royal +Society—Miss Bird, Dr. Bird’s daughter, and her +husband—Mr. Ionides—and Mrs. —, the mother of +the young artist. The room, a large one, was darkened; the +last light being extinguished after we had taken our places round +the dining-table. We were strenuously enjoined to hold one +another’s hands. Unless we did so the +<i>séance</i> would fail.</p> +<p>Before entering the room, I secretly arranged with Mr. +Ionides, who shared my scepticism, that we should sit side by +side; and so each have one hand free. It is not necessary +to relate what passed between the unhappy mother and the medium, +suffice it to say that she put questions to her son; and the +medium interpreted the rappings which came in reply. These, +I believe, were all the poor lady could wish for. To the +rest of us, the astounding events of the <i>séance</i> +were the dim lights, accompanied by faint sounds of an accordion, +which floated about the room over our heads. And now comes, +to me, the strangest part of the whole performance. All the +while I kept my right arm extended under the table, moving my +hand to and fro. Presently it touched something. I +make a grab, and caught, but could not hold for an instant, +another hand. It was on the side away from Mr. +Ionides. I said nothing, except to him, and the +<i>séance</i> was immediately broken up.</p> +<p>It may be thought by some that this narration is a biassed +one. But those acquainted with the charlatanry in these +days of what is called ‘Christian Science,’ and know +the extent to which crass ignorance and predisposed credulity can +be duped by childish delusions, may have some ‘idea how +acute was the spirit-rapping epidemic some forty or fifty years +ago. ‘At this moment,’ writes Froude, in +‘Fraser’s Magazine,’ 1863, ‘we are beset +with reports of conversations with spirits, of tables +miraculously lifted, of hands projecting out of the world of +shadows into this mortal life. An unusually able, +accomplished person, accustomed to deal with common-sense facts, +a celebrated political economist, and notorious for business-like +habits, assured this writer that a certain mesmerist, who was my +informer’s intimate friend, had raised a dead girl to +life.’ Can we wonder that miracles are still believed +in? Ah! no. The need, the dire need, of them remains, +and will remain with us for ever.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> must move on; we have a long and +rough journey before us. Durham had old friends in New +York, Fred Calthorpe had letters to Colonel Fremont, who was then +a candidate for the Presidency, and who had discovered the South +Pass; and Mr. Ellice had given me a letter to John Jacob +Astor—<i>the</i> American millionaire of that day. We +were thus well provided with introductions; and nothing could +exceed the kindness and hospitality of our American friends.</p> +<p>But time was precious. It was already mid May, and we +had everything to get—wagons, horses, men, mules, and +provisions. So that we were anxious not to waste a day, but +hurry on to St. Louis as fast as we could. Durham was too +ill to go with us. Phoca had never intended to do so. +Fred, Samson, and I, took leave of our companions, and travelling +via the Hudson to Albany, Buffalo, down Lake Erie, and across to +Chicago, we reached St. Louis in about eight days. As a +single illustration of what this meant before railroads, Samson +and I, having to stop a day at Chicago, hired a buggy and drove +into the neighbouring woods, or wilderness, to hunt for wild +turkeys.</p> +<p>Our outfit, the whole of which we got at St. Louis, consisted +of two heavy wagons, nine mules, and eight horses. We hired +eight men, on the nominal understanding that they were to go with +us as far as the Rocky Mountains on a hunting expedition. +In reality all seven of them, before joining us, had separately +decided to go to California.</p> +<p>Having published in 1852 an account of our journey, entitled +‘A Ride over the Rocky Mountains,’ I shall not repeat +the story, but merely give a summary of the undertaking, with a +few of the more striking incidents to show what travelling across +unknown America entailed fifty or sixty years ago.</p> +<p>A steamer took us up the Missouri to Omaha. Here we +disembarked on the confines of occupied territory. From +near this point, where the Platte river empties into the +Missouri, to the mouth of the Columbia, on the +Pacific—which we ultimately reached—is at least 1,500 +miles as the crow flies; for us (as we had to follow watercourses +and avoid impassable ridges) it was very much more. Some +five-and-forty miles from our starting-place we passed a small +village called Savannah. Between it and Vancouver there was +not a single white man’s abode, with the exception of three +trading stations—mere mud buildings—Fort Laramie, +Fort Hall, and Fort Boisé.</p> +<p>The vast prairies on this side of the Rocky Mountains were +grazed by herds of countless bison, wapiti, antelope, and deer of +various species. These were hunted by moving tribes of +Indians—Pawnees, Omahaws, Cheyennes, Ponkaws, Sioux, +&c. On the Pacific side of the great range, a due west +course—which ours was as near as we could keep it—lay +across a huge rocky desert of volcanic débris, where +hardly any vegetation was to be met with, save artemisia—a +species of wormwood—scanty blades of gramma grass, and +occasional osiers by river-banks. The rivers themselves +often ran through cañons or gulches, so deep that one +might travel for days within a hundred feet of water yet perish +(some of our animals did so) for the want of a drop to +drink. Game was here very scarce—a few antelope, +wolves, and abundance of rattlesnakes, were nearly the only +living things we saw. The Indians were mainly fishers of +the Shoshone—or Great Snake River—tribe, feeding +mostly on salmon, which they speared with marvellous dexterity; +and Root-diggers, who live upon wild roots. When hard put +to it, however, in winter, the latter miserable creatures +certainly, if not the former, devoured their own children. +There was no map of the country. It was entirely +unexplored; in fact, Bancroft the American historian, in his +description of the Indian tribes, quotes my account of the +Root-diggers; which shows how little was known of this region up +to this date. I carried a small compass fastened round my +neck. That and the stars (we travelled by night when in the +vicinity of Indians) were my only guides for hundreds of dreary +miles.</p> +<p>Such then was the task we had set ourselves to grapple +with. As with life itself, nothing but the magic powers of +youth and ignorance could have cajoled us to face it with +heedless confidence and eager zest. These conditions given, +with health—the one essential of all enjoyment—added, +the first escape from civilised restraint, the first survey of +primordial nature as seen in the boundless expanse of the open +prairie, the habitat of wild men and wild +animals,—exhilarate one with emotions akin to the +schoolboy’s rapture in the playground, and the thoughtful +man’s contemplation of the stars. Freedom and change, +space and the possibilities of the unknown, these are constant +elements of our day-dreams; now and then actual life dangles +visions of them before our eyes, alas! only to teach us that the +aspirations which they inspire are, for the most part, +illusory.</p> +<p>Brief indeed, in our case, were the pleasures of +novelty. For the first few days the business was a +continuous picnic for all hands. It was a pleasure to be +obliged to help to set up the tents, to cut wood, to fetch water, +to harness the mules, and work exactly as the paid men +worked. The equality in this respect—that everything +each wanted done had to be done with his own hands—was +perfect; and never, from first to last, even when starvation left +me bare strength to lift the saddle on to my horse, did I regret +the necessity, or desire to be dependent on another man. +But the bloom soon wore off the plum; and the pleasure consisted +not in doing but in resting when the work was done.</p> +<p>For the reason already stated, a sample only of the daily +labour will be given. It may be as well first to bestow a +few words upon the men; for, in the long run, our fellow beings +are the powerful factors, for good or ill, in all our worldly +enterprises.</p> +<p>We had two ordinary mule-drivers—Potter and Morris, a +little acrobat out of a travelling circus, a <i>metif</i> or +half-breed Indian named Jim, two French Canadians—Nelson +and Louis (the latter spoke French only); Jacob, a Pennsylvanian +auctioneer whose language was a mixture of Dutch, Yankee, and +German; and (after we reached Fort Laramie) another +Nelson—‘William’ as I shall call him—who +offered his services gratis if we would allow him to go with us +to California.</p> +<p>Jacob the Dutch Yankee was the most intelligent and the most +useful of the lot, and was unanimously elected cook for the +party. The Canadian Nelson was a hard-working good young +fellow, with a passionate temper. Louis was a hunter by +profession, Gallic to the tip of his moustache—fond of +slapping his breast and telling of the mighty deeds of <i>nous +autres en haut</i>. Jim, the half-breed was Indian by +nature—idle, silent, treacherous, but a crafty +hunter. William deserves special mention, not from any +idiosyncrasy of the man, but because he was concerned soon after +he joined us in the most disastrous of my adventures throughout +the expedition.</p> +<p>To look at, William Nelson might have sat for the portrait of +Leatherstocking. He was a tall gaunt man who had spent his +youth bringing rafts of timber down the Wabash river, from Fort +Wayne to Maumee, in Ohio. For the last six years (he was +three-and-thirty) he had been trapping musk rats and beaver, and +dealing in pelts generally. At the time of our meeting he +was engaged to a Miss Mary something—the daughter of an +English immigrant, who would not consent to the marriage until +William was better off. He was now bound for California, +where he hoped to make the required fortune. The poor +fellow was very sentimental about his Mary; but, despite his +weatherbeaten face, hardy-looking frame, and his ‘longue +carabine,’ he was scarcely the hero which, no doubt, Miss +Mary took him for.</p> +<p>Yes, the novelty soon wore off. We had necessaries +enough to last to California. We also had enough +unnecessaries to bring us to grief in a couple of weeks. +Our wagons were loaded to the roof. And seeing there was no +road nor so much as a track, that there were frequent swamps and +small rivers to be crossed, that our Comanche mules were wilder +than the Indians who had owned them, it may easily be believed +that our rate of progress did not average more than six or seven +miles a day; sometimes it took from dawn to dusk to cross a +stream by ferrying our packages, and emptied wagons, on such +rafts as could be extemporised. Before the end of a +fortnight, both wagons were shattered, wheels smashed, and axles +irreparable. The men, who were as refractory as the other +animals, helped themselves to provisions, tobacco and whisky, at +their own sweet will, and treated our remonstrances with +resentment and contempt.</p> +<p>Heroic measures were exigent. The wagons were broken up +and converted into pack saddles. Both tents, masses of +provisions, 100 lbs. of lead for bullets, kegs of powder, warm +clothing, mackintoshes, waterproof sheeting, tarpaulins, medicine +chest, and bags of sugar, were flung aside to waste their +sweetness on the desert soil. Not one of us had ever packed +a saddle before; and certainly not one of the mules had ever +carried, or to all appearances, ever meant to carry, a +pack. It was a fight between man and beast every +day—twice a day indeed, for we halted to rest and feed, and +had to unpack and repack our remaining impedimenta in payment for +the indulgence.</p> +<p>Let me cite a page from my diary. It is a fair specimen +of scores of similar entries.</p> +<p>‘<i>June</i> 24<i>th</i>.—My morning watch. +Up at 1 <span class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> Roused the men +at 3.30. Off at 7.30. Rained hard all day. +Packs slipped or kicked off eighteen times before halt. Men +grumbling. Nelson and Jim both too ill to work. When +adjusting pack, Nelson and Louis had a desperate quarrel. +Nelson drew his knife and nearly stabbed Louis. I snatched +a pistol out of my holster, and threatened to shoot Nelson unless +he shut up. Fred, of course, laughed obstreperously at the +notion of my committing murder, which spoilt the dramatic +effect.</p> +<p>‘Oh! these devils of mules! After repacking, they +rolled, they kicked and bucked, they screamed and bit, as though +we were all in Hell, and didn’t know it. It took four +men to pack each one; and the moment their heads were loosed, +away they went into the river, over the hills, and across country +as hard as they could lay legs to ground. It was a cheerful +sight!—the flour and biscuit stuff swimming about in the +stream, the hams in a ditch full of mud, the trailed pots and +pans bumping and rattling on the ground until they were as +shapeless as old wide-awakes. And, worst of all, the +pack-saddles, which had delayed us a week to make—nothing +now but a bundle of splinters.</p> +<p>‘25<i>th</i>.—What a night! A fearful storm +broke over us. All round was like a lake. Fred and I +sat, back to back, perched on a flour bag till daylight, with no +covering but our shooting jackets, our feet in a pool, and bodies +streaming like cascades. Repeated lightning seemed to +strike the ground within a few yards of us. The animals, +wild with terror, stampeded in all directions. In the +morning, lo and behold! Samson on his back in the water, +insensibly drunk. At first I thought he was dead; but he +was only dead drunk. We can’t move till he can, +unless we bequeath him to the wolves, which are plentiful. +This is the third time he has served us the same trick. I +took the liberty to ram my heel through the whisky keg (we have +kept a small one for emergencies) and put it empty under his head +for a pillow.’</p> +<p>There were plenty of days and nights to match these, but there +were worse in store for us.</p> +<p>One evening, travelling along the North Platte river, before +reaching Laramie, we overtook a Mormon family on their way to +Salt Lake city. They had a light covered wagon with hardly +anything in it but a small supply of flour and bacon. It +was drawn by four oxen and two cows. Four milch cows were +driven. The man’s name was Blazzard—a +Yorkshireman from the Wolds, whose speech was that of +Learoyd. He had only his wife and a very pretty daughter of +sixteen or seventeen with him. We asked him how he became a +Mormon. He answered: ‘From conviction,’ and +entreated us to be baptized in the true faith at his hands. +The offer was tempting, for the pretty little milkmaid might have +become one of one’s wives on the spot. In truth the +sweet nymph urged conversion more persuasively than her +papa—though with what views who shall say? The old +farmer’s acquaintance with the Bible was remarkable. +He quoted it at every sentence, and was eloquent upon the subject +of the meaning and the origin of the word +‘Bible.’ He assured us the name was given to +the Holy Book from the circumstance of its contents having passed +a synod of prophets, just as an Act of Parliament passes the +House of Commons—<i>by Bill</i>. Hence its +title. It was this historical fact that guaranteed the +authenticity of the sacred volume. There are various +reasons for believing—this is one of them.</p> +<p>The next day, being Sunday, was spent in sleep. In the +afternoon I helped the Yorkshire lassie to herd her cattle, which +had strayed a long distance amongst the rank herbage by the banks +of the Platte. The heat was intense, well over 120 in the +sun; and the mosquitos rose in clouds at every step in the wet +grass. It was an easy job for me, on my little grey, to +gallop after the cows and drive them home, (it would have been a +wearisome one for her,) and she was very grateful, and played +Dorothea to my Hermann. None of our party wore any upper +clothing except a flannel shirt; I had cut off the sleeves of +mine at the elbow. This was better for rough work, but the +broiling sun had raised big blisters on my arms and throat which +were very painful. When we got back to camp, Dorothea laved +the burns for me with cool milk. Ah! she was very pretty; +and, what ‘blackguard’ Heine, as Carlyle dubs +him, would have called ‘naïve schmutzig.’ +When we parted next morning I thought with a sigh that before the +autumn was over, she would be in the seraglio of Mr. Brigham +Young; who, Artemus Ward used to say, was ‘the most married +man he ever knew.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Sport</span> had been the final cause of +my trip to America—sport and the love of adventure. +As the bison—buffalo, as they are called—are now +extinct, except in preserved districts, a few words about them as +they then were may interest game hunters of the present day.</p> +<p>No description could convey an adequate conception of the +numbers in which they congregated. The admirable +illustrations in Catlin’s great work on the North American +Indians, afford the best idea to those who have never seen the +wonderful sight itself. The districts they frequented were +vast sandy uplands sparsely covered with the tufty buffalo or +gramma grass. These regions were always within reach of the +water-courses; to which morning and evening the herds descended +by paths, after the manner of sheep or cattle in a pasture. +Never shall I forget the first time I witnessed the extraordinary +event of the evening drink. Seeing the black masses +galloping down towards the river, by the banks of which our party +were travelling, we halted some hundred yards short of the +tracks. To have been caught amongst the animals would have +been destruction; for, do what they would to get out of +one’s way, the weight of the thousands pushing on would +have crushed anything that impeded them. On the occasion I +refer to we approached to within safe distance, and fired into +them till the ammunition in our pouches was expended.</p> +<p>As examples of our sporting exploits, three days taken almost +at random will suffice. The season was so far advanced +that, unless we were to winter at Fort Laramie, it was necessary +to keep going. It was therefore agreed that whoever left +the line of march—that is, the vicinity of the North +Platte—for the purpose of hunting should take his chance of +catching up the rest of the party, who were to push on as +speedily as possible. On two of the days which I am about +to record this rule nearly brought me into trouble. I quote +from my journal:</p> +<p>‘Left camp to hunt by self. Got a shot at some +deer lying in long grass on banks of a stream. While +stalking, I could hardly see or breathe for mosquitos; they were +in my eyes, nose, and mouth. Steady aim was impossible; +and, to my disgust, I missed the easiest of shots. The neck +and flanks of my little grey are as red as if painted. He +is weak from loss of blood. Fred’s head is now so +swollen he cannot wear his hard hat; his eyes are bunged up, and +his face is comic to look at. Several deer and antelopes; +but ground too level, and game too wild to let one near. +Hardly caring what direction I took, followed outskirts of large +wood, four or five miles away from the river. Saw a good +many summer lodges; but knew, by the quantity of game, that the +Indians had deserted them. In the afternoon came suddenly +upon deer; and singling out one of the youngest fawns, tried to +run it down. The country being very rough, I found it hard +work to keep between it and the wood. First, my hat blew +off; then a pistol jumped out of the holster; but I was too near +to give up,—meaning to return for these things +afterwards. Two or three times I ran right over the fawn, +which bleated in the most piteous manner, but always escaped the +death-blow from the grey’s hoofs. By degrees we edged +nearer to the thicket, when the fawn darted down the side of a +bluff, and was lost in the long grass and brushwood, I followed +at full speed; but, unable to arrest the impetus of the horse, we +dashed headlong into the thick scrub, and were both thrown with +violence to the ground. I was none the worse; but the poor +beast had badly hurt his shoulder, and for the time was dead +lame.</p> +<p>‘For an hour at least I hunted, for my pistol. It +was much more to me than my hat. It was a huge horse +pistol, that threw an ounce ball of exactly the calibre of my +double rifle. I had shot several buffaloes with it, by +riding close to them in a chase; and when in danger of Indians I +loaded it with slugs. At last I found it. It was +getting late; and I didn’t rightly know where I was. +I made for the low country. But as we camped last night at +least two miles from the river, on account of the swamps, the +difficulty was to find the tracks. The poor little grey and +I hunted for it in vain. The wet ground was too wet, the +dry ground too hard, to show the tracks in the now imperfect +light.</p> +<p>‘The situation was a disagreeable one: it might be two +or three days before I again fell in with my friends. I had +not touched food since the early morning, and was rather +done. To return to the high ground was to give up for the +night; but that meant another day behind the cavalcade, with +diminished chance of overtaking it. Through the dusk I saw +what I fancied was something moving on a mound ahead of me which +arose out of the surrounding swamp. I spurred on, but only +to find the putrid carcase of a buffalo, with a wolf supping on +it. The brute was gorged, and looked as sleek as “die +schöne Frau Giermund”; but, unlike Isegrim’s +spouse, she was free to escape, for she wasn’t worth a +bullet. I was so famished, that I examined the carcase with +the hope of finding a cut that would last for a day or two; my +nose wouldn’t have it. I plodded on, the water up to +the saddle-girths. The mosquitos swarmed in millions, and +the poor little grey could hardly get one leg before the +other. I, too, was so feverish that, ignorant of bacteria, +I filled my round hat with the filthy stagnant water, and drank +it at a draught.</p> +<p>‘At last I made for higher ground. It was too dark +to hunt for tracks, so I began to look out for a level bed. +Suddenly my beast, who jogged along with his nose to the ground, +gave a loud neigh. We had struck the trail. I threw +the reins on his neck, and left matters to his superior +instincts. In less than half an hour the joyful light of a +camp fire gladdened my eyes. Fred told me he had halted as +soon as he was able, not on my account only, but because he, too, +had had a severe fall, and was suffering great pain from a +bruised knee.’</p> +<p>Here is an ordinary example of buffalo shooting:</p> +<p>‘<i>July</i> 2<i>nd</i>.—Fresh meat much +wanted. With Jim the half-breed to the hills. No +sooner on high ground than we sighted game. As far as eye +could reach, right away to the horizon, the plain was black with +buffaloes, a truly astonishing sight. Jim was used to +it. I stopped to spy them with amazement. The nearest +were not more than half a mile off, so we picketed our horses +under the sky line; and choosing the hollows, walked on till +crawling became expedient. As is their wont, the outsiders +were posted on bluffs or knolls in a commanding position; these +were old bulls. To my inexperience, our chance of getting a +shot seemed small; for we had to cross the dipping ground under +the brow whereon the sentinels were lying. Three extra +difficulties beset us—the prairie dogs (a marmot, so called +from its dog-like bark when disturbed) were all round us, and +bolted into their holes like rabbits directly they saw us coming; +two big grey wolves, the regular camp followers of a herd, were +prowling about in a direct line between us and the bulls; lastly, +the cows, though up and feeding, were inconveniently out of +reach. (The meat of the young cow is much preferred to that +of the bull.) Jim, however, was confident. I followed +my leader to a wink. The only instruction I didn’t +like when we started crawling on the hot sand was “Look out +for rattlesnakes.”</p> +<p>‘The wolves stopped, examined us suspiciously, then +quietly trotted off. What with this and the alarm of the +prairie dogs, an old bull, a patriarch of the tribe, jumped up +and walked with majestic paces to the top of the knoll. We +lay flat on our faces, till he, satisfied with the result of his +scrutiny, resumed his recumbent posture; but with his head turned +straight towards us. Jim, to my surprise, stealthily +crawled on. In another minute or two we had gained a point +whence we could see through the grass without being seen. +Here we rested to recover breath. Meanwhile, three or four +young cows fed to within sixty or seventy yards of us. +Unluckily we both selected the same animal, and both fired at the +same moment. Off went the lot helter skelter, all save the +old bull, who roared out his rage and trotted up close to our +hiding place.</p> +<p>‘“Look out for a bolt,” whispered Jim, +“but don’t show yourself nohow till I tell +you.”</p> +<p>‘For a minute or two the suspense was exciting. +One hardly dared to breathe. But his majesty saw us not, +and turned again to his wives. We instantly reloaded; and +the startled herd, which had only moved a few yards, gave us the +chance of a second shot. The first cow had fallen dead +almost where she stood. The second we found at the foot of +the hill, also with two bullet wounds behind the shoulder. +The tongues, humps, and tender loins, with some other choice +morsels, were soon cut off and packed, and we returned to camp +with a grand supply of beef for Jacob’s larder.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the risk of being tedious, I +will tell of one more day’s buffalo hunting, to show the +vicissitudes of this kind of sport. Before doing so we will +glance at another important feature of prairie life, a camp of +Sioux Indians.</p> +<p>One evening, after halting on the banks of the Platte, we +heard distant sounds of tomtoms on the other side of the +river. Jim, the half-breed, and Louis differed as to the +tribe, and hence the friendliness or hostility, of our +neighbours. Louis advised saddling up and putting the night +between us; he regaled us to boot with a few blood-curdling tales +of Indian tortures, and of <i>nous autres en haut</i>. Jim +treated these with scorn, and declared he knew by the +‘tunes’ (!) that the pow-wow was Sioux. Just +now, he asserted, the Sioux were friendly, and this +‘village’ was on its way to Fort Laramie to barter +‘robes’ (buffalo skins) for blankets and +ammunition. He was quite willing to go over and talk to +them if we had no objection.</p> +<p>Fred, ever ready for adventure, would have joined him in a +minute; but the river, which was running strong, was full of +nasty currents, and his injured knee disabled him from +swimming. No one else seemed tempted; so, following +Jim’s example, I stripped to my flannel shirt and +moccasins, and crossed the river, which was easier to get into +than out of, and soon reached the ‘village.’ +Jim was right,—they were Sioux, and friendly. They +offered us a pipe of kinik (the dried bark of the red willow), +and jabbered away with their kinsman, who seemed almost more at +home with them than with us.</p> +<p>Seeing one of their ‘braves’ with three fresh +scalps at his belt, I asked for the history of them. In +Sioux gutturals the story was a long one. Jim’s +translation amounted to this: The scalps were +‘lifted’ from two Crows and a Ponkaw. The +Crows, it appeared, were the Sioux’ natural enemies +‘anyhow,’ for they occasionally hunted on each +other’s ranges. But the Ponkaw, whom he would not +otherwise have injured, was casually met by him on a horse which +the Sioux recognised for a white man’s. Upon being +questioned how he came by it, the Ponkaw simply replied that it +was his own. Whereupon the Sioux called him a liar; and +proved it by sending an arrow through his body.</p> +<p>I didn’t quite see it. But then, strictly +speaking, I am no collector of scalps. To preserve my own, +I kept the hair on it as short as a tooth-brush.</p> +<p>Before we left, our hosts fed us on raw buffalo meat. +This, cut in slices, and dried crisp in the sun, is +excellent. Their lodges were very comfortable, most of them +large enough to hold a dozen people. The ground inside was +covered with buffalo robes; and the sewn skins, spread tight upon +the converging poles, formed a tent stout enough to defy all +weathers. In winter the lodge can be entirely closed; and +when a fire is kindled in the centre, the smoke escaping at a +small hole where the poles join, the snugness is complete.</p> +<p>At the entrance of one of these lodges I watched a squaw and +her child prepare a meal. When the fuel was collected, a +fat puppy, playing with the child, was seized by the squaw, and +knocked on the throat—not head—with a stick. +The puppy was then returned, kicking, to the tender mercies of +the infant; who exerted its small might to add to the +animal’s miseries, while the mother fed the fire and filled +a kettle for the stew. The puppy, much more alive than +dead, was held by the hind leg over the flames as long as the +squaw’s fingers could stand them. She then let it +fall on the embers, where it struggled and squealed horribly, and +would have wriggled off, but for the little savage, who took good +care to provide for the satisfactory singeing of its +playmate.</p> +<p>Considering the length of its lineage, how remarkably hale and +well preserved is our own barbarity!</p> +<p>We may now take our last look at the buffaloes, for we shall +see them no more. Again I quote my journal:</p> +<p>‘<i>July</i> 5<i>th</i>.—Men sulky because they +have nothing to eat but rancid ham, and biscuit dust which has +been so often soaked that it is mouldy and sour. They are a +dainty lot! Samson and I left camp early with the hopes of +getting meat. While he was shooting prairie dogs his horse +made off, and cost me nearly an hour’s riding to +catch. Then, accidentally letting go of my mustang, he too +escaped; and I had to run him down with the other. Towards +evening, spied a small band of buffaloes, which we approached by +leading our horses up a hollow. They got our wind, however, +and were gone before we were aware of it. They were all +young, and so fast, it took a twenty minutes’ gallop to +come up with them. Samson’s horse put his foot in a +hole, and the cropper they both got gave the band a long start, +as it became a stern chase, and no heading off.</p> +<p>‘At length I managed to separate one from the herd by +firing my pistol into the “brown,” and then devoted +my efforts to him alone. Once or twice he turned and glared +savagely through his mane. When quite isolated he pulled up +short, so did I. We were about sixty yards apart. I flung +the reins upon the neck of the mustang, who was too blown to +stir, and handling my rifle, waited for the bull to move so that +I might see something more than the great shaggy front, which +screened his body. But he stood his ground, tossing up the +sand with his hoofs. Presently, instead of turning tail, he +put his head down, and bellowing with rage, came at me as hard as +he could tear. I had but a moment for decision,—to +dig spurs into the mustang, or risk the shot. I chose the +latter; paused till I was sure of his neck, and fired when he was +almost under me. In an instant I was sent flying; and the +mustang was on his back with all four legs in the air.</p> +<p>‘The bull was probably as much astonished as we +were. His charge had carried him about thirty yards, at +most, beyond us. There he now stood; facing me, pawing the +ground and snorting as before. Badly wounded I knew him to +be,—that was the worst of it; especially as my rifle, with +its remaining loaded barrel, lay right between us. To +hesitate for a second only, was to lose the game. There was +no time to think of bruises; I crawled, eyes on him, straight for +my weapon: got it—it was already cocked, and the stock +unbroken—raised my knee for a rest. We were only +twenty yards apart (the shot meant death for one of the two), and +just catching a glimpse of his shoulder-blade, I pulled. I +could hear the thud of the heavy bullet, and—what was +sweeter music—the ugh! of the fatal groan. The beast +dropped on his knees, and a gush of blood spurted from his +nostrils.</p> +<p>‘But the wild devil of a mustang? that was my first +thought now. Whenever one dismounted, it was necessary to +loosen his long lariat, and let it trail on the ground. +Without this there was no chance of catching him. I saw at +once what had happened: by the greatest good fortune, at the last +moment, he must have made an instinctive start, which probably +saved his life, and mine too. The bull’s horns had +just missed his entrails and my leg,—we were broadside on +to the charge,—and had caught him in the thigh, below the +hip. There was a big hole, and he was bleeding +plentifully. For all that, he wouldn’t let me catch +him. He could go faster on three legs than I on two.</p> +<p>‘It was getting dark, I had not touched food since +starting, nor had I wetted my lips. My thirst was now +intolerable. The travelling rule, about keeping on, was an +ugly incubus. Samson would go his own ways—he had +sense enough for that—but how, when, where, was I to quench +my thirst? Oh! for the tip of Lazarus’ +finger—or for choice, a bottle of Bass—to cool my +tongue! Then too, whither would the mustang stray in the +night if I rested or fell asleep? Again and again I tried +to stalk him by the starlight. Twice I got hold of his +tail, but he broke away. If I drove him down to the river +banks the chance of catching him would be no better, and I should +lose the dry ground to rest on.</p> +<p>‘It was about as unpleasant a night as I had yet +passed. Every now and then I sat down, and dropped off to +sleep from sheer exhaustion. Every time this happened I +dreamed of sparkling drinks; then woke with a start to a lively +sense of the reality, and anxious searches for the mustang.</p> +<p>‘Directly the day dawned I drove the animal, now very +stiff, straight down for the Platte. He wanted water fully +as much as his master; and when we sighted it he needed no more +driving. Such a hurry was he in that, in his rush for the +river, he got bogged in the muddy swamp at its edge. I +seized my chance, and had him fast in a minute. We both +plunged into the stream; I, clothes and all, and drank, and +drank, and drank.’</p> +<p>That evening I caught up the cavalcade.</p> +<p>How curious it is to look back upon such experiences from a +different stage of life’s journey! How would it have +fared with me had my rifle exploded with the fall? it was knocked +out of my hands at full cock. How if the stock had been +broken? It had been thrown at least ten yards. How if +the horn had entered my thigh instead of the horse’s? +How if I had fractured a limb, or had been stunned, or the bull +had charged again while I was creeping up to him? Any one, +or more than one, of these contingencies were more likely to +happen than not. But nothing did happen, save—the +best.</p> +<p>Not a thought of the kind ever crossed my mind, either at the +time or afterwards. Yet I was not a thoughtless man, only +an average man. Nine Englishmen out of ten with a love of +sport—as most Englishmen are—would have done, and +have felt, just as I did. I was bruised and still; but so +one is after a run with hounds. I had had many a nastier +fall hunting in Derbyshire. The worst that could happen did +not happen; but the worst never—well, so rarely does. +One might shoot oneself instead of the pigeon, or be caught +picking forbidden fruit. Narrow escapes are as good as +broad ones. The truth is, when we are young, and active, +and healthy, whatever happens, of the pleasant or lucky kind, we +accept as a matter of course.</p> +<p>Ah! youth! youth! If we only knew when we were well off, +when we were happy, when we possessed all that this world has to +give! If we but knew that love is only a matter of course +so long as youth and its bounteous train is ours, we might +perhaps make the most of it, and give up looking +for—something better. But what then? Give up +the ‘something better’? Give up +pursuit,—the effort that makes us strong? ‘Give +up the sweets of hope’? No! ’tis better +as it is, perhaps. The kitten plays with its tail, and the +nightingale sings; but they think no more of happiness than the +rose-bud of its beauty. May be happiness comes not of too +much knowing, or too much thinking either.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Fort Laramie</span> was a military station +and trading post combined. It was a stone building in what +they called a ‘compound’ or open space, enclosed by a +palisade. When we arrived there, it was occupied by a troop +of mounted riflemen under canvas, outside the compound. The +officers lived in the fort; and as we had letters to the Colonel +— Somner — and to the Captain — Rhete, they +were very kind and very useful to us.</p> +<p>We pitched our camp by the Laramie river, four miles from the +fort. Nearer than that there was not a blade of +grass. The cavalry horses and military mules needed all +there was at hand. Some of the mules we were allowed to +buy, or exchange for our own. We accordingly added six +fresh ones to our cavalcade, and parted with two horses; which +gave us a total of fifteen mules and six horses. Government +provisions were not to be had, so that we could not replenish our +now impoverished stock. This was a serious matter, as will +be seen before long. Nor was the evil lessened by my being +laid up with a touch of fever—the effect, no doubt, of +those drenches of stagnant water. The regimental doctor was +absent. I could not be taken into the fort. And, as +we had no tent, and had thrown away almost everything but the +clothes we wore, I had to rough it and take my chance. Some +relics of our medicine chest, together with a tough constitution, +pulled me through. But I was much weakened, and by no means +fit for the work before us. Fred did his best to persuade +me from going further. He confessed that he was utterly +sick of the expedition; that his injured knee prevented him from +hunting, or from being of any use in packing and camp work; that +the men were a set of ruffians who did just as they +chose—they grumbled at the hardships, yet helped themselves +to the stores without restraint; that we had the Rocky Mountains +yet to cross; after that, the country was unknown. Colonel +Somner had strongly advised us to turn back. Forty of his +men had tried two months ago to carry despatches to the +regiment’s headquarters in Oregon. Only five had got +through; the rest had been killed and scalped. Finally, +that we had something like 1,200 miles to go, and were already in +the middle of August. It would be folly, obstinacy, +madness, to attempt it. He would stop and hunt where we +were, as long as I liked; or he would go back with me. He +would hire fresh good men, and buy new horses; and, now that we +knew the country, we could get to St. Louis before the end of +September, and—. There was no reasonable answer to be +made. I simply told him I had thought it over, and had +decided to go on. Like the plucky fellow and staunch friend +that he was, he merely shrugged his shoulders, and quietly said, +‘Very well. So be it.’</p> +<p>Before leaving Fort Laramie a singular incident occurred, +which must seem so improbable, that its narration may be taken +for fiction. It was, however, a fact. There was +plenty of game near our camping ground; and though the weather +was very hot, one of the party usually took the trouble to bring +in something to keep the pot supplied. The sage hens, the +buffalo or elk meat were handed over to Jacob, who made a stew +with bacon and rice, enough for the evening meal and the +morrow’s breakfast. After supper, when everyone had +filled his stomach, the large kettle, covered with its lid, was +taken off the fire, and this allowed to burn itself out.</p> +<p>For four or five mornings running the kettle was found nearly +empty, and all hands had to put up with a cup of coffee and +mouldy biscuit dust. There was a good deal of +unparliamentary language. Everyone accused everyone else of +filthy greediness. It was disgusting that after eating all +he could, a man hadn’t the decency to wait till the +morning. The pot had been full for supper, and, as every +man could see, it was never half emptied—enough was always +left for breakfast. A resolution was accordingly passed +that each should take his turn of an hour’s watch at night, +till the glutton was caught in the act.</p> +<p>My hour happened to be from 11 to 12 <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> I strongly suspected the thief +to be an Indian, and loaded my big pistol with slugs on the +chance. It was a clear moonlight night. I propped +myself comfortably with a bag of hams; and concealed myself as +well as I could in a bush of artemisia, which was very thick all +round. I had not long been on the look-out when a large +grey wolf prowled slowly out of the bushes. The night was +bright as day; but every one of the men was sound asleep in a +circle round the remains of the camp fire. The wolf passed +between them, hesitating as it almost touched a covering +blanket. Step by step it crept up to the kettle, took the +handle of the lid between its jaws, lifted it off, placed it +noiselessly on the ground, and devoured the savoury stew.</p> +<p>I could not fire, because of the men. I dared not move, +lest I should disturb the robber. I was even afraid the +click of cocking the pistol would startle him and prevent my +getting a quiet shot. But patience was rewarded. When +satiated, the brute retired as stealthily as he had advanced; and +as he passed within seven or eight yards of me I let him have +it. Great was my disappointment to see him scamper +off. How was it possible I could have missed him? I +must have fired over his back. The men jumped to their feet +and clutched their rifles; but, though astonished at my story, +were soon at rest again. After this the kettle was never +robbed. Four days later we were annoyed with such a stench +that it was a question of shifting our quarters. In hunting +for the nuisance amongst the thicket of wormwood, the dead wolf +was discovered not twenty yards from our centre.</p> +<p>The reader would not thank me for an account of the monotonous +drudgery, the hardships, the quarrellings, which grew worse from +day to day after we left Fort Laramie. Fred and I were +about the only two who were on speaking terms; we clung to each +other, as a sort of forlorn security against coming +disasters. Gradually it was dawning on me that, under the +existing circumstances, the fulfilment of my hopes would be (as +Fred had predicted) an impossibility; and that to persist in the +attempt to realise them was to court destruction. As yet, I +said nothing of this to him. Perhaps I was ashamed +to. Perhaps I secretly acknowledged to myself that he had +been wiser than I, and that my stubbornness was responsible for +the life itself of every one of the party.</p> +<p>Doubtless thoughts akin to these must often have haunted the +mind of my companion; but he never murmured; only uttered a hasty +objurgation when troubles reached a climax, and invariably ended +with a burst of cheery laughter which only the sulkiest could +resist. It was after a day of severe trials he proposed +that we should go off by ourselves for a couple of nights in +search of game, of which we were much in need. The men were +easily persuaded to halt and rest. Samson had become a sort +of nonentity. Dysentery had terribly reduced his strength, +and with it such intelligence as he could boast of. We +started at daybreak, right glad to be alone together and away +from the penal servitude to which we were condemned. We +made for the Sweetwater, not very far from the foot of the South +Pass, where antelope and black-tailed deer abounded. We +failed, however, to get near them—stalk after stalk +miscarried.</p> +<p>Disappointed and tired, we were looking out for some snug +little hollow where we could light a fire without its being seen +by the Indians, when, just as we found what we wanted, an +antelope trotted up to a brow to inspect us. I had a fairly +good shot at him and missed. This disheartened us +both. Meat was the one thing we now sorely needed to save +the rapidly diminishing supply of hams. Fred said nothing, +but I saw by his look how this trifling accident helped to +depress him. I was ready to cry with vexation. My +rifle was my pride, the stag of my life—my <i>alter +ego</i>. It was never out of my hands; every day I +practised at prairie dogs, at sage hens, at a mark even if there +was no game. A few days before we got to Laramie I had +killed, right and left, two wild ducks, the second on the wing; +and now, when so much depended on it, I could not hit a thing as +big as a donkey. The fact is, I was the worse for +illness. I had constant returns of fever, with bad +shivering fits, which did not improve the steadiness of +one’s hand. However, we managed to get a +supper. While we were examining the spot where the antelope +had stood, a leveret jumped up, and I knocked him over with my +remaining barrel. We fried him in the one tin plate we had +brought with us, and thought it the most delicious dish we had +had for weeks.</p> +<p>As we lay side by side, smoke curling peacefully from our +pipes, we chatted far into the night, of other days—of +Cambridge, of our college friends, of London, of the opera, of +balls, of women—the last a fruitful subject—and of +the future. I was vastly amused at his sudden outburst as +some start of one of the horses picketed close to us reminded us +of the actual present. ‘If ever I get out of this +d—d mess,’ he exclaimed, ‘I’ll never go +anywhere without my own French cook.’ He kept his +word, to the end of his life, I believe.</p> +<p>It was a delightful repose, a complete forgetting, for a night +at any rate, of all impending care. Each was cheered and +strengthened for the work to come. The spirit of +enterprise, the love of adventure restored for the moment, +believed itself a match for come what would. The very +animals seemed invigorated by the rest and the abundance of rich +grass spreading as far as we could see. The morning was +bright and cool. A delicious bath in the Sweetwater, a +breakfast on fried ham and coffee, and once more in our saddles +on the way back to camp, we felt (or fancied that we felt) +prepared for anything.</p> +<p>That is just what we were not. Samson and the men, +meeting with no game where we had left them, had moved on that +afternoon in search of better hunting grounds. The result +was that when we overtook them, we found five mules up to their +necks in a muddy creek. The packs were sunk to the bottom, +and the animals nearly drowned or strangled. Fred and I +rushed to the rescue. At once we cut the ropes which tied +them together; and, setting the men to pull at tails or heads, +succeeded at last in extricating them.</p> +<p>Our new-born vigour was nipped in the bud. We were all +drenched to the skin. Two packs containing the miserable +remains of our wardrobe, Fred’s and mine, were lost. +The catastrophe produced a good deal of bad language and bad +blood. Translated into English it came to this: ‘They +had trusted to us, taking it for granted we knew what we were +about. What business had we to “boss” the party +if we were as ignorant as the mules? We had guaranteed to +lead them through to California [!] and had brought them into +this “almighty fix” to slave like niggers and to +starve.’ There was just truth enough in the Jeremiad +to make it sting. It would not have been prudent, nay, not +very safe, to return curse for curse. But the breaking +point was reached at last. That night I, for one, had not +much sleep. I was soaked from head to foot, and had not a +dry rag for a change. Alternate fits of fever and rigor +would alone have kept me awake; but renewed ponderings upon the +situation and confirmed convictions of the peremptory necessity +of breaking up the party, forced me to the conclusion that this +was the right, the only, course to adopt.</p> +<p>For another twenty-four hours I brooded over my plans. +Two main difficulties confronted me: the announcement to the men, +who might mutiny; and the parting with Fred, which I dreaded far +the most of the two. Would he not think it treacherous to +cast him off after the sacrifices he had made for me? +Implicitly we were as good as pledged to stand by each other to +the last gasp. Was it not mean and dastardly to run away +from the battle because it was dangerous to fight it out? +Had friendship no claims superior to personal safety? Was +not my decision prompted by sheer selfishness? Could +anything be said in its defence?</p> +<p>Yes; sentiment must yield to reason. To go on was +certain death for all. It was not too late to return, for +those who wished it. And when I had demonstrated, as I +could easily do, the impossibility of continuance, each one could +decide for himself. The men were as reckless as they were +ignorant. However they might execrate us, we were still +their natural leaders: their blame, indeed, implied they felt +it. No sentimental argument could obscure this truth, and +this conviction was decisive.</p> +<p>The next night and the day after were, from a moral point of +view, the most trying perhaps, of the whole journey. We had +halted on a wide, open plain. Due west of us in the far +distance rose the snowy peaks of the mountains. And the +prairie on that side terminated in bluffs, rising gradually to +higher spurs of the range. When the packs were thrown off, +and the men had turned, as usual, to help themselves to supper, I +drew Fred aside and imparted my resolution to him. He +listened to it calmly—much more so than I had +expected. Yet it was easy to see by his unusual seriousness +that he fully weighed the gravity of the purpose. All he +said at the time was, ‘Let us talk it over after the men +are asleep.’</p> +<p>We did so. We placed our saddles side by side—they +were our regular pillows—and, covering ourselves with the +same blanket, well out of ear-shot, discussed the proposition +from every practical aspect. He now combated my scheme, as +I always supposed he would, by laying stress upon our bond of +friendship. This was met on my part by the arguments +already set forth. He then proposed an amendment, which +almost upset my decision. ‘It is true,’ he +admitted, ‘that we cannot get through as we are going now; +the provisions will not hold out another month, and it is useless +to attempt to control the men. But there are two ways out +of the difficulty: we can reach Salt Lake City and winter there; +or, if you are bent on going to California, why shouldn’t +we take Jacob and Nelson (the Canadian), pay off the rest of the +brutes, and travel together,—us four?’</p> +<p>Whether ‘das ewig Wirkende’ that shapes our ends +be beneficent or malignant is not easy to tell, till after the +event. Certain it is that sometimes we seem impelled by +latent forces stronger than ourselves—if by self be meant +one’s will. We cannot give a reason for all we do; +the infinite chain of cause and effect, which has had no +beginning and will have no end, is part of the +reckoning,—with this, finite minds can never grapple.</p> +<p>It was destined (my stubbornness was none of my making) that I +should remain obdurate. Fred’s last resource was an +attempt to persuade me (he really believed: I, too, thought it +likely) that the men would show fight, annex beasts and +provisions, and leave us to shift for ourselves. There were +six of them, armed as we were, to us three, or rather us two, for +Samson was a negligible quantity. ‘We shall +see,’ said I; and by degrees we dropped asleep.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> the first streak of dawn I +was up and off to hunt for the horses and mules, which were now +allowed to roam in search of feed. On my return, the men +were afoot, taking it easy as usual. Some artemisia bushes +were ablaze for the morning’s coffee. No one but Fred +had a suspicion of the coming crisis. I waited till each +one had lighted his pipe; then quietly requested the lot to +gather the provision packs together, as it was desirable to take +stock, and make some estimate of demand and supply. Nothing +loth, the men obeyed. ‘Now,’ said I, +‘turn all the hams out of their bags, and let us see how +long they will last.’ When done: ‘What!’ +I exclaimed, with well—feigned dismay, ‘that’s +not all, surely? There are not enough here to last a +fortnight. Where are the rest? No more? +Why, we shall starve.’ The men’s faces fell; +but never a murmur, nor a sound. ‘Turn out the +biscuit bags. Here, spread these empty ham sacks, and pour +the biscuit on to them. Don’t lose any of the +dust. We shall want every crumb, mouldy or +not.’ The gloomy faces grew gloomier. +What’s to be done?’ Silence. ‘The +first thing, as I think all will agree, is to divide what is left +into nine equal shares—that’s our number +now—and let each one take his ninth part, to do what he +likes with. You yourselves shall portion out the shares, +and then draw lots for choice.’</p> +<p>This presentation of the inevitable compelled +submission. The whole, amounting to twelve light mule packs +(it had been fifteen fairly heavy ones after our purchases at +Fort Laramie), was still a goodly bulk to look at. The nine +peddling dividends, when seen singly, were not quite what the +shareholders had anticipated.</p> +<p>Why were they still silent? Why did they not rebel, and +visit their wrath upon the directors? Because they knew in +their hearts that we had again and again predicted the +catastrophe. They knew we had warned them scores and scores +of times of the consequences of their wilful and reckless +improvidence. They were stupefied, aghast, at the ruin they +had brought upon themselves. To turn upon us, to murder us, +and divide our three portions between them, would have been +suicidal. In the first place, our situation was as +desperate as theirs. We should fight for our lives; and it +was not certain, in fact it was improbable, that either Jacob or +William would side against us. Without our aid—they +had not a compass among them—they were helpless. The +instinct of self-preservation bade them trust to our good +will.</p> +<p>So far, then, the game was won. Almost humbly they asked +what we advised them to do. The answer was prompt and +decisive: ‘Get back to Fort Laramie as fast as you +can.’ ‘But how? Were they to walk? +They couldn’t carry their packs.’ +‘Certainly not; we were English gentlemen, and would behave +as such. Each man should have his own mule; each, into the +bargain, should receive his pay according to +agreement.’ They were agreeably surprised. I +then very strongly counselled them not to travel together. +Past experience proved how dangerous this must be. To avoid +the temptation, even the chance, of this happening, the surest +and safest plan would be for each party to start separately, and +not leave till the last was out of sight. For my part I had +resolved to go alone.</p> +<p>It was a melancholy day for everyone. And to fill the +cup of wretchedness to overflowing, the rain, beginning with a +drizzle, ended with a downpour. Consultations took place +between men who had not spoken to one another for weeks. +Fred offered to go on, at all events to Salt Lake City, if Nelson +the Canadian and Jacob would go with him. Both eagerly +closed with the offer. They would be so much nearer to the +‘diggings,’ and were, moreover, fond of their +leader. Louis would go back to Fort Laramie. Potter +and Morris would cross the mountains, and strike south for the +Mormon city if their provisions and mules threatened to give +out. William would try his luck alone in the same +way. And there remained no one but Samson, undecided and +unprovided for. The strong weak man sat on the ground in +the steady rain, smoking pipe after pipe; watching first the +preparations, then the departures, one after the other, at +intervals of an hour or so. First the singles, then the +pair; then, late in the afternoon, Fred and his two henchmen.</p> +<p>It is needless to depict our separation. I do not think +either expected ever to see the other again. Yet we parted +after the manner of trueborn Britons, as if we should meet again +in a day or two. ‘Well, good-bye, old fellow. +Good luck. What a beastly day, isn’t it?’ +But emotions are only partially suppressed by subduing their +expression. The hearts of both were full.</p> +<p>I watched the gradual disappearance of my dear friend, and +thought with a sigh of my loss in Jacob and Nelson, the two best +men of the band. It was a comfort to reflect that they had +joined Fred. Jacob especially was full of resource; Nelson +of energy and determination. And the courage and cool +judgment of Fred, and his presence of mind in emergencies, were +all pledges for the safety of the trio.</p> +<p>As they vanished behind a distant bluff, I turned to the +sodden wreck of the deserted camp, and began actively to pack my +mules. Samson seemed paralysed by imbecility.</p> +<p>‘What had I better do?’ he presently asked, gazing +with dull eyes at his two mules and two horses.</p> +<p>‘I don’t care what you do. It is nothing to +me. You had better pack your mules before it is dark, or +you may lose them.’</p> +<p>‘I may as well go with you, I think. I don’t +care much about going back to Laramie.’</p> +<p>He looked miserable. I was so. I had held out +under a long and heavy strain. Parting with Fred had, for +the moment, staggered my resolution. I was sick at +heart. The thought of packing two mules twice a day, +single-handed, weakened as I was by illness, appalled me. +And though ashamed of the perversity which had led me to fling +away the better and accept the worse, I yielded.</p> +<p>‘Very well then. Make haste. Get your traps +together. I’ll look after the horses.’</p> +<p>It took more than an hour before the four mules were +ready. Like a fool, I left Samson to tie the led horses in +a string, while I did the same with the mules. He started, +leading the horses. I followed with the mule train some +minutes later. Our troubles soon began. The two spare +horses were nearly as wild as the mules. I had not got far +when I discerned through the rain a kicking and plunging and +general entanglement of the lot ahead of me. Samson had +fastened the horses together with slip knots; and they were all +doing their best to strangle one another and themselves. To +leave the mules was dangerous, yet two men were required to +release the maddened horses. At last the labour was +accomplished; and once more the van pushed on with distinct +instructions as to the line of march, it being now nearly +dark. The mules had naturally vanished in the gloom; and by +the time I was again in my saddle, Samson was—I knew not +where. On and on I travelled, far into the night. But +failing to overtake my companion, and taking for granted that he +had missed his way, I halted when I reached a stream, threw off +the packs, let the animals loose, rolled myself in my blanket, +and shut my eyes upon a trying day.</p> +<p>Nothing happens but the unexpected. Daylight woke +me. Samson, still in his rugs, was but a couple of hundred +yards further up the stream. In the afternoon of the third +day we fell in with William. He had cut himself a long +willow wand and was fishing for trout, of which he had caught +several in the upper reaches of the Sweetwater. He threw +down his rod, hastened to welcome our arrival, and at once begged +leave to join us. He was already sick of solitude. He +had come across Potter and Morris, who had left him that +morning. They had been visited by wolves in the night, (I +too had been awakened by their howlings,) and poor William did +not relish the thought of the mountains alone, with his one +little white mule—which he called +‘Cream.’ He promised to do his utmost to help +with the packing, and ‘not cost us a cent.’ I +did not tell him how my heart yearned towards him, and how +miserably my courage had oozed away since we parted, but made a +favour of his request, and granted it. The gain, so long as +it lasted, was incalculable.</p> +<p>The summit of the South Pass is between 8000 and 9000 feet +above the level of the Gulf of Mexico. The Pass itself is +many miles broad, undulating on the surface, but not +abruptly. The peaks of the Wind River Chain, immediately to +the north, are covered with snow; and as we gradually got into +the misty atmosphere we felt the cold severely. The +lariats—made of raw hide—became rods of ice; and the +poor animals, whose backs were masses of festering raws, suffered +terribly from exposure. It was interesting to come upon +proofs of the ‘divide’ within a mile of the most +elevated point in the pass. From the Hudson to this spot, +all waters had flowed eastward; now suddenly every little rivulet +was making for the Pacific.</p> +<p>The descent is as gradual as the rise. On the first day +of it we lost two animals, a mule and Samson’s spare +horse. The latter, never equal to the heavy weight of its +owner, could go no further; and the dreadful state of the +mule’s back rendered packing a brutality. Morris and +Potter, who passed us a few days later, told us they had seen the +horse dead, and partially eaten by wolves; the mule they had shot +to put it out of its misery.</p> +<p>In due course we reached Fort Hall, a trading post of the +Hudson’s Bay Company, some 200 miles to the north-west of +the South Pass. Sir George Simpson, Chairman of that +Company, had given me letters, which ensured the assistance of +its servants. It was indeed a rest and a luxury to spend a +couple of idle days here, and revive one’s dim recollection +of fresh eggs and milk. But we were already in +September. Our animals were in a deplorable condition; and +with the exception of a little flour, a small supply of dried +meat, and a horse for Samson, Mr. Grant, the trader, had nothing +to sell us. He told us, moreover, that before we reached +Fort Boisé, their next station, 300 miles further on, we +had to traverse a great rocky desert, where we might travel +four-and-twenty hours after leaving water, before we met with it +again. There was nothing for it but to press onwards. +It was too late now to cross the Sierra Nevada range, which lay +between us and California; and with the miserable equipment left +to us, it was all we could hope to do to reach Oregon before the +passage of the Blue Mountains was blocked by the winter’s +snow.</p> +<p>Mr. Grant’s warnings were verified to the foot of the +letter. Great were our sufferings, and almost worse were +those of the poor animals, from the want of water. Then, +too, unlike the desert of Sahara, where the pebbly sand affords a +solid footing, the soil here is the calcined powder of volcanic +débris, so fine that every step in it is up to one’s +ankles; while clouds of it rose, choking the nostrils, and +covering one from head to heel. Here is a passage from my +journal:</p> +<p>‘Road rocky in places, but generally deep in the finest +floury sand. A strong and biting wind blew dead in our +teeth, smothering us in dust, which filled every pore. +William presented such a ludicrous appearance that Samson and I +went into fits over it. An old felt hat, fastened on by a +red cotton handkerchief, tied under his chin, partly hid his +lantern-jawed visage; this, naturally of a dolorous cast, was +screwed into wrinkled contortions by its efforts to resist the +piercing gale. The dust, as white as flour, had settled +thick upon him, the extremity of his nasal organ being the only +rosy spot left; its pearly drops lodged upon a chin almost as +prominent. His shoulders were shrugged to a level with his +head, and his long legs dangled from the back of little +“Cream” till they nearly touched the +ground.’</p> +<p>We laughed at him, it is true, but he was so good-natured, so +patient, so simple-minded, and, now and then, when he and I were +alone, so sentimental and confidential about Mary, and the +fortune he meant to bring her back, that I had a sort of maternal +liking for him; and even a vicarious affection for Mary herself, +the colour of whose eyes and hair—nay, whose weight +avoirdupois—I was now accurately acquainted with. No, +the honest fellow had not quite the grit of a +‘Leatherstocking.’</p> +<p>One night, when we had halted after dark, he went down to a +gully (we were not then in the desert) to look for water for our +tea. Samson, armed with the hatchet, was chopping +wood. I stayed to arrange the packs, and spread the +blankets. Suddenly I heard a voice from the bottom of the +ravine, crying out, ‘Bring the guns for God’s +sake! Make haste! Bring the guns!’ I +rushed about in the dark, tumbling over the saddles, but could +nowhere lay my hands on a rifle. Still the cry was for +‘Guns!’ My own, a muzzle-loader, was +discharged, but a rifle none the less. Snatching up this, +and one of my pistols, which, by the way, had fallen into the +river a few hours before, I shouted for Samson, and ran headlong +to the rescue. Before I got to the bottom of the hill I +heard groans, which sounded like the last of poor William. +I holloaed to know where he was, and was answered in a voice that +discovered nothing worse than terror.</p> +<p>It appeared that he had met a grizzly bear drinking at the +very spot where he was about to fill his can; that he had bolted, +and the bear had pursued him; but that he had ‘cobbled the +bar with rocks,’ had hit it in the eye, or nose, he was not +sure which, and thus narrowly escaped with his life. I +could not help laughing at his story, though an examination of +the place next morning so far verified it, that his footprints +and the bear’s were clearly intermingled on the muddy shore +of the stream. To make up for his fright, he was extremely +courageous when restored by tea and a pipe. ‘If we +would follow the trail with him, he’d go right slick in for +her anyhow. If his rifle didn’t shoot plum, +he’d a bowie as ’ud rise her hide, and no +mistake. He’d be darn’d if he didn’t make +meat of that bar in the morning.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> were now steering by +compass. Our course was nearly north-west. This we +kept, as well as the formation of the country and the +watercourses would permit. After striking the great +Shoshone, or Snake River, which eventually becomes the Columbia, +we had to follow its banks in a southerly direction. These +are often supported by basaltic columns several hundred feet in +height. Where that was the case, though close to water, we +suffered most from want of it. And cold as were the +nights—it was the middle of September—the sun was +intensely hot. Every day, every mile, we were hoping for a +change—not merely for access to the water, but that we +might again pursue our westerly course. The scenery was +sometimes very striking. The river hereabouts varies from +one hundred to nearly three hundred yards in width; sometimes +rushing through narrow gorges, sometimes descending in continuous +rapids, sometimes spread out in smooth shallow reaches. It +was for one of these that we were in search, for only at such +points was the river passable.</p> +<p>It was night-time when we came to one of the great +falls. We were able here to get at water; and having halted +through the day, on account of the heat, kept on while our +animals were refreshed. We had to ascend the banks again, +and wind along the brink of the precipice. From this the +view was magnificent. The moon shone brightly upon the +dancing waves hundreds of feet below us, and upon the rapids +which extended as far as we could see. The deep shade of +the high cliffs contrasted in its impenetrable darkness with the +brilliancy of the silvery foam. The vast plain which we +overlooked, fading in the soft light, rose gradually into a low +range of distant hills. The incessant roar of the rapids, +and the desert stillness of all else around, though they lulled +one’s senses, yet awed one with a feeling of insignificance +and impotence in the presence of such ruthless force, amid such +serene and cold indifference. Unbidden, the consciousness +was there, that for some of us the coming struggle with those +mighty waters was fraught with life or death.</p> +<p>At last we came upon a broad stretch of the river which seemed +to offer the possibilities we sought for. Rather late in +the afternoon we decided to cross here, notwithstanding +William’s strong reluctance to make the venture. Part +of his unwillingness was, I knew, due to apprehension, part to +his love of fishing. Ever since we came down upon the Snake +River we had seen quantities of salmon. He persisted in the +belief that they were to be caught with the rod. The day +before, all three of us had waded into the river, and flogged it +patiently for a couple of hours, while heavy fish were tumbling +about above and below us. We caught plenty of trout, but +never pricked a salmon. Here the broad reach was alive with +them, and William begged hard to stop for the afternoon and +pursue the gentle sport. It was not to be.</p> +<p>The tactics were as usual. Samson led the way, holding +the lariat to which the two spare horses were attached. In +crossing streams the mules would always follow the horses. +They were accordingly let loose, and left to do so. William +and I brought up the rear, driving before us any mule that +lagged. My journal records the sequel:</p> +<p>‘At about equal distances from each other and the main +land were two small islands. The first of these we reached +without trouble. The second was also gained; but the packs +were wetted, the current being exceedingly rapid. The space +remaining to be forded was at least two hundred yards; and the +stream so strong that I was obliged to turn my mare’s head +up it to prevent her being carried off her legs. While thus +resting, William with difficulty,—the water being over his +knees,—sidled up to me. He wanted to know if I still +meant to cross. For all answer, I laughed at him. In +truth I had not the smallest misgiving. Strong as was the +current, the smooth rocky bottom gave a good foothold to the +animals; and, judging by the great width of the river, there was +no reason to suppose that its shallowness would not continue.</p> +<p>‘We paused for a few minutes to observe Samson, who was +now within forty or fifty yards of the opposite bank; and, as I +concluded, past all danger. Suddenly, to the astonishment +of both of us, he and his horse and the led animals disappeared +under water; the next instant they were struggling and swimming +for the bank. Tied together as they were, there was a deal +of snorting and plunging; and Samson (with his habitual +ingenuity) had fastened the lariat either to himself or his +saddle; so that he was several times dragged under before they +all got to the bank in safety.</p> +<p>‘These events were watched by William with intense +anxiety. With a pitiable look of terror he assured me he +could not swim a yard; it was useless for him to try to cross; he +would turn back, and find his way to Salt Lake City.</p> +<p>‘“But,” I remonstrated, “if you turn +back, you will certainly starve; everything we possess is over +there with the mules; your blanket, even your rifle, are with the +packs. It is impossible to get the mules back again. +Give little Cream her head, sit still in your saddle, and +she’ll carry you through that bit of deep water with +ease.”</p> +<p>‘“I can live by fishing,” he plaintively +answered. He still held his long rod, and the incongruity +of it added to the pathos of his despair. I reminded him of +a bad river we had before crossed, and how his mule had swum it +safely with him on her back. I promised to keep close to +him, and help him if need were, though I was confident if he left +everything to Cream there would be no danger. “Well, +if he must, he must. But, if anything happened to him, +would I write and tell Mary? I knew her address; leastways, +if I didn’t, it was in his bag on the brown mule. And +tell her I done my best.”</p> +<p>‘The water was so clear one could see every crack in the +rock beneath. Fortunately, I took the precaution to strip +to my shirt; fastened everything, even my socks, to the saddle; +then advanced cautiously ahead of William to the brink of the +chasm. We were, in fact, upon the edge of a +precipice. One could see to an inch where the gulf +began. As my mare stepped into it I slipped off my saddle; +when she rose I laid hold of her tail, and in two or three +minutes should have been safe ashore.</p> +<p>‘Looking back to see how it had fared with William, I at +once perceived his danger. He had clasped his mule tightly +round the neck with his arms, and round the body with his long +legs. She was plunging violently to get rid of her +load. Already the pair were forty or fifty yards below +me. Instantly I turned and swam to his assistance. +The struggles of the mule rendered it dangerous to get at +him. When I did so he was partially dazed; his hold was +relaxed. Dragging him away from the hoofs of the animal, I +begged him to put his hands on my shoulders or hips. He was +past any effort of the kind. I do not think he heard me +even. He seemed hardly conscious of anything. His +long wet hair plastered over the face concealed his +features. Beyond stretching out his arms, like an infant +imploring help, he made no effort to save himself.</p> +<p>‘I seized him firmly by the collar,—unfortunately, +with my right hand, leaving only my left to stem the +torrent. But how to keep his face out of the water? +At every stroke I was losing strength; we were being swept away, +for him, to hopeless death. At length I touched bottom, got +both hands under his head, and held it above the surface. +He still breathed, still puffed the hair from his lips. +There was still a hope, if I could but maintain my footing. +But, alas! each instant I was losing ground—each instant I +was driven back, foot by foot, towards the gulf. The water, +at first only up to my chest, was now up to my shoulders, now up +to my neck. My strength was gone. My arms ached till +they could bear no more. They sank involuntarily. +William glided from my hands. He fell like lead till his +back lay stretched upon the rock. His arms were spread out, +so that his body formed a cross. I paddled above it in the +clear, smooth water, gazing at his familiar face, till two or +three large bubbles burst upon the surface; then, hardly knowing +what I was doing, floated mechanically from the trapper’s +grave.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">. . . . . . .</p> +<p>‘My turn was now to come. At first, the right, or +western, bank being within sixty or seventy yards, being also my +proper goal, I struck out for it with mere eagerness to land as +soon as possible. The attempt proved unsuccessful. +Very well, then, I would take it quietly—not try to cross +direct, but swim on gently, keeping my head that way. By +degrees I got within twenty yards of the bank, was counting +joyfully on the rest which a few more strokes would bring me, +when—wsh—came a current, and swept me right into the +middle of the stream again.</p> +<p>‘I began to be alarmed. I must get out of this +somehow or another; better on the wrong side than not at +all. So I let myself go, and made for the shore we had +started from.</p> +<p>‘Same fate. When well over to the left bank I was +carried out again. What! was I too to be drowned? It +began to look like it. I was getting cold, numb, +exhausted. And—listen! What is that distant +sound? Rapids? Yes, rapids. My flannel shirt +stuck to, and impeded me; I would have it off. I got it +over my head, but hadn’t unbuttoned the studs—it +stuck, partly over my head. I tugged to tear it off. +Got a drop of water into my windpipe; was choking; tugged till I +got the shirt right again. Then tried floating on my +back—to cough and get my breath. Heard the rapids +much louder. It was getting dark now. The sun was +setting in glorious red and gold. I noticed this, noticed +the salmon rolling like porpoises around me, and thought of +William with his rod. Strangest of all, for I had not +noticed her before, little Cream was still struggling for dear +life not a hundred yards below me; sometimes sinking, sometimes +reappearing, but on her way to join her master, as surely as I +thought that I was.</p> +<p>‘In my distress, the predominant thought was the +loneliness of my fate, the loneliness of my body after +death. There was not a living thing to see me die.</p> +<p>‘For the first time I felt, not fear, but loss of +hope. I could only beat the water with feeble and futile +splashes. I was completely at its mercy. And—as +we all then do—I prayed—prayed for strength, prayed +that I might be spared. But my strength was gone. My +legs dropped powerless in the water. I could but just keep +my nose or mouth above it. My legs sank, and my +feet—touched bottom.</p> +<p>‘In an instant, as if from an electric shock, a flush of +energy suffused my brain and limbs. I stood upright in an +almost tranquil pool. An eddy had lodged me on a +sandbank. Between it and the land was scarcely twenty +yards. Through this gap the stream ran strong as +ever. I did not want to rest; I did not pause to +think. In I dashed; and a single spurt carried me to the +shore. I fell on my knees, and with a grateful heart poured +out gratitude for my deliverance.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">. . . . . . .</p> +<p>‘I was on the wrong side, the side from which we +started. The river was yet to cross. I had not tasted +food since our early meal. How long I had been swimming I +know not, but it was dark now, starlight at least. The +nights were bitterly cold, and my only clothing a wet flannel +shirt. And oh! the craving for companionship, someone to +talk to—even Samson. This was a stronger need than +warmth, or food, or clothing; so strong that it impelled me to +try again.</p> +<p>‘The poor sandy soil grew nothing but briars and small +cactuses. In the dark I kept treading on the little prickly +plants, but I hurried on till I came in sight of Samson’s +fire. I could see his huge form as it intercepted the +comfortable blaze. I pictured him making his tea, broiling +some of William’s trout, and spreading his things before +the fire to dry. I could see the animals moving around the +glow. It was my home. How I yearned for it! How +should I reach it, if ever? In this frame of mind the +attempt was irresistible. I started as near as I could from +opposite the two islands. As on horseback, I got pretty +easily to the first island. Beyond this I was taken off my +feet by the stream; and only with difficulty did I once more +regain the land.</p> +<p>My next object was to communicate with Samson. By +putting both hands to my mouth and shouting with all my force I +made him hear. I could see him get up and come to the +water’s edge; though he could not see me, his stentorian +voice reached me plainly. His first words were:</p> +<p>‘“Is that you, William? Coke is +drowned.”</p> +<p>‘I corrected him, and thus replied:</p> +<p>‘“Do you remember a bend near some willows, where +you wanted to cross yesterday?”</p> +<p>‘“Yes.”</p> +<p>‘“About two hours higher up the river?”</p> +<p>‘“I remember.”</p> +<p>‘“Would you know the place again?”</p> +<p>‘“Yes.”</p> +<p>‘“Are you sure?”</p> +<p>‘“Yes, yes.”</p> +<p>‘“You will see me by daylight in the +morning. When I start, you will take my mare, my clothes, +and some food; make for that place and wait till I come. I +will cross there.”</p> +<p>‘“All right.”</p> +<p>‘“Keep me in sight as long as you can. +Don’t forget the food.”</p> +<p>‘It will be gathered from my words that definite +instructions were deemed necessary; and the inference—at +least it was mine—will follow, that if a mistake were +possible Samson would avail himself of it. The night was +before me. The river had yet to be crossed. But, +strange as it now seems to me, I had no misgivings! My +heart never failed me. My prayer had been heard. I +had been saved. How, I knew not. But this I knew, my +trust was complete. I record this as a curious +psychological occurrence; for it supported me with unfailing +energy through the severe trial which I had yet to +undergo.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Our</span> experiences are little worth +unless they teach us to reflect. Let us then pause to +consider this hourly experience of human beings—this +remarkable efficacy of prayer. There can hardly be a +contemplative mind to which, with all its difficulties, the +inquiry is not familiar.</p> +<p>To begin with, ‘To pray is to expect a +miracle.’ ‘Prayer in its very essence,’ +says a thoughtful writer, ‘implies a belief in the possible +intervention of a power which is above nature.’ How +was it in my case? What was the essence of my belief? +Nothing less than this: that God would have permitted the laws of +nature, ordained by His infinite wisdom to fulfil His omniscient +designs and pursue their natural course in accordance with His +will, had not my request persuaded Him to suspend those laws in +my favour.</p> +<p>The very belief in His omniscience and omnipotence subverts +the spirit of such a prayer. It is on the perfection of God +that Malebranche bases his argument that ‘Dieu n’agit +pas par des volontés particulières.’ +Yet every prayer affects to interfere with the divine +purposes.</p> +<p>It may here be urged that the divine purposes are beyond our +comprehension. God’s purposes may, in spite of the +inconceivability, admit the efficacy of prayer as a link in the +chain of causation; or, as Dr. Mozely holds, it may be that +‘a miracle is not an anomaly or irregularity, but part of +the system of the universe.’ We will not entangle +ourselves in the abstruse metaphysical problem which such +hypotheses involve, but turn for our answer to what we do +know—to the history of this world, to the daily life of +man. If the sun rises on the evil as well as on the good, +if the wicked ‘become old, yea, are mighty in power,’ +still, the lightning, the plague, the falling chimney-pot, smite +the good as well as the evil. Even the dumb animal is not +spared. ‘If,’ says Huxley, ‘our ears were +sharp enough to hear all the cries of pain that are uttered in +the earth by man and beasts we should be deafened by one +continuous scream.’ ‘If there are any marks at +all of special design in creation,’ writes John Stuart +Mill, ‘one of the things most evidently designed is that a +large proportion of all animals should pass their existence in +tormenting and devouring other animals. They have been +lavishly fitted out with the instruments for that +purpose.’ Is it credible, then, that the Almighty +Being who, as we assume, hears this continuous +scream—animal-prayer, as we may call it—and not only +pays no heed to it, but lavishly fits out animals with +instruments for tormenting and devouring one another, that such a +Being should suspend the laws of gravitation and physiology, +should perform a miracle equal to that of arresting the +sun—for all miracles are equipollent—simply to +prolong the brief and useless existence of such a thing as man, +of one man out of the myriads who shriek, and—shriek in +vain?</p> +<p>To pray is to expect a miracle. Then comes the further +question: Is this not to expect what never yet has +happened? The only proof of any miracle is the +interpretation the witness or witnesses put upon what they have +seen. (Traditional miracles—miracles that others have +been told, that others have seen—we need not trouble our +heads about.) What that proof has been worth hitherto has +been commented upon too often to need attention here. Nor +does the weakness of the evidence for miracles depend solely on +the fact that it rests, in the first instance, on the senses, +which may be deceived; or upon inference, which may be +erroneous. It is not merely that the infallibility of human +testimony discredits the miracles of the past. The +impossibility that human knowledge, that science, can ever +exhaust the possibilities of Nature, precludes the immediate +reference to the Supernatural for all time. It is pure +sophistry to argue, as do Canon Row and other defenders of +miracles, that ‘the laws of Nature are no more violated by +the performance of a miracle than they are by the activities of a +man.’ If these arguments of the special pleaders had +any force at all, it would simply amount to this: ‘The +activities of man’ being a part of nature, we have no +evidence of a supernatural being, which is the sole <i>raison +d’être</i> of miracle.</p> +<p>Yet thousands of men in these days who admit the force of +these objections continue, in spite of them, to pray. +Huxley, the foremost of ‘agnostics,’ speaks with the +utmost respect of his friend Charles Kingsley’s conviction +from experience of the efficacy of prayer. And Huxley +himself repeatedly assures us, in some form or other, that +‘the possibilities of “may be” are to me +infinite.’ The puzzle is, in truth, on a par with +that most insolvable of all puzzles—Free Will or +Determinism. Reason and the instinct of conscience are in +both cases irreconcilable. We are conscious that we are +always free to choose, though not to act; but reason will have it +that this is a delusion. There is no logical clue to the +<i>impasse</i>. Still, reason notwithstanding, we take our +freedom (within limits) for granted, and with like inconsequence +we pray.</p> +<p>It must, I think, be admitted that the belief, delusive or +warranted, is efficacious in itself. Whether generated in +the brain by the nerve centres, or whatever may be its origin, a +force coincident with it is diffused throughout the nervous +system, which converts the subject of it, just paralysed by +despair, into a vigorous agent, or, if you will, automaton.</p> +<p>Now, those who admit this much argue, with no little force, +that the efficacy of prayer is limited to its reaction upon +ourselves. Prayer, as already observed, implies belief in +supernatural intervention. Such belief is competent to +beget hope, and with it courage, energy, and effort. +Suppose contrition and remorse induce the sufferer to pray for +Divine aid and mercy, suppose suffering is the natural penalty of +his or her own misdeeds, and suppose the contrition and the +prayer lead to resistance of similar temptations, and hence to +greater happiness,—can it be said that the power to resist +temptation or endure the penalty are due to supernatural +aid? Or must we not infer that the fear of the consequences +of vice or folly, together with an earnest desire and intention +to amend, were adequate in themselves to account for the good +results?</p> +<p>Reason compels us to the latter conclusion. But what +then? Would this prove prayer to be delusive? Not +necessarily. That the laws of Nature (as argued above) are +not violated by miracle, is a mere perversion of the accepted +meaning of ‘miracle,’ an <i>ignoratio +elenchi</i>. But in the case of prayer that does not ask +for the abrogation of Nature’s laws, it ceases to be a +miracle that we pray for or expect: for are not the laws of the +mind also laws of Nature? And can we explain them any more +than we can explain physical laws? A psychologist can +formulate the mental law of association, but he can no more +explain it than Newton could explain the laws of attraction and +repulsion which pervade the world of matter. We do not +know, we cannot know, what the conditions of our spiritual being +are. The state of mind induced by prayer may, in accordance +with some mental law, be essential to certain modes of spiritual +energy, specially conducive to the highest of all moral or +spiritual results: taken in this sense, prayer may ask, not the +suspension, but the enactment, of some natural law.</p> +<p>Let it, however, be granted, for argument’s sake, that +the belief in the efficacy of prayer is delusive, and that the +beneficial effects of the belief—the exalted state of mind, +the enhanced power to endure suffering and resist temptation, the +happiness inseparable from the assurance that God hears, and can +and will befriend us—let it be granted that all this is due +to sheer hallucination, is this an argument against prayer? +Surely not. For, in the first place, the incontestable fact +that belief does produce these effects is for us an ultimate fact +as little capable of explanation as any physical law whatever; +and may, therefore, for aught we know, or ever can know, be +ordained by a Supreme Being. Secondly, all the beneficial +effects, including happiness, are as real in themselves as if the +belief were no delusion.</p> +<p>It may be said that a ‘fool’s paradise’ is +liable to be turned into a hell of disappointment; and that we +pay the penalty of building happiness on false foundations. +This is true in a great measure; but it is absolutely without +truth as regards our belief in prayer, for the simple reason that +if death dispel the delusion, it at the same time dispels the +deluded. However great the mistake, it can never be found +out. But they who make it will have been the better and the +happier while they lived.</p> +<p>For my part, though immeasurably preferring the pantheism of +Goethe, or of Renan (without his pessimism), to the +anthropomorphic God of the Israelites, or of their theosophic +legatees, the Christians, however inconsistent, I still believe +in prayer. I should not pray that I may not die ‘for +want of breath’; nor for rain, while ‘the wind was in +the wrong quarter.’ My prayers would not be like +those overheard, on his visit to Heaven, by Lucian’s +Menippus: ‘O Jupiter, let me become a king!’ +‘O Jupiter, let my onions and my garlic +thrive!’ ‘O Jupiter, let my father soon depart +from hence!’ But when the workings of my moral nature +were concerned, when I needed strength to bear the ills which +could not be averted, or do what conscience said was right, then +I should pray. And, if I had done my best in the same +direction, I should trust in the Unknowable for help.</p> +<p>Then too, is not gratitude to Heaven the best of +prayers? Unhappy he who has never felt it! Unhappier +still, who has never had cause to feel it!</p> +<p>It may be deemed unwarrantable thus to draw the lines between +what, for want of better terms, we call Material and +Spiritual. Still, reason is but the faculty of a very +finite being; and, as in the enigma of the will, utterly +incapable of solving any problems beyond those whose data are +furnished by the senses. Reason is essentially +realistic. Science is its domain. But science +demonstratively proves that things are not what they seem; their +phenomenal existence is nothing else than their relation to our +special intelligence. We speak and think as if the +discoveries of science were absolutely true, true in themselves, +not relatively so for us only. Yet, beings with senses +entirely different from ours would have an entirely different +science. For them, our best established axioms would be +inconceivable, would have no more meaning than that +‘Abracadabra is a second intention.’</p> +<p>Science, supported by reason, assures us that the laws of +nature—the laws of realistic phenomena—are never +suspended at the prayers of man. To this conclusion the +educated world is now rapidly coming. If, nevertheless, men +thoroughly convinced of this still choose to believe in the +efficacy of prayer, reason and science are incompetent to confute +them. The belief must be tried elsewhere,—it must be +transferred to the tribunal of conscience, or to a metaphysical +court, in which reason has no jurisdiction.</p> +<p>This by no means implies that reason, in its own province, is +to yield to the ‘feeling’ which so many cite as the +infallible authority for their ‘convictions.’</p> +<p>We must not be asked to assent to contradictory +propositions. We must not be asked to believe that +injustice, cruelty, and implacable revenge, are not execrable +because the Bible tells us they were habitually manifested by the +tribal god of the Israelites. The fables of man’s +fall and of the redemption are fraught with the grossest +violation of our moral conscience, and will, in time, be +repudiated accordingly. It is idle to say, as the Church +says, ‘these are mysteries above our human +reason.’ They are fictions, fabrications which modern +research has traced to their sources, and which no unperverted +mind would entertain for a moment. Fanatical belief in the +truth of such dogmas based upon ‘feeling’ have +confronted all who have gone through the severe ordeal of +doubt. A couple of centuries ago, those who held them would +have burnt alive those who did not. Now, they have to +console themselves with the comforting thought of the fire that +shall never be quenched. But even Job’s patience +could not stand the self-sufficiency of his pious +reprovers. The sceptic too may retort: ‘No doubt but +ye are the people, and wisdom shall die with you.’</p> +<p>Conviction of this kind is but the convenient substitute for +knowledge laboriously won, for the patient pursuit of truth at +all costs—a plea in short, for ignorance, indolence, +incapacity, and the rancorous bigotry begotten of them.</p> +<p>The distinction is not a purely sentimental one—not a +belief founded simply on emotion. There is a physical +world—the world as known to our senses, and there is a +psychical world—the world of feeling, consciousness, +thought, and moral life.</p> +<p>Granting, if it pleases you, that material phenomena may be +the causes of mental phenomena, that ‘la pensée est +le produit du corps entier,’ still the two cannot be +thought of as one. Until it can be proved that ‘there +is nothing in the world but matter, force, and +necessity,’—which will never be, till we know how we +lift our hands to our mouths,—there remains for us a world +of mystery, which reason never can invade.</p> +<p>It is a pregnant thought of John Mill’s, apropos of +material and mental interdependence or identity, ‘that the +uniform coexistence of one fact with another does not make the +one fact a part of the other, or the same with it.’</p> +<p>A few words of Renan’s may help to support the +argument. ‘Ce qui révèle le vrai Dieu, +c’est le sentiment moral. Si l’humanité +n’était qu’intelligente, elle serait +athée. Le devoir, le dévouement, le +sacrifice, toutes choses dont l’histoire est pleine, sont +inexplicables sans Dieu.’ For all these we need +help. Is it foolishness to pray for it? Perhaps +so. Yet, perhaps not; for ‘Tout est possible, +même Dieu.’</p> +<p>Whether possible, or impossible, this much is absolutely +certain: man must and will have a religion as long as this world +lasts. Let us not fear truth. Criticism will change +men’s dogmas, but it will not change man’s +nature.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">My</span> confidence was restored, and +with it my powers of endurance. Sleep was out of the +question. The night was bright and frosty; and there was +not heat enough in my body to dry my flannel shirt. I made +shift to pull up some briar bushes; and, piling them round me as +a screen, got some little shelter from the light breeze. +For hours I lay watching Alpha Centauri—the double star of +the Great Bear’s pointers—dipping under the Polar +star like the hour hand of a clock. My thoughts, strange to +say, ran little on the morrow; they dwelt almost solely upon +William Nelson. How far was I responsible, to what extent +to blame, for leading him, against his will, to death? I +re-enacted the whole event. Again he was in my hands, still +breathing when I let him go, knowing, as I did so, that the deed +consigned him living to his grave. In this way I passed the +night.</p> +<p>Just as the first streaks of the longed-for dawn broke in the +East, I heard distant cries which sounded like the whoops of +Indians. Then they ceased, but presently began again much +nearer than before. There was no mistake about them +now,—they were the yappings of a pack of wolves, clearly +enough, upon our track of yesterday. A few minutes more, +and the light, though still dim, revealed their presence coming +on at full gallop. In vain I sought for stick or +stone. Even the river, though I took to it, would not save +me if they meant mischief. When they saw me they slackened +their pace. I did not move. They then halted, and +forming a half-moon some thirty yards off, squatted on their +haunches, and began at intervals to throw up their heads and +howl.</p> +<p>My chief hope was in the coming daylight. They were less +likely to attack a man then than in the dark. I had often +met one or two together when hunting; these had always +bolted. But I had never seen a pack before; and I knew a +pack meant that they were after food. All depended on their +hunger.</p> +<p>When I kept still they got up, advanced a yard or two, then +repeated their former game. Every minute the light grew +stronger; its warmer tints heralded the rising sun. Seeing, +however, that my passivity encouraged them, and convinced that a +single step in retreat would bring the pack upon me, I determined +in a moment of inspiration to run amuck, and trust to Providence +for the consequences. Flinging my arms wildly into the air, +and frantically yelling with all my lungs, I dashed straight in +for the lot of them. They were, as I expected, taken by +surprise. They jumped to their feet and turned tail, but +again stopped—this time farther off, and howled with +vexation at having to wait till their prey succumbed.</p> +<p>The sun rose. Samson was on the move. I shouted to +him, and he to me. Finding me thus reinforced the enemy +slunk off, and I was not sorry to see the last of my ugly +foes. I now repeated my instructions about our trysting +place, waited patiently till Samson had breakfasted (which he did +with the most exasperating deliberation), saw him saddle my horse +and leave his camp. I then started upon my travels up the +river, to meet him. After a mile or so, the high ground on +both banks obliged us to make some little detour. We then +lost sight of each other; nor was he to be seen when I reached +the appointed spot.</p> +<p>Long before I did so I began to feel the effects of my +labours. My naked feet were in a terrible state from the +cactus thorns, which I had been unable to avoid in the dark; +occasional stones, too, had bruised and made them very +tender. Unable to shuffle on at more than two miles an hour +at fastest, the happy thought occurred to me of tearing up my +shirt and binding a half round each foot. This enabled me +to get on much better; but when the September sun was high, my +unprotected skin and head paid the penalty. I waited for a +couple of hours, I dare say, hoping Samson would appear. +But concluding at length that he had arrived long before me, +through the slowness of my early progress, and had gone further +up the river—thinking perhaps that I had meant some other +place—I gave him up; and, full of internal +‘d—n’ at his incorrigible consistency, plodded +on and on for—I knew not where.</p> +<p>Why, it may be asked, did I not try to cross where I had +intended? I must confess my want of courage. True, +the river here was not half, not a third, of the width of the +scene of my disasters; but I was weak in body and in mind. +Had anything human been on the other side to see me—to see +how brave I was, (alas! poor human nature!)—I could have +plucked up heart to risk it. It would have been such a +comfort to have some one to see me drown! But it is +difficult to play the hero with no spectators save oneself. +I shall always have a fellow-feeling with the Last Man: +practically, my position was about as uncomfortable as his will +be.</p> +<p>One of the worst features of it was, what we so often suffered +from before—the inaccessibility of water. The sun was +broiling, and the and soil reflected its scorching rays. I +was feverish from exhaustion, and there was nothing, nothing to +look forward to. Mile after mile I crawled along, sometimes +half disposed to turn back, and try the deep but narrow passage; +then that inexhaustible fountain of last hopes—the +Unknown—tempted me to go forward. I persevered; when +behold! as I passed a rock, an Indian stood before me.</p> +<p>He was as naked as I was. Over his shoulder he carried a +spear as long as a salmon rod. Though neither had foreseen +the other, he was absolutely unmoved, showed no surprise, no +curiosity, no concern. He stood still, and let me come up +to him. My only, or rather my uppermost, feeling was +gladness. Of course the thought crossed me of what he might +do if he owed the white skins a grudge. If any white man +had ever harmed one of his tribe, I was at his mercy; and it was +certain that he would show me none. He was a tall powerful +man, and in my then condition he could have done what he pleased +with me. Friday was my model; the red man was Robinson +Crusoe. I kneeled at his feet, and touched the ground with +my forehead. He did not seem the least elated by my +humility: there was not a spark of vanity in him. Indeed, +except for its hideousness and brutality, his face was without +expression.</p> +<p>I now proceeded to make a drawing, with my finger, in the +sand, of a mule in the water; while I imitated by pantomime the +struggles of the drowning. I then pointed to myself; and, +using my arms as in swimming, shook my head and my finger to +signify that I could not swim. I worked an imaginary +paddle, and made him understand that I wanted him to paddle me +across the river. Still he remained unmoved; till finally I +used one argument which interested him more than all the rest of +my story. I untied a part of the shirt round one foot and +showed him three gold studs. These I took out and gave to +him. I also made a drawing of a rifle in the sand, and +signified that he would get the like if he went with me to my +camp. Whereupon he turned in the direction I was going; +and, though unbidden by a look, I did not hesitate to follow.</p> +<p>I thought I must have dropped before we reached his +village. This was an osier-bed at the water’s side, +where the whole river rushed through a rocky gorge not more than +fifty to sixty yards broad. There were perhaps nearly a +hundred Indians here, two-thirds of whom were women and +children. Their habitations were formed by interlacing the +tops of the osiers. Dogs’ skins spread upon the +ground and numerous salmon spears were their only +furniture. In a few minutes my arrival created a prodigious +commotion. The whole population turned out to stare at +me. The children ran into the bushes to hide. But +feminine curiosity conquered feminine timidity. Although I +was in the plight of the forlorn Odysseus after his desperate +swim, I had no ‘blooming foliage’ to wind +<i>περὶ χροῒ +μήδεα +φωτός</i>. Unlike the +Phæacian maidens, however, the tawny nymphs were all as +brave as Princess Nausicaa herself. They stared, and +pointed, and buzzed, and giggled, and even touched my skin with +the tips of their fingers—to see, I suppose, if the white +would come off.</p> +<p>But ravenous hunger turned up its nose at flirtation. +The fillets of drying salmon suspended from every bough were a +million times more seductive than the dark Naiads who had dressed +them. Slice after slice I tore down and devoured, as though +my maw were as compendious as Jack the Giant +Killer’s. This so astonished and delighted the young +women that they kept supplying me,—with the expectation, +perhaps, that sooner or later I must share the giant’s +fate.</p> +<p>While this was going on, a conference was being held; and I +had the satisfaction of seeing some men pull up a lot of dead +rushes, dexterously tie them into bundles, and truss these +together by means of spears. They had no canoes, for the +very children were amphibious, living, so it seemed, as much in +the water as out of it. When the raft was completed, I was +invited to embark. My original friend, who had twisted a +tow-rope, took this between his teeth, and led the way. +Others swam behind and beside me to push and to pull. The +force of the water was terrific; but they seemed to care no more +for that than fish. My weight sunk the rush bundles a good +bit below the surface; and to try my nerves, my crew every now +and then with a wild yell dived simultaneously, dragging the raft +and me under water. But I sat tight; and with genuine +friendliness they landed me safely on the desired shore.</p> +<p>It was quite dark before we set forth. Robinson Crusoe +walked on as if he knew exactly where my camp was. Probably +the whole catastrophe had by this time been bruited for miles +above and below the spot. Five other stalwart young fellows +kept us company, each with salmon spear in hand. The walk +seemed interminable; but I had shipped a goodly cargo of latent +energy.</p> +<p>When I got home, instead of Samson, I found the camp occupied +by half a dozen Indians. They were squatted round a fire, +smoking. Each one, so it seemed, had appropriated some +article of our goods. Our blankets were over their +shoulders. One had William’s long rifle in his +lap. Another was sitting upon mine. A few words were +exchanged with the newcomers, who seated themselves beside their +friends; but no more notice was taken of me than of the mules +which were eating rushes close to us. How was I, +single-handed, to regain possession? That was the burning +question. A diplomatic course commanded itself as the only +possible one. There were six men who expected rewards, but +the wherewithal was held in seisin by other six. The fight, +if there were one, should be between the two parties. I +would hope to prove, that when thieves fall out honest men come +by their own.</p> +<p>There is one adage whose truth I needed no further proof +of. Its first line apostrophises the ‘Gods and little +fishes.’ My chief need was for the garment which +completes the rhyme. Indians, having no use for corduroy +small clothes, I speedily donned mine. Next I quietly but +quickly snatched up William’s rifle, and presented it to +Robinson Crusoe, patting him on the back as if with honours of +knighthood. The dispossessed was not well pleased, but Sir +Robinson was; and, to all appearances, he was a man of leading, +if of darkness. While words were passing between the two, I +sauntered round to the gentleman who sat cross-legged upon my +weapon. He was as heedless of me as I, outwardly, of +him. When well within reach, mindful that ‘<i>de +l’audace</i>’ is no bad motto, in love and war, I +suddenly placed my foot upon his chest, tightened the extensor +muscle of my leg, and sent him heels over head. In an +instant the rifle was mine, and both barrels cocked. After +yesterday’s immersion it might not have gone off, but the +offended Indian, though furious, doubtless inferred from the +histrionic attitude which I at once struck, that I felt confident +it would. With my rifle in hand, with my suite looking to +me to transfer the plunder to them, my position was now +secure. I put on a shirt—the only one left to me, by +the way—my shoes and stockings, and my shooting coat; and +picking out William’s effects, divided these, with his +ammunition, his carpet-bag, and his blankets, amongst my original +friends. I was beginning to gather my own things together, +when Samson, leading my horse, unexpectedly rode into the midst +of us. The night was far advanced. The Indians took +their leave; and added to the obligation by bequeathing us a +large fresh salmon, which served us for many a day to come.</p> +<p>As a postscript I may add that I found poor Mary’s +address on one of her letters, and faithfully kept my promise as +soon as I reached pen and ink.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">What</span> remains to be told will not +take long. Hardships naturally increased as the means of +bearing them diminished. I have said the salmon held out +for many days. We cut it in strips, and dried it as well as +we could; but the flies and maggots robbed us of a large portion +of it. At length we were reduced to two small hams; nothing +else except a little tea. Guessing the distance we had yet +to go, and taking into account our slow rate of travelling, I +calculated the number of days which, with the greatest economy, +these could be made to last. Allowing only one meal a day, +and that of the scantiest, I scored the hams as a cook scores a +leg of roast pork, determined under no circumstances to exceed +the daily ration.</p> +<p>No little discipline was requisite to adhere to this +resolution. Samson broke down under the exposure and +privation; superadded dysentery rendered him all but helpless, +and even affected his mind. The whole labour of the camp +then devolved on me. I never roused him in the morning till +the mules were packed—with all but his blanket and the +pannikin for his tea—and until I had saddled his horse for +him. Not till we halted at night did we get our ration of +ham. This he ate, or rather bolted, raw, like a wild +beast. My share I never touched till after I lay down to +sleep. And so tired have I been, that once or twice I woke +in the morning with my hand at my mouth, the unswallowed morsel +between my teeth. For three weeks we went on in this way, +never exchanging a word. I cannot say how I might have +behaved had Fred been in Samson’s place. I hope I +should have been at least humane. But I was labouring for +my life, and was not over tender-hearted.</p> +<p>Certainly there was enough to try the patience of a better +man. Take an instance. Unable one morning to find my +own horse, I saddled his and started him off, so as not to waste +time, with his spare animal and the three mules. It so +happened that our line of march was rather tortuous, owing to +some hills we had to round. Still, as there were high +mountains in the distance which we were making for, it seemed +impossible that anyone could miss his way. It was twenty +minutes, perhaps, before I found my horse; this would give him +about a mile or more start of me. I hurried on, but failed +to overtake him. At the end of an hour I rode to the top of +a hill which commanded a view of the course he should have +taken. Not a moving speck was to be seen. I knew then +that he had gone astray. But in which direction?</p> +<p>My heart sank within me. The provisions and blankets +were with him. I do not think that at any point of my +journey I had ever felt fear—panic that is—till +now. Starvation stared me in the face. My wits +refused to suggest a line of action. I was stunned. I +felt then what I have often felt since, what I still feel, that +it is possible to wrestle successfully with every difficulty that +man has overcome, but not with that supreme +difficulty—man’s stupidity. It did not then +occur to me to give a name to the impatience that seeks to gather +grapes of thorns or figs of thistles.</p> +<p>I turned back, retraced my steps till I came to the track of +the mules. Luckily the ground retained the footprints, +though sometimes these would be lost for a hundred yards or +so. Just as I anticipated—Samson had wound round the +base of the very first hill he came to; then, instead of +correcting the deviation, and steering for the mountains, had +simply followed his nose, and was now travelling due +east,—in other words, was going back over our track of the +day before. It was past noon when I overtook him, so that a +precious day’s labour was lost.</p> +<p>I said little, but that little was a sentence of death.</p> +<p>‘After to-day,’ I began, ‘we will travel +separately.’</p> +<p>At first he seemed hardly to take in my meaning. I +explained it.</p> +<p>‘As well as I can make out, before we get to the Dalles, +where we ought to find the American outposts, we have only about +150 miles to go. This should not take more than eight or +nine days. I can do it in a week alone, but not with +you. I have come to the conclusion that with you I may not +be able to do it at all. We have still those +mountains’—pointing to the Blue Mountain range in the +distance—‘to cross. They are covered with snow, +as you see. We may find them troublesome. In any case +our food will only last eight or nine days more, even at the +present rate. You shall have the largest half of what is +left, for you require more than I do. But I cannot, and +will not, sacrifice my life for your sake. I have made up +my mind to leave you.’</p> +<p>It must always be a terrible thing for a judge to pass the +sentence of death. But then he is fulfilling a duty, merely +carrying out a law which is not of his making. Moreover, he +has no option—the responsibility rests with the jury; last +of all, the sufferer is a criminal. Between the +judge’s case and mine there was no analogy. My act +was a purely selfish one—justifiable I still think, though +certainly not magnanimous. I was quite aware of this at the +time, but a starving man is not burdened with generosity.</p> +<p>I dismounted, and, without unsaddling the mules, took off +their packs, now reduced to a few pounds, which was all the +wretched, raw-backed, and half-dead, animals could stagger under; +and, putting my blanket, the remains of a ham, and a little +packet of tea—some eight or ten tea-spoonfuls—on one +mule, I again prepared to mount my horse and depart.</p> +<p>I took, as it were, a sneaking glance at Samson. He was +sitting upon the ground, with his face between his knees, +sobbing.</p> +<p>At three-and-twenty the heart of a man, or of a woman—if +either has any, which, of course, may be doubtful—is apt to +play the dynamite with his or her resolves. Water-drops +have ever been formidable weapons of the latter, as we all know; +and, not being so accustomed to them then as I have become since, +the sight of the poor devil’s abject woe and destitution, +the thought that illness and suffering were the causes, the +secret whisper that my act was a cowardly one, forced me to +follow the lines of least resistance, and submit to the decrees +of destiny.</p> +<p>One more page from my ‘Ride,’ and the reader will, +I think, have a fair conception of its general character. +For the last two hours the ascent of the Blue Mountains had been +very steep. We were in a thick pine forest. There was +a track—probably made by Indians. Near the summit we +found a spring of beautiful water. Here we halted for the +night. It was a snug spot. But, alas! there was +nothing for the animals to eat except pine needles. We +lighted our fire against the great up-torn roots of a fallen +tree; and, though it was freezing hard, we piled on such masses +of dead boughs that the huge blaze seemed to warm the surrounding +atmosphere.</p> +<p>I must here give the words of my journal, for one exclamation +in it has a sort of schoolboy ring that recalls the buoyancy of +youthful spirits, the spirits indeed to which in early life we +owe our enterprise and perseverance:</p> +<p>‘As I was dozing off, a pack of hungry wolves that had +scented us out set up the most infernal chorus ever heard. +In vain I pulled the frozen buffalo-robe over my head, and tried +to get to sleep. The demons drew nearer and nearer, +howling, snarling, fighting, moaning, and making a row in the +perfect stillness which reigned around, as if hell itself were +loose. For some time I bore it with patience. At +length, jumping up, I yelled in a voice that made the valley +ring: You devils! will you be quiet? The appeal was +immediately answered by silence; but hearing them tuning up for a +second concert, I threw some wood on the blazing fire and once +more retired to my lair. For a few minutes I lay awake to +admire a brilliant Aurora Borealis shooting out its streams of +electric light. Then, turning over on my side, I never +moved again till dawn.’</p> +<p>The first objects that caught my eye were the animals. +They were huddled together within a couple of yards of where we +lay. It was a horrible sight. Two out of the three +mules, and Samson’s horse, had been attacked by the +wolves. The flanks of the horse were terribly torn, and the +entrails of both the mules were partially hanging out. +Though all three were still standing with their backs arched, +they were rapidly dying from loss of blood. My dear little +‘Strawberry’—as we called him to match +William’s ‘Cream’ and my mare were both +intact.</p> +<p>A few days after this, Samson’s remaining horse gave +out. I had to surrender what remained of my poor beast in +order to get my companion through. The last fifty miles of +the journey I performed on foot; sometimes carrying my rifle to +relieve the staggering little mule of a few pounds extra +weight. At long last the Dalles hove in sight. And +our cry, ‘The tents! the tents!’ echoed the joyous +‘Thalassa! Thalassa!’ of the weary Greeks.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Where</span> is the tent of the +commanding officer?’ I asked of the first soldier I came +across.</p> +<p>He pointed to one on the hillside. ‘Ags for Major +Dooker,’ was the Dutch-accented answer.</p> +<p>Bidding Samson stay where he was, I made my way as +directed. A middle-aged officer in undress uniform was +sitting on an empty packing-case in front of his tent, whittling +a piece of its wood.</p> +<p>‘Pray sir,’ said I in my best Louis Quatorze +manner, ‘have I the pleasure of speaking to Major +Dooker?’</p> +<p>‘Tucker, sir. And who the devil are +you?’</p> +<p>Let me describe what the Major saw: A man wasted by starvation +to skin and bone, blackened, almost, by months of exposure to +scorching suns; clad in the shreds of what had once been a shirt, +torn by every kind of convict labour, stained by mud and the +sweat and sores of mules; the rags of a shooting coat to match; +no head covering; hands festering with sores, and which for weeks +had not touched water—if they could avoid it. Such an +object, in short, as the genius of a Phil May could alone have +depicted as the most repulsive object he could imagine.</p> +<p>‘Who the devil are you?’</p> +<p>‘An English gentleman, sir, travelling for +pleasure.’</p> +<p>He smiled. ‘You look more like a wild +beast.’</p> +<p>‘I am quite tame, sir, I assure you—could even eat +out of your hand if I had a chance.’</p> +<p>‘Is your name Coke?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ was my amazed reply.</p> +<p>‘Then come with me—I will show you something that +may surprise you.’</p> +<p>I followed him to a neighbouring tent. He drew aside the +flap of it, and there on his blanket lay Fred Calthorpe, snoring +in perfect bliss.</p> +<p>Our greetings were less restrained than our parting had +been. We were truly glad to meet again. He had +arrived just two days before me, although he had been at Salt +Lake City. But he had been able there to refit, had +obtained ample supplies and fresh animals. Curiously +enough, his Nelson—the French-Canadian—had also been +drowned in crossing the Snake River. His place, however, +had been filled by another man, and Jacob had turned out a +treasure. The good fellow greeted me warmly. And it +was no slight compensation for bygone troubles to be assured by +him that our separation had led to the final triumphal +success.</p> +<p>Fred and I now shared the same tent. To show what habit +will do, it was many days before I could accustom myself to sleep +under cover of a tent even, and in preference slept, as I had +done for five months, under the stars. The officers +liberally furnished us with clothing. But their excessive +hospitality more nearly proved fatal to me than any peril I had +met with. One’s stomach had quite lost its +discretion. And forgetting that</p> +<blockquote><p>Famished people must be slowly nursed,<br /> +And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>one never knew when to leave off eating. For a few days +I was seriously ill.</p> +<p>An absurd incident occurred to me here which might have had an +unpleasant ending. Every evening, after dinner in the mess +tent, we played whist. One night, quite by accident, Fred +and I happened to be partners. The Major and another +officer made up the four. The stakes were rather +high. We two had had an extraordinary run of luck. +The Major’s temper had been smouldering for some +time. Presently the deal fell to me; and as bad luck would +have it, I dealt myself a handful of trumps, and—all four +honours. As the last of these was played, the now blazing +Major dashed his cards on the table, and there and then called me +out. The cooler heads of two or three of the others, with +whom Fred had had time to make friends, to say nothing of the +usual roar of laughter with which he himself heard the challenge, +brought the matter to a peaceful issue. The following day +one of the officers brought me a graceful apology.</p> +<p>As may readily be supposed, we had no hankering for further +travels such as we had gone through. San Francisco was our +destination; but though as unknown to us as Charles Lamb’s +‘Stranger,’ we ‘damned’ the overland +route ‘at a venture’; and settled, as there was no +alternative, to go in a trading ship to the Sandwich Islands +thence, by the same means, to California.</p> +<p>On October 20 we procured a canoe large enough for seven or +eight persons; and embarking with our light baggage, Fred, +Samson, and I, took leave of the Dalles. For some miles the +great river, the Columbia, runs through the Cascade Mountains, +and is confined, as heretofore, in a channel of basaltic +rock. Further down it widens, and is ornamented by groups +of small wooded islands. On one of these we landed to rest +our Indians and feed. Towards evening we again put ashore, +at an Indian village, where we camped for the night. The +scenery here is magnificent. It reminded me a little of the +Danube below Linz, or of the finest parts of the Elbe in Saxon +Switzerland. But this is to compare the full-length +portrait with the miniature. It is the grandeur of the +scale of the best of the American scenery that so strikes the +European. Variety, however, has its charms; and before one +has travelled fifteen hundred miles on the same river—as +one may easily do in America—one begins to sigh for the +Rhine, or even for a trip from London to Greenwich, with a +white-bait dinner at the end of it.</p> +<p>The day after, we descended the Cascades. They are the +beginning of an immense fall in the level, and form a succession +of rapids nearly two miles long. The excitement of this +passage is rather too great for pleasure. It is like being +run away with by a ‘motor’ down a steep hill. +The bow of the canoe is often several feet below the stern, as if +about to take a ‘header.’ The water, in glassy +ridges and dark furrows, rushes headlong, and dashes itself madly +against the reefs which crop up everywhere. There is no +time, one thinks, to choose a course, even if steerage, which +seems absurd, were possible. One is hurled along at railway +speed. The upreared rock, that a moment ago seemed a +hundred yards off, is now under the very bow of the canoe. +One clenches one’s teeth, holds one’s breath, +one’s hour is surely come. But no—a shout from +the Indians, a magic stroke of the paddle in the bow, another in +the stern, and the dreaded crag is far above out heads, far, far +behind; and, for the moment, we are gliding +on—undrowned.</p> +<p>At the lower end of the rapids (our Indians refusing to go +further), we had to debark. A settler here was putting up a +zinc house for a store. Two others, with an officer of the +Mounted Rifles—the regiment we had left at the +Dalles—were staying with him. They welcomed our +arrival, and insisted on our drinking half a dozen of poisonous +stuff they called champagne. There were no chairs or table +in the ‘house,’ nor as yet any floor; and only the +beginning of a roof. We sat on the ground, so that I was +able surreptitiously to make libations with my share, to the +earth.</p> +<p>According to my journal: ‘In a short time the party +began to be a noisy one. Healths were drunk, toasts +proposed, compliments to our respective nationalities paid in the +most flattering terms. The Anglo-Saxon race were destined +to conquer the globe. The English were the greatest nation +under the sun—that is to say, they had been. America, +of course, would take the lead in time to come. We disputed +this. The Americans were certain of it, in fact this was +already an accomplished fact. The big officer—a +genuine “heavy”—wanted to know where the man +was that would give him the lie! Wasn’t the Mounted +Rifles the crack regiment of the United States army? And +wasn’t the United States army the finest army in the +universe? Who that knew anything of history would compare +the Peninsular Campaign to the war in Mexico? Talk of +Waterloo—Britishers were mighty fond of swaggering about +Waterloo! Let ’em look at Chepultapec. As for +Wellington, he couldn’t shine nohow with General Scott, nor +old Zack neither!’</p> +<p>Then, <i>we</i> wished for a war, just to let them see what +our crack cavalry regiments could do. Mounted Rifles +forsooth! Mounted costermongers! whose trade it was to sell +‘nutmegs made of wood, and clocks that wouldn’t +figure.’ Then some pretty forcible profanity was +vented, fists were shaken, and the zinc walls were struck, till +they resounded like the threatened thunder of artillery.</p> +<p>But Fred’s merry laughter diverted the tragic end. +It was agreed that there had been too much tall talk. +Britishers and Americans were not such fools as to quarrel. +Let everybody drink everybody else’s health. A +gentleman in the corner (he needed the support of both walls) +thought it wasn’t good to ‘liquor up’ too much +on an empty stomach; he put it to the house that we should have +supper. The motion was carried <i>nem. con.</i>, and a +Dutch cheese was produced with much <i>éclat</i>. +Samson coupled the ideas of Dutch cheeses and Yankee +hospitality. This revived the flagging spirit of +emulation. On one side, it was thought that British manners +were susceptible of amendment. Confusion was then +respectively drunk to Yankee hospitality, English manners, +and—this was an addition of Fred’s—to Dutch +cheeses. After which, to change the subject, a song was +called for, and a gentleman who shall be nameless, for there was +a little mischief in the choice, sang ‘Rule +Britannia.’ Not being encored, the singer drank to +the flag that had braved the battle and the breeze for nearly +ninety years. ‘Here’s to Uncle Sam, and his +stars and stripes.’ The mounted officer rose to his +legs (with difficulty) and declared ‘that he could not, and +would not, hear his country insulted any longer. He begged +to challenge the “crowd.” He regretted the +necessity, but his feelings had been wounded, and he could +not—no, he positively could not stand it.’ A +slight push from Samson proved the fact—the speaker fell, +to rise no more. The rest of the company soon followed his +example, and shortly afterwards there was no sound but that of +the adjacent rapids.</p> +<p>Early next morning the settler’s boat came up, and took +us a mile down the river, where we found a larger one to convey +us to Fort Vancouver. The crew were a Maltese sailor and a +man who had been in the United States army. Each had his +private opinions as to her management. Naturally, the +Maltese should have been captain, but the soldier was both +supercargo and part owner, and though it was blowing hard and the +sails were fully large, the foreigner, who was but a poor little +creature, had to obey orders.</p> +<p>As the river widened and grew rougher, we were wetted from +stem to stern at every plunge; and when it became evident that +the soldier could not handle the sails if the Maltese was kept at +the helm, the heavy rifleman who was on board, declaring that he +knew the river, took upon himself to steer us. In a few +minutes the boat was nearly swamped. The Maltese prayed and +blasphemed in language which no one understood. The oaths +of the soldier were intelligible enough. The +‘heavy,’ now alarmed, nervously asked what had better +be done. My advice was to grease the bowsprit, let go the +mast, and splice the main brace. ‘In another minute +or two,’ I added, ‘you’ll steer us all to the +bottom.’</p> +<p>Fred, who thought it no time for joking, called the rifleman a +‘damned fool,’ and authoritatively bade him give up +the tiller; saying that I had been in Her Majesty’s Navy, +and perhaps knew a little more about boats than he did. To +this the other replied that ‘he didn’t want anyone to +learn him; he reckon’d he’d been raised to boating as +well as the next man, and he’d be derned if he was going to +trust his life to anybody!’ Samson, thinking no doubt +of his own, took his pipe out of his mouth, and towering over the +steersman, flung him like a child on one side. In an +instant I was in his place.</p> +<p>It was a minute or two before the boat had way enough to +answer the helm. By that time we were within a dozen yards +of a reef. Having noticed, however, that the little craft +was quick in her stays, I kept her full till the last, put the +helm down, and round she spun in a moment. Before I could +thank my stars, the pintle, or hook on which the rudder hangs, +broke off. The tiller was knocked out of my hand, and the +boat’s head flew into the wind. ‘Out with the +sweeps,’ I shouted. But the sweeps were under the +gear. All was confusion and panic. The two men cursed +in the names of their respective saints. The +‘heavy’ whined, ‘I told you how it w’d +be.’ Samson struggled valiantly to get at an oar, +while Fred, setting the example, begged all hands to be calm, and +be ready to fend the stern off the rocks with a boathook. +As we drifted into the surf I was wondering how many bumps she +would stand before she went to pieces. Happily the water +shallowed, and the men, by jumping overboard, managed to drag the +boat through the breakers under the lee of the point. We +afterwards drew her up on to the beach, kindled a fire, got out +some provisions, and stayed till the storm was over.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">What</span> was then called Fort Vancouver +was a station of the Hudson’s Bay Company. We took up +our quarters here till one of the company’s +vessels—the ‘Mary Dare,’ a brig of 120 tons, +was ready to sail for the Sandwich Islands. This was about +the most uncomfortable trip I ever made. A sailing merchant +brig of 120 tons, deeply laden, is not exactly a pleasure yacht; +and 2,000 miles is a long voyage. For ten days we lay at +anchor at the mouth of the Columbia, detained by westerly +gales. A week after we put to sea, all our fresh provisions +were consumed, and we had to live on our cargo—dried +salmon. We three and the captain more than filled the +little hole of a cabin. There wasn’t even a hammock, +and we had to sleep on the deck, or on the lockers. The +fleas, the cockroaches, and the rats, romped over and under one +all night. Not counting the time it took to go down the +river, or the ten days we were kept at its mouth, we were just +six weeks at sea before we reached Woahoo, on Christmas Day.</p> +<p>How beautiful the islands looked as we passed between them, +with a fair wind and studding sails set alow and aloft. +Their tropical charms seemed more glowing, the water bluer, the +palm trees statelier, the vegetation more libertine than +ever. On the south the land rises gradually from the shore +to a range of lofty mountains. Immediately behind +Honolulu—the capital—a valley with a road winding up +it leads to the north side of the island. This valley is, +or was then, richly cultivated, principally with <i>taro</i>, a +large root not unlike the yam. Here and there native huts +were dotted about, with gardens full of flowers, and abundance of +tropical fruit. Higher up, where it becomes too steep for +cultivation, growth of all kind is rampant. Acacias, +oranges, maples, bread-fruit, and sandal-wood trees, rear their +heads above the tangled ever-greens. The high peaks, +constantly in the clouds, arrest the moisture of the ocean +atmosphere, and countless rills pour down the mountain sides, +clothing everything in perpetual verdure. The climate is +one of the least changeable in the world; the sea breeze blows +day and night, and throughout the year the day temperature does +not vary more than five or six degrees, the average being about +eighty-three degrees Fahrenheit in the shade. In 1850 the +town of Honolulu was little else than a native village of grass +and mat huts. Two or three merchants had good houses. +In one of these Fred and Samson were domiciled; there was no such +thing as a hotel. I was the guest of General Miller, the +Consul-General. What changes may have taken place since the +above date I have no means of knowing. So far as the +natives go, the change will assuredly have been for the worse; +for the aborigines, in all parts of the world, lose their +primitive simplicity and soon acquire the worst vices of +civilisation.</p> +<p>Even King Tamehameha III. was not innocent of one of +them. General Miller offered to present us at court, but he +had to give several days’ notice in order that his Majesty +might be sufficiently sober to receive us. A negro tailor +from the United States fitted us out with suits of black, and on +the appointed day we put ourselves under the shade of the old +General’s cocked hat, and marched in a body to the +palace. A native band, in which a big drum had the leading +part, received us with ‘God save the +Queen’—whether in honour of King Tamy, or of his +visitors, was not divulged. We were first introduced to a +number of chiefs in European uniforms—except as to their +feet, which were mostly bootless. Their names sounded like +those of the state officers in Mr. Gilbert’s +‘Mikado.’ I find in my journal one entered as +Tovey-tovey, another as Kanakala. We were then conducted to +the presence chamber by the Foreign Minister, Mr. Wiley, a very +pronounced Scotch gentleman with a star of the first magnitude on +his breast. The King was dressed as an English +admiral. The Queen, whose ample undulations also reminded +one of the high seas, was on his right; while in perfect +gradation on her right again were four princesses in short frocks +and long trousers, with plaited tails tied with blue ribbon, like +the Miss Kenwigs. A little side dispute arose between the +stiff old General and the Foreign Minister as to whose right it +was to present us. The Consul carried the day; but the +Scot, not to be beaten, informed Tamehameha, in a long prefatory +oration, of the object of the ceremony. Taking one of us by +the hand (I thought the peppery old General would have thrust him +aside), Mr. Wiley told the King that it was seldom the Sandwich +Islands were ‘veesited’ by strangers of such +‘desteenction’—that the Duke of this (referring +to Fred’s relations), and Lord the other, were the greatest +noblemen in the world; then, with much solemnity, quoted a long +speech from Shakespeare, and handed us over to his rival.</p> +<p>His Majesty, who did not understand a word of English, or +Scotch, looked grave and held tight to the arm of the throne; for +the truth is, that although he had relinquished his bottle for +the hour, he had brought its contents with him. My salaam +was soon made; but as I retired backwards I had the misfortune to +set my heel on the toes of a black-and-tan terrier, a privileged +pet of the General’s. The shriek of the animal and +the loss of my equilibrium nearly precipitated me into the arms +of a trousered princess; but the amiable young lady only +laughed. Thus ended my glimpse of the Hawaian Court. +Mr. Wiley afterwards remarked to me: ‘We do things in a +humble way, ye’ll obsairve; but royalty is royalty all over +the world, and His Majesty Tamehameha is as much Keng of his ain +domeenions as Victoria is Queen of Breetain.’ The +relativity of greatness was not to be denied.</p> +<p>The men—Kanakas, as they are called—are fine +stalwart fellows above our average height. The only +clothing they then wore was the <i>maro</i>, a cloth made by +themselves of the acacia bark. This they pass between the +legs, and once or twice round the loins. The +<i>Wyheenes</i>—women—formerly wore nothing but a +short petticoat or kilt of the same material. By persuasion +of the missionaries they have exchanged this simple garment for a +chemise of printed calico, with the waist immediately under the +arms so as to conceal the contour of the figure. Other +clothing have they none.</p> +<p>Are they the more chaste? Are they the less +seductive? Hear what M. Anatole France says in his +apostrophe to the sex: ‘Pour faire de vous la terrible +merveille que vous êtes aujourd’hui, pour devenir la +cause indifférente et souveraine des sacrifices et des +crimes, il vous a fallu deux choses: la civilisation qui vous +donna des voiles, et la religion qui vous donna des +scrupules.’ The translation of which is (please take +note of it, my dear young ladies with ‘les épaules +qui ne finissent pas’):</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Heard melodies are sweet, but those +unheard<br /> +Are sweeter.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Be this as it may, these chocolate-skinned beauties, with +their small and regular features, their rosy lips, their perfect +teeth—of which they take great care—their luxurious +silky tresses, their pretty little hands and naked feet, and +their exquisite forms, would match the matchless Cleopatra.</p> +<p>Through the kindness of Fred’s host, the principal +merchant in the island, we were offered an opportunity of +becoming acquainted with the <i>élite</i> of the Honolulu +nymphs. Mr. S. invited us to what is called a <i>Loohou</i> +feast got up by him for their entertainment. The head of +one of the most picturesque valleys in Woahoo was selected for +the celebration of this ancient festival. Mounted on horses +with which Mr. S. had furnished us, we repaired in a party to the +appointed spot. It was early in the afternoon when we +reached it; none of the guests had arrived, excepting a few +Kanakas, who were engaged in thatching an old shed as shelter +from the sun, and strewing the ground with a thick carpet of +palm-leaves. Ere long, a cavalcade of between thirty and +forty amazons—they all rode astride—came racing up +the valley at full speed, their merry shouts proclaiming their +approach. Gaudy strips of <i>maro</i> were loosely folded +around their legs for skirts. Their pretty little straw +hats trimmed with ribbons, or their uncovered heads with their +long hair streaming in the wind, confined only by a wreath of +fresh orange flowers, added to their irresistible charm. +Certainly, the bravest soldiers could not have withstood their +charge. No men, however, were admitted, save those who had +been expressly invited; but each lady of importance was given a +<i>carte blanche</i> to bring as many of her own sex as she +pleased, provided they were both pretty and respectable.</p> +<p>As they rode up, we cavaliers, with becoming gallantry, +offered our assistance while they dismounted. Smitten +through and through by the bright eyes of one little houri who +possessed far more than her share of the first requirement, and, +taking the second for granted, I courteously prepared to aid her +to alight; when, to my discomfiture, instead of a gracious +acknowledgment of my services, she gave me a sharp cut with her +whip. As, however, she laughed merrily at my wry faces, I +accepted the act as a scratch of the kitten’s claws; at +least, it was no sign of indifference, and giving myself the +benefit of the doubt, lifted her from her saddle without further +chastisement, except a coquettish smile that wounded, alas! more +than it healed.</p> +<p>The feast was thus prepared: poultry, sucking-pigs, and +puppies—the last, after being scalded and scraped, were +stuffed with vegetables and spices, rolled in plantain leaves, +and placed in the ground upon stones already heated. More +stones were then laid over them, and fires lighted on the top of +all. While the cooking was in progress, the Kanakas ground +<i>taro</i> roots for the paste called ‘poe’; the +girls danced and sang. The songs were devoid of melody, +being musical recitations of imaginary love adventures, +accompanied by swayings of the body and occasional choral +interruptions, all becoming more and more excited as the story or +song approached its natural climax. Sometimes this was +varied by a solitary dancer starting from the circle, and +performing the wildest bacchanalian antics, to the vocal +incitement of the rest. This only ended with physical +exhaustion, or collapse from feminine hysteria.</p> +<p>The food was excellent; the stuffed puppy was a dish for an +epicure. Though knives and forks were unknown, and each +helped herself from the plantain leaf, one had not the least +objection to do likewise, for the most scrupulous cleanliness is +one of the many merits of these fascinating creatures. +Before every dip into the leaf, the dainty little fingers were +plunged into bowls of fresh water provided for the purpose. +Delicious fruit followed the substantial fare; a small glass of +<i>kava</i>—a juice extracted from a root of the pepper +tribe—was then served to all alike. Having watched +the process of preparing the beverage, I am unable to speak as to +its flavour. The making of it is remarkable. A number +of women sit on the ground, chew the root, and spit its juice +into a bowl. The liquor is kept till it ferments, after +which it becomes highly intoxicating. I regret to say that +its potency was soon manifested on this occasion. No sooner +did the poison set their wild blood tingling, than a free fight +began for the remaining gourds. Such a scratching, pulling +of hair, clawing, kicking, and crying, were never seen. +Only by main force did we succeed in restoring peace. It is +but fair to state that, except on the celebration of one or two +solemn and sacred rites such as that of the <i>Loohou</i>, these +island Thyades never touch fermented liquors.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was an easier task when all was +over to set the little Amazons on their horses than to keep them +there, for by the time we had perched one on her saddle, or pad +rather, and adjusted her with the greatest nicety, another whom +we had just left would lose her balance and fall with a scream to +the ground. It was almost as difficult as packing mules on +the prairie. For my part it must be confessed that I left +the completion of the job to others. Curious and +entertaining as the feast was, my whole attention was centred and +absorbed in Arakeeta, which that artful little enchantress had +the gift to know, and lashed me accordingly with her eyes more +cruelly than she had done with her whip. I had got so far, +you see, as to learn her name, the first instalment of an +intimacy which my demolished heart was staked on +perfecting. I noticed that she refused the <i>kava</i> with +real or affected repugnance; and when the passage of arms, and +legs, began, she slipped away, caught her animal, and with a +parting laugh at me, started off for home. There was not +the faintest shadow of encouragement in her saucy looks to follow +her. Still, she was a year older than Juliet, who was +nearly fourteen; so, who could say what those looks might +veil? Besides:</p> + +<blockquote><p> Das +Naturell der Frauen<br /> +Ist so nah mit Kunst verwandt,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>that one might easily be mistaken. Anyhow, flight +provoked pursuit; I jumped on to my horse, and raced along the +plain like mad. She saw me coming, and flogged the more, +but being the better mounted of the two, by degrees I overhauled +her. As I ranged alongside, neither slackened speed; and +reaching out to catch her bridle, my knee hooked under the hollow +of hers, twisted her clean off her pad, and in a moment she lay +senseless on the ground. I flung myself from my horse, and +laid her head upon my lap. Good God! had I broken her +neck! She did not stir; her eyes were closed, but she +breathed, and her heart beat quickly. I was wild with +terror and remorse. I looked back for aid, but the others +had not started; we were still a mile or more from +Honolulu. I knew not what to do. I kissed her +forehead, I called her by her name. But she lay like a +child asleep. Presently her dazed eyes opened and stared +with wonderment, and then she smiled. The tears, I think, +were on my cheeks, and seeing them, she put her arms around my +neck and—forgave me.</p> +<p>She had fallen on her head and had been stunned. I +caught the horses while she sat still, and we walked them slowly +home. When we got within sight of her hut on the outskirts +of the town, she would not let me go further. There was +sadness in her look when we parted. I made her understand +(I had picked up two or three words) that I would return to see +her. She at once shook her head with an expression of +something akin to fear. I too felt sorrowful, and worse +than sorrowful, jealous.</p> +<p>When the night fell I sought her hut. It was one of the +better kind, built like others mainly with matting; no doors or +windows, but with an extensive verandah which protected the inner +part from rain and sun. Now and again I caught glimpses of +Arakeeta’s fairy form flitting in, or obscuring, the +lamplight. I could see two other women and two men. +Who and what were they? Was one of those dark forms an +Othello, ready to smother his Desdemona? Or were either of +them a Valentine between my Marguerite and me? Though there +was no moon, I dared not venture within the lamp’s rays, +for her sake; for my own, I was reckless now—I would have +thanked either of them to brain me with his hoe. But +Arakeeta came not.</p> +<p>In the day-time I roamed about the district, about the +<i>taro</i> fields, in case she might be working there. +Every evening before sundown, many of the women and some of the +well-to-do men, and a few whites, used to ride on the plain that +stretches along the shore between the fringe of palm groves and +the mountain spurs. I had seen Arakeeta amongst them before +the <i>Loohou</i> feast. She had given this up now, and +why? Night after night I hovered about the hut. When +she was in the verandah I whispered her name. She started +and peered into the dark, hesitated, then fled. Again the +same thing happened. She had heard me, she knew that I was +there, but she came not; no, wiser than I, she came not. +And though I sighed:</p> + +<blockquote><p> What +is worth<br /> +The rest of Heaven, the rest of earth?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>the shrewd little wench doubtless told herself: ‘A quiet +life, without the fear of the broomstick.’</p> +<p>Fred was impatient to be off, I had already trespassed too +long on the kind hospitality of General Miller, neither of us had +heard from England for more than a year, and the opportunities of +trading vessels to California seldom offered. A rare chance +came—a fast-sailing brig, the ‘Corsair,’ was to +leave in a few days for San Francisco. The captain was an +Englishman, and had the repute of being a boon companion and a +good caterer. We—I, passively—settled to +go. Samson decided to remain. He wanted to visit +Owyhee. He came on board with us, however; and, with a +parting bumper of champagne, we said +‘Good-bye.’ That was the last I ever saw of +him. The hardships had broken him down. He died not +long after.</p> +<p>The light breeze carried us slowly away—for the first +time for many long months with our faces to the east. But +it was not ‘merry’ England that filled my juvenile +fancies. I leaned upon the taffrail and watched this lovely +land of the ‘flowery food’ fade slowly from my +sight. I had eaten of the Lotus, and knew no wish but to +linger on, to roam no more, to return no more, to any home that +was not Arakeeta’s.</p> +<p>This sort of feeling is not very uncommon in early life. +And ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ is also a known +experience. Long before we reached San Fr’isco I was +again eager for adventure.</p> +<p>How magnificent is the bay! One cannot see across +it. How impatient we were to land! Everything +new. Bearded dirty heterogeneous crowds busy in all +directions,—some running up wooden and zinc houses, some +paving the streets with planks, some housing over ships beached +for temporary dwellings. The sandy hills behind the infant +town are being levelled and the foreshore filled up. A +‘water surface’ of forty feet square is worth 5,000 +dollars. So that here and there the shop-fronts are +ships’ broadsides. Already there is a theatre. +But the chief feature is the gambling saloons, open night and +day. These large rooms are always filled with from 300 to +400 people of every description—from ‘judges’ +and ‘colonels’ (every man is one or the other, who is +nothing else) to Parisian cocottes, and escaped convicts of all +nationalities. At one end of the saloon is a bar, at the +other a band. Dozens of tables are ranged around. +Monte, faro, rouge-et-noir, are the games. A large +proportion of the players are diggers in shirt-sleeves and +butcher-boots, belts round their waists for bowie knife and +‘five shooters,’ which have to be surrendered on +admittance. They come with their bags of nuggets or +‘dust,’ which is duly weighed, stamped, and sealed by +officials for the purpose.</p> +<p>I have still several specimens of the precious metal which I +captured, varying in size from a grain of wheat to a mustard +seed.</p> +<p>The tables win enormously, and so do the ladies of pleasure; +but the winnings of these go back again to the tables. Four +times, while we were here, differences of opinion arose +concerning points of ‘honour,’ and were summarily +decided by revolvers. Two of the four were subsequently +referred to Judge ‘Lynch.’</p> +<p>Wishing to see the ‘diggings,’ Fred and I went to +Sacramento—about 150 miles up the river of that name. +This was but a pocket edition of San Francisco, or scarcely +that. We therefore moved to Marysville, which, from its +vicinity to the various branches of the Sacramento river, was the +chief depot for the miners of the ‘wet +diggin’s’ in Northern California. Here we were +received by a Mr. Massett—a curious specimen of the waifs +and strays that turn up all over the world in odd places, and +whom one would be sure to find in the moon if ever one went +there. He owned a little one-roomed cabin, over the door of +which was painted ‘Offices of the Marysville +Herald.’ He was his own contributor and +‘correspondent,’ editor and printer, (the press was +in a corner of the room). Amongst other avocations he was a +concert-giver, a comic reader, a tragic actor, and an +auctioneer. He had the good temper and sanguine disposition +of a Mark Tapley. After the golden days of California he +spent his life wandering about the globe; giving +‘entertainments’ in China, Japan, India, +Australia. Wherever the English language is spoken, Stephen +Massett had many friends and no enemies.</p> +<p>Fred slept on the table, I under it, and next morning we hired +horses and started for the ‘Forks of the Yuba.’ +A few hours’ ride brought us to the gold-hunters. Two +or three hundred men were at work upon what had formerly been the +bed of the river. By unwritten law, each miner was entitled +to a certain portion of the ‘bar,’ as it was called, +in which the gold is found. And, as the precious metal has +to be obtained by washing, the allotments were measured by thirty +feet on the banks of the river and into the dry bed as far as +this extends; thus giving each man his allowance of water. +Generally three or four combined to possess a +‘claim.’ Each would then attend to his own +department: one loosened the soil, another filled the barrow or +cart, a third carried it to the river, and the fourth would wash +it in the ‘rocker.’ The average weight of gold +got by each miner while we were at the ‘wet +diggin’s,’ <i>i.e.</i> where water had to be used, +was nearly half an ounce or seven dollars’ worth a +day. We saw three Englishmen who had bought a claim 30 feet +by 100 feet, for 1,400 dollars. It had been bought and sold +twice before for considerable sums, each party supposing it to be +nearly ‘played out.’ In three weeks the +Englishmen paid their 1,400 dollars and had cleared thirteen +dollars a day apiece for their labour.</p> +<p>Our presence here created both curiosity and suspicion, for +each gang and each individual was very shy of his +neighbour. They did not believe our story of crossing the +plains; they themselves, for the most part, had come round the +Horn; a few across the isthmus. Then, if we didn’t +want to dig, what did we want? Another peculiarity about +us—a great one—was, that, so far as they could see, +we were unarmed. At night the majority, all except the few +who had huts, slept in a zinc house or sort of low-roofed barn, +against the walls of which were three tiers of bunks. There +was no room for us, even if we had wished it, but we managed to +hire a trestle. Mattress or covering we had none. As +Fred and I lay side by side, squeezed together in a trough +scarcely big enough for one, we heard two fellows by the door of +the shed talking us over. They thought no doubt that we +were fast asleep, they themselves were slightly fuddled. We +nudged each other and pricked up our ears, for we had already +canvassed the question of security, surrounded as we were by +ruffians who looked quite ready to dispose of babes in the +wood. They discussed our ‘portable property’ +which was nil; one decided, while the other believed, that we +must have money in our pockets. The first remarked that, +whether or no, we were unarmed; the other wasn’t so sure +about that—it wasn’t likely we’d come there to +be skinned for the asking. Then arose the question of +consequences, and it transpired that neither of them had the +courage of his rascality. After a bit, both agreed they had +better turn in. Tired as we were, we fell asleep. How +long we had slumbered I know not, but all of a sudden I was +seized by the beard, and was conscious of a report which in my +dreams I took for a pistol-shot. I found myself on the +ground amid the wrecks of the trestle. Its joints had given +way under the extra weight, and Fred’s first impulse had +been to clutch at my throat.</p> +<p>On the way back to San Francisco we stayed for a couple of +nights at Sacramento. It was a miserable place, with +nothing but a few temporary buildings except those of the Spanish +settlers. In the course of a walk round the town I noticed +a crowd collected under a large elm-tree in the +horse-market. On inquiry I was informed that a man had been +lynched on one of its boughs the night before last. A piece +of the rope was still hanging from the tree. When I got +back to the ‘hotel’—a place not much better +than the shed at Yuba Forks—I found a newspaper with an +account of the affair. Drawing a chair up to the stove, I +was deep in the story, when a huge rowdy-looking fellow in +digger-costume interrupted me with:</p> +<p>‘Say, stranger, let’s have a look at that paper, +will ye?’</p> +<p>‘When I’ve done with it,’ said I, and +continued reading. He lent over the back of my chair, put +one hand on my shoulder, and with the other raised the paper so +that he could read.</p> +<p>‘Caint see rightly. Ah, reckon you’re readen +’baout Jim, ain’t yer?’</p> +<p>‘Who’s Jim?’</p> +<p>‘Him as they sus-spended yesterday mornin’. +Jim was a purticler friend o’ mine, and I help’d to +hang him.’</p> +<p>‘A friendly act! What was he hanged +for?’</p> +<p>‘When did you come to Sacramenty City?’</p> +<p>‘Day before yesterday.’</p> +<p>‘Wal, I’ll tell yer haow’t was then. +Yer see, Jim was a Britisher, he come from a place they call +Botany Bay, which belongs to Victoria, but ain’t +’xactly in the Old Country. I judge, when he first +come to Californy, ’baout six months back, he warn’t +acquainted none with any boys hereaway, so he took to +diggin’ by hisself. It was up to Cigar Bar whar he +dug, and I chanst to be around there too, that’s haow we +got to know one another. Jim hadn’t been here not a +fortnight ’fore one of the boys lost 300 dollars as +he’d made a cache of. Somehow suspicions fell on +Jim. More’n one of us thought he’d been a +diggin’ for bags instead of for dust; and the man as lost +the money swore he’d hev a turn with him; so Jim took my +advice not to go foolin’ around, an’ +sloped.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, as my friend stopped to adjust his +tobacco plug, ‘he wasn’t hanged for that?’</p> +<p>‘’Tain’t likely! Till last week nobody +know’d whar he’d gone to. When he come to +Sacramenty this time, he come with a pile, an’ no +mistake. All day and all night he used to play at faro +an’ a heap o’ other games. Nobody +couldn’t tell how he made his money hold out, nor whar he +got it from; but sartin sure the crowd reckoned as haow Jim was +considerable of a loafer. One day a blacksmith as lives up +Broad Street, said he found out the way he done it, and ast me to +come with him and show up Jim for cheatin’. Naow, +whether it was as Jim suspicioned the blacksmith I cain’t +say, but he didn’t cheat, and lost his money in +consequence. This riled him bad, so wantin’ to get +quit of the blacksmith he began a quarrel. The blacksmith +was a quick-tempered man, and after some language struck Jim in +the mouth. Jim jumps up, and whippin’ out his +revolver, shoots the t’other man dead on the spot. I +was the first to lay hold on him, but ef it hadn’t +’a’ been for me they’d ’a’ torn him +to pieces.</p> +<p>‘“Send for Judge Parker,” says some.</p> +<p>‘“Let’s try him here,” says +others.</p> +<p>‘“I don’t want to be tried at all,” +says Jim. “You all know bloody well as I shot the +man. And I knows bloody well as I’ll hev to swing for +it. Gi’ me till daylight, and I’ll die like a +man.”</p> +<p>‘But we wasn’t going to hang him without a proper +trial; and as the trial lasted two hours, it—’</p> +<p>‘Two hours! What did you want two hours +for?’</p> +<p>‘There was some as wanted to lynch him, and some as +wanted him tried by the reg’lar judges of the +Crim’nal Court. One of the best speakers said +lynch-law was no law at all, and no innocent man’s life was +safe with it. So there was a lot of speakin’, you +bet. By the time it was over it was just daylight, and the +majority voted as he should die at onc’t. So they +took him to the horse-market, and stood him on a table under the +big elm. I kep’ by his side, and when he was getting +on the table he ast me to lend him my revolver to shoot the +foreman of the jury. When I wouldn’t, he ast me to +tie the knot so as it wouldn’t slip. “It +ain’t no account, Jim,” says I, “to talk like +that. You’re bound to die; and ef they didn’t +hang yer I’d shoot yer myself.”</p> +<p>‘“Well then,” says he, “gi’ me +hold of the rope, and I’ll show you how little I keer for +death.” He snatches the cord out o’ my hands, +pulls hisself out o’ reach o’ the crowd, and sat +cross-legged on the bough. Half a dozen shooters was raised +to fetch him down, but he tied a noose in the rope, put it round +his neck, slipped it puty tight, and stood up on the bough and +made ’em a speech. What he mostly said was as he +hated ’em all. He cussed the man he shot, then he +cussed the world, then he cussed hisself, and with a +terr’ble oath he jumped off the bough, and swung +back’ards and for’ards with his neck +broke.’</p> +<p>‘An Englishman,’ I reflected aloud.</p> +<p>He nodded. ‘You’re a Britisher, I reckon, +ain’t yer?’</p> +<p>‘Yes; why?’</p> +<p>‘Wal, you’ve a puty strong accent.’</p> +<p>‘Think so?’</p> +<p>‘Wal, I could jest tie a knot in it.’</p> +<p>This is a vulgar and repulsive story. But it is not +fiction; and any picture of Californian life in 1850, without +some such faithful touch of its local colour, would be inadequate +and misleading.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<p>A <span class="GutSmall">STEAMER</span> took us down to +Acapulco. It is probably a thriving port now. When we +were there, a few native huts and two or three stone buildings at +the edge of the jungle constituted the ‘town.’ +We bought some horses, and hired two men—a Mexican and a +Yankee—for our ride to the city of Mexico. There was +at that time nothing but a mule-track, and no public conveyance +of any kind. Nothing could exceed the beauty of the +scenery. Within 160 miles, as the crow flies, one rises up +to the city of Mexico some 12,000 feet, with Popocatepetl +overhanging it 17,500 feet high. In this short space one +passes from intense tropical heat and vegetation to pines and +laurels and the proximity of perpetual snows. The path in +places winds along the brink of precipitous declivities, from the +top of which one sees the climatic gradations blending one into +another. So narrow are some of the mountain paths that a +mule laden with ore has often one panier overhanging the valley a +thousand feet below it. Constantly in the long trains of +animals descending to the coast, a slip of the foot or a charge +from behind, for they all come down the steep track with a +jolting shuffle, sends mule and its load over the ledge. We +found it very difficult in places to get out of the way in time +to let the trains pass. Flocks of parrots and great macaws +screeching and flying about added to the novelty of the +scene.</p> +<p>The villages, inhabited by a cross between the original +Indians and the Spaniards, are about twenty miles apart. At +one of these we always stayed for the night, sleeping in grass +hammocks suspended between the posts of the verandah. The +only travellers we fell in with were a party of four Americans, +returning to the Eastern States from California with the gold +they had won there. They had come in our steamer to +Acapulco, and had left it a few hours before we did. As the +villages were so far apart we necessarily had to stop at night in +the same one. The second time this happened they, having +arrived first, had quartered themselves on the Alcalde or +principal personage of the place. Our guide took us to the +same house; and although His Worship, who had a better supply of +maize for the horses, and a few more chickens to sell than the +other natives, was anxious to accommodate us, the four Americans, +a very rough-looking lot and armed to the teeth, wouldn’t +hear of it, but peremptorily bade us put up elsewhere. Our +own American, who was much afraid of them, obeyed their commands +without more ado. It made not the slightest difference to +us, for one grass hammock is as soft as another, and the +Alcalde’s chickens were as tough as ours.</p> +<p>Before the morning start, two of the diggers, rifles in hand, +came over to us and plainly told us they objected to our +company. Fred, with perfect good humour, assured them we +had no thought of robbing them, and that as the villages were so +far apart we had no choice in the matter. However, as they +wished to travel separate from us, if there should be two +villages at all within suitable distances, they could stop at one +and we at the other. There the matter rested. But our +guide was more frightened than ever. They were four to two, +he argued, for neither he nor the Mexican were armed. And +there was no saying, etc., etc. . . . In short we had +better stay where we were till they got through. Fred +laughed at the fellow’s alarm, and told him he might stop +if he liked, but we meant to go on.</p> +<p>As usual, when we reached the next stage, the diggers were +before us; and when our men began to unsaddle at a hut about +fifty yards from where they were feeding their horses, one of +them, the biggest blackguard to look at of the lot, and though +the fiercest probably the greatest cur, shouted at us to put the +saddles on again and ‘get out of that.’ He had +warned us in the morning that they’d had enough of us, and, +with a volley of oaths, advised us to be off. Fred, who was +in his shirt-sleeves, listened at first with a look of surprise +at such cantankerous unreasonableness; but when the ruffian fell +to swear and threaten, he burst into one of his contemptuous +guffaws, turned his back and began to feed his horse with a +corncob. Thus insulted, the digger ran into the hut (as I +could see) to get his rifle. I snatched up my own, which I +had been using every day to practise at the large iguanas and +macaws, and, well protected by my horse, called out as I covered +him, ‘This is a double-barrelled rifle. If you raise +yours I’ll drop you where you stand.’ He was +forestalled and taken aback. Probably he meant nothing but +bravado. Still, the situation was a critical one. +Obviously I could not wait till he had shot my friend. But +had it come to shooting there would have been three left, unless +my second barrel had disposed of another. Fortunately the +‘boss’ of the digging party gauged the gravity of the +crisis at a glance; and instead of backing him up as expected, +swore at him for a ‘derned fool,’ and ordered him to +have no more to do with us.</p> +<p>After that, as we drew near to the city, the country being +more thickly populated, we no longer clashed.</p> +<p>This is not a guide-book, and I have nothing to tell of that +readers would not find better described in their +‘Murray.’ We put up in an excellent hotel kept +by M. Arago, the brother of the great French astronomer. +The only other travellers in it besides ourselves were the famous +dancer Cerito, and her husband the violin virtuoso, St. +Leon. Luckily for me our English Minister was Mr. Percy +Doyle, whom I had known as <i>attaché</i> at Paris when I +was at Larue, and who was a great friend of the De +Cubriers. We were thus provided with many advantages for +‘sight-seeing’ in and about the city, and also for +more distant excursions through credentials from the Mexican +authorities. Under these auspices we visited the silver +mines at Guadalajara, Potosi, and Guanajuata.</p> +<p>The life in Mexico city was delightful, after a year’s +tramp. The hotel, as I have said, was to us +luxurious. My room under the verandah opened on to a large +and beautiful garden partially enclosed on two sides. As I +lay in bed of a morning reading Prescott’s ‘History +of Mexico,’ or watching the brilliant humming birds as they +darted from flower to flower, and listened to the gentle plash of +the fountain, my cup of enjoyment and romance was brimming +over.</p> +<p>Just before I left, an old friend of mine arrived from +England. This was Mr. Joseph Clissold. He was a +schoolfellow of mine at Sheen. He had pulled in the +Cambridge boat, and played in the Cambridge eleven. He +afterwards became a magistrate either in Australia or New +Zealand. He was the best type of the good-natured, +level-headed, hard-hitting Englishman. Curiously enough, as +it turned out, the greater part of the only conversation we had +(I was leaving the day after he came) was about the brigandage on +the road between Mexico and Vera Cruz. He told me the +passengers in the diligence which had brought him up had been +warned at Jalapa that the road was infested by robbers; and +should the coach be stopped they were on no account to offer +resistance, for the robbers would certainly shoot them if they +did.</p> +<p>Fred chose to ride down to the coast, I went by coach. +This held six inside and two by the driver. Three of the +inside passengers sat with backs to the horses, the others facing +them. My coach was full, and stifling hot and stuffy it was +before we had done with it. Of the five others two were fat +priests, and for twenty hours my place was between them. +But in one way I had my revenge: I carried my loaded rifle +between my knees, and a pistol in my belt. The dismay, the +terror, the panic, the protestations, the entreaties and +execrations of all the five, kept us at least from <i>ennui</i> +for many a weary mile. I doubt whether the two priests ever +thumbed their breviaries so devoutly in their lives. +Perhaps that brought us salvation. We reached Vera Cruz +without adventure, and in the autumn of ’51 Fred and I +landed safely at Southampton.</p> +<p>Two months after I got back, I read an account in the +‘Times’ of ‘Joe’ Clissold’s return +trip from Mexico. The coach in which he was travelling was +stopped by robbers. Friend Joseph was armed with a +double-barrelled smooth-bore loaded with slugs. He +considered this on the whole more suitable than a rifle. +When the captain of the brigands opened the coach door and, +pistol in hand, politely proffered his request, Mr. Joe was quite +ready for him, and confided the contents of one barrel to the +captain’s bosom. Seeing the fate of their commander, +and not knowing what else the dilly might contain, the rest of +the band dug spurs into their horses and fled. But the +sturdy oarsman and smart cricketer was too quick for one of +them—the horse followed his friends, but the rider stayed +with his chief.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> following winter, my friend, +George Cayley, was ordered to the south for his health. He +went to Seville. I joined him there; and we took lodgings +and remained till the spring. As Cayley published an +amusing account of our travels, ‘Las Aforjas, or the Bridle +Roads of Spain,’ as this is more than fifty years +ago—before the days of railways and tourists—and as I +kept no journal of my own, I will make free use of his.</p> +<p>A few words will show the terms we were on.</p> +<p>I had landed at Cadiz, and had gone up the Guadalquivir in a +steamer, whose advent at Seville my friend was on the look-out +for. He describes his impatience for her arrival. By +some mistake he is misinformed as to the time; he is a quarter of +an hour late.</p> +<p>‘A remnant of passengers yet bustled around the luggage, +arguing, struggling and bargaining with a contentious company of +porters. Alas! H. was not to be seen among them. +There was still a chance; he might be one of the passengers who +had got ashore before my coming down, and I was preparing to rush +back to the city to ransack the hotels. Just then an +internal convulsion shook the swarm around the luggage pile; out +burst a little Gallego staggering under a huge British +portmanteau, and followed by its much desired, and now almost +despaired of, proprietor.</p> +<p>‘I saw him come bowling up the slope with his familiar +gait, evidently unconscious of my presence, and wearing that +sturdy and almost hostile demeanour with which a true Briton +marches into a strange city through the army of officious +importunates who never fail to welcome the true Briton’s +arrival. As he passed the barrier he came close to me in +the crowd, still without recognising me, for though straight +before his nose I was dressed in the costume of the people. +I touched his elbow and he turned upon me with a look of +impatient defiance, thinking me one persecutor more.</p> +<p>‘How quickly the expression changed, etc., etc. We +rushed into each other’s arms, as much as the many great +coats slung over his shoulders, and the deep folds of cloak in +which I was enveloped, would mutually permit. Then, saying +more than a thousand things in a breath, or rather in no breath +at all, we set off in great glee for my lodgings, forgetting in +the excitement the poor little porter who was following at full +trot, panting and puffing under the heavy portmanteau. We +got home, but were no calmer. We dined, but could not +eat. We talked, but the news could not be persuaded to come +out quick enough.’</p> +<p>Who has not known what is here described? Who does not +envy the freshness, the enthusiasm, of such bubbling of warm +young hearts? Oh, the pity of it! if these generous +emotions should prove as transient as youth itself. And +then, when one of those young hearts is turned to dust, and one +is left to think of it—why then, ’tis not much +comfort to reflect that—nothing in the world is +commoner.</p> +<p>We got a Spanish master and worked industriously, also picked +up all the Andalusian we could, which is as much like pure +Castilian as wold-Yorkshire is to English. I also took +lessons on the guitar. Thus prepared, I imitated my friend +and adopted the ordinary costume of the Andalusian peasant: +breeches, ornamented with rows of silvered buttons, gaiters, a +short jacket with a red flower-pot and blue lily on the back, and +elbows with green and scarlet patterns, a red <i>faja</i> or +sash, and the sombrero which I believe is worn nowhere except in +the bull-ring. The whole of this picturesque dress is now, +I think, given up. I have spent the last two winters in the +south of Spain, but have not once seen it.</p> +<p>It must not be supposed that we chose this +‘get-up’ to gratify any æsthetic taste of our +own or other people’s; it was long before the days of the +‘Too-toos,’ whom Mr. Gilbert brought to a timely +end. We had settled to ride through Spain from Gibraltar to +Bayonne, choosing always the bridle-roads so as to avoid anything +approaching a beaten track. We were to visit the principal +cities and keep more or less a northerly course, staying on the +way at such places as Malaga, Cordova, Toledo, Madrid, +Valladolid, and Burgos. The rest was to be left to +chance. We were to take no map; and when in doubt as to +diverging roads, the toss of a coin was to settle it. This +programme was conscientiously adhered to. The object of the +dress then was obscurity. For safety (brigands abounded) +and for economy, it was desirable to pass unnoticed. We +never knew in what dirty <i>posada</i> or road-side <i>venta</i> +we should spend the night. For the most part it was at the +resting-place of the muleteers, which would be nothing but a +roughly paved dark chamber, one end occupied by mules and the +other by their drivers. We made our own omelets and salad +and chocolate; with the exception of the never failing +<i>bacallao</i>, or salt fish, we rarely had anything else; and +rolling ourselves into our cloaks, with saddles for pillows, +slept amongst the muleteers on the stone flags. We had +bought a couple of ponies in the Seville market for 7<i>l.</i> +and 8<i>l.</i> Our <i>alforjas</i> or saddlebags contained +all we needed. Our portmanteaus were sent on from town to +town, wherever we had arranged to stop. Rough as the life +was, we saw the people of Spain as no ordinary travellers could +hope to see them. The carriers, the shepherds, the +publicans, the travelling merchants, the priests, the barbers, +the <i>molineras</i> of Antequera, the Maritornes’, the +Sancho Panzas—all just as they were seen by the immortal +knight.</p> +<p>From the <i>mozos de la cuadra</i> (ostlers) and +<i>arrieros</i>, upwards and downwards, nowhere have I met, in +the same class, with such natural politeness. This is much +changed for the worse now; but before the invasion of tourists +one never passed a man on the road who did not salute one with a +‘Vaya usted con Dios.’ Nor would the most +indigent vagabond touch the filthy <i>bacallao</i> which he drew +from his wallet till he had courteously addressed the stranger +with the formula ‘Quiere usted comer?’ +(‘Will your Lordship please to eat?’) The +contrast between the people and the nobles in this respect was +very marked. We saw something of the latter in the club at +Seville, where one met men whose high-sounding names and titles +have come down to us from the greatest epochs of Spanish +history. Their ignorance was surprising. Not one of +them had been farther than Madrid. Not one of them knew a +word of any language but his own, nor was he acquainted with the +rudiments even of his country’s history. Their +conversation was restricted to the bull-ring and the cockpit, to +cards and women. Their chief aim seemed to be to stagger us +with the number of quarterings they bore upon their escutcheons; +and they appraised others by a like estimate.</p> +<p>Cayley, tickled with the humour of their childish vanity, +painted an elaborate coat of arms, which he stuck in the crown of +his hat, and by means of which he explained to them that he too +was by rights a Spanish nobleman. With the utmost gravity +he delivered some such medley as this: His Iberian origin dated +back to the time of Hannibal, who, after his defeat of the Papal +forces and capture of Rome, had, as they well knew, married +Princess Peri Banou, youngest daughter of Ferdinand and +Isabella. The issue of the marriage was the famous Cardinal +Chicot, from whom he—George Cayley—was of direct male +descent. When Chicot was slain by Oliver Cromwell at the +battle of Hastings, his descendants, foiled in their attempt to +capture England with the Spanish Armada, settled in the +principality of Yorkshire, adopted the noble name of Cayley, and +still governed that province as members of the British +Parliament.</p> +<p>From that day we were treated with every mark of +distinction.</p> +<p>Here is another of my friend’s pranks. I will let +Cayley speak; for though I kept no journal, we had agreed to +write a joint account of our trip, and our notebooks were common +property.</p> +<p>After leaving Malaga we met some beggars on the road, to one +of whom, ‘an old hag with one eye and a grizzly +beard,’ I threw the immense sum of a couple of 2-cuarto +pieces. An old man riding behind us on an ass with empty +panniers, seeing fortunes being scattered about the road with +such reckless and unbounded profusion, came up alongside, and +entered into a piteous detail of his poverty. When he wound +up with plain begging, the originality and boldness of the idea +of a mounted beggar struck us in so humorous a light that we +could not help laughing. As we rode along talking his case +over, Cayley said, ‘Suppose we rob him. He has sold +his market produce in Malaga, and depend upon it, has a pocketful +of money.’ We waited for him to come up. When +he got fairly between us, Cayley pulled out his revolver (we both +carried pistols) and thus addressed him:</p> +<p>‘Impudent old scoundrel! stand still. If thou +stirr’st hand or foot, or openest thy mouth, I will slay +thee like a dog. Thou greedy miscreant, who art evidently a +man of property and hast an ass to ride upon, art not satisfied +without trying to rob the truly poor of the alms we give +them. Therefore hand over at once the two dollars for which +thou hast sold thy cabbages for double what they were +worth.’</p> +<p>The old culprit fell on his knees, and trembling violently, +prayed Cayley for the love of the Virgin to spare him.</p> +<p>‘One moment, <i>caballeros</i>,’ he cried, +‘I will give you all I possess. But I am poor, very +poor, and I have a sick wife at the disposition of your +worships.’</p> +<p>‘Wherefore art thou fumbling at thy foot? Thou +carriest not thy wife in thy shoe?’</p> +<p>‘I cannot untie the string—my hand trembles; will +your worships permit me to take out my knife?’</p> +<p>He did so, and cutting the carefully knotted thong of a +leather bag which had been concealed in the leg of his stocking, +poured out a handful of small coin and began to weep +piteously.</p> +<p>Said Cayley, ‘Come, come, none of that, or we shall feel +it our duty to shoot thy donkey that thou may’st have +something to whimper for.’</p> +<p>The genuine tears of the poor old fellow at last touched the +heart of the jester.</p> +<p>‘We know now that thou art poor,’ said he, +‘for we have taken all thou hadst. And as it is the +religion of the Ingleses, founded on the practice of their +celebrated saint, Robino Hoodo, to levy funds from the rich for +the benefit of the needy, hold out thy sombero, and we will +bestow a trifle upon thee.’</p> +<p>So saying he poured back the plunder; to which was added, to +the astonishment of the receiver, some supplementary pieces that +nearly equalled the original sum.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> setting out from Seville we +had had our Foreign Office passports duly +<i>viséd</i>. Our profession was given as that of +travelling artists, and the <i>visé</i> included the +permission to carry arms. More than once the sight of our +pistols caused us to be stopped by the <i>carabineros</i>. +On one occasion these road-guards disputed the wording of the +<i>visé</i>. They protested that ‘armas’ +meant ‘escopetas,’ not pistols, which were +forbidden. Cayley indignantly retorted, ‘Nothing is +forbidden to Englishmen. Besides, it is specified in our +passports that we are ‘personas de toda confianza,’ +which checkmated them.</p> +<p>We both sketched, and passed ourselves off as +‘retratistas’ (portrait painters), and did a small +business in this way—rather in the shape of caricatures, I +fear, but which gave much satisfaction. We charged one +peseta (seven-pence), or two, a head, according to the means of +the sitter. The fiction that we were earning our bread +wholesomely tended to moderate the charge for it.</p> +<p>Passing through the land of Don Quixote’s exploits, we +reverentially visited any known spot which these had rendered +famous. Amongst such was the <i>venta</i> of Quesada, from +which, or from Quixada, as some conjecture, the knight derived +his surname. It was here, attracted by its castellated +style, and by two ‘ladies of pleasure’ at its +door—whose virginity he at once offered to defend, that he +spent the night of his first sally. It was here that, in +his shirt, he kept guard till morning over the armour he had laid +by the well. It was here that, with his spear, he broke the +head of the carrier whom he took for another knight bent on the +rape of the virgin princesses committed to his charge. +Here, too, it was that the host of the <i>venta</i> dubbed him +with the coveted knighthood which qualified him for his noble +deeds.</p> +<p>To Quesada we wended our way. We asked the Señor +Huesped whether he knew anything of the history of his +<i>venta</i>. Was it not very ancient?</p> +<p>‘Oh no, it was quite modern. But on the site of it +had stood a fine <i>venta</i> which was burnt down at the time of +the war.’</p> +<p>‘An old building?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, indeed! <i>a cosa de siempre</i>—thing of +always. Nothing, was left of it now but that well, and the +stone trough.’</p> +<p>These bore marks of antiquity, and were doubtless as the +gallant knight had left them. Curiously, too, there were +remains of an outhouse with a crenellated parapet, suggestive +enough of a castle.</p> +<p>From Quesada we rode to Argamasilla del Alba, where Cervantes +was imprisoned, and where the First Part of Don Quixote was +written.</p> +<p>In his Life of Cervantes, Don Gregorio Mayano throws some +doubt upon this. Speaking of the attacks of his +contemporary, the ‘Aragonian,’ Don Gregorio writes (I +give Ozell’s translation): ‘As for this scandalous +fellow’s saying that Cervantes wrote his First Part of +“Don Quixote” in a prison, and that that might make +it so dull and incorrect, Cervantes did not think fit to give any +answer concerning his being imprisoned, perhaps to avoid giving +offence to the ministers of justice; for certainly his +imprisonment must not have been ignominious, since Cervantes +himself voluntarily mentions it in his Preface to the First Part +of “Don Quixote.”’</p> +<p>This reasoning, however, does not seem conclusive; for the +only reference to the subject in the preface is as follows: +‘What could my sterile and uncultivated genius produce but +the history of a child, meagre, adust, and whimsical, full of +various wild imaginations never thought of before; like one you +may suppose born in a prison, where every inconvenience keeps its +residence, and every dismal sound its habitation?’</p> +<p>We took up our quarters in the little town at the +‘Posada de la Mina.’ While our <i>olla</i> was +being prepared; we asked the hostess whether she had ever heard +of the celebrated Don Miguel de Cervantes, who had been +imprisoned there? (I will quote Cayley).</p> +<p>‘No, Señores; I think I have heard of one +Cervantes, but he does not live here at present.’</p> +<p>‘Do you know anything of Don Quixote?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, yes. He was a great <i>caballero</i>, who +lived here some years ago. His house is over the way, on +the other side of the <i>plaza</i>, with the arms over the +door. The father of the Alcalde is the oldest man in the +<i>pueblo</i>; perhaps he may remember him.’</p> +<p>We were amused at his hero’s fame outliving that of the +author. But is it not so with others—the writers of +the Book of Job, of the Pentateuch, and perhaps, too, of the +‘Iliad,’ if not of the ‘Odyssey’?</p> +<p>But, to let Cayley speak:</p> +<p>‘While we were undressing to go to bed, three gentlemen +were announced and shown in. We begged them to be seated. . +. . We sat opposite on the ends of our respective beds to +hear what they might have to communicate. A venerable old +man opened the conference.</p> +<p>‘“We have understood, gentlemen, that you have +come hither seeking for information respecting the famous Don +Quixote, and we have come to give you such information as we may; +but, perhaps you will understand me better if I speak in +Latin.”</p> +<p>‘“We have learnt the Latin at our schools, but are +more accustomed to converse in Castilian; pray +proceed.”</p> +<p>‘“I am the Medico of the place, an old man, as you +see; and what little I know has reached me by tradition. It +is reported that Cervantes was paying his addresses to a young +lady, whose name was Quijana or Quijada. The Alcalde, +disapproving of the suit, put him into a dungeon under his house, +and kept him there a year. Once he escaped and fled, but he +was taken in Toboso, and brought back. Cervantes wrote +‘Don Quixote’ as a satire on the Alcalde, who was a +very proud man, full of chivalresque ideas. You can see the +dungeon to-morrow; but you should see the <i>batanes</i> +(water-mills) of the Guadiana, whose ‘golpear’ so +terrified Sancho Panza. They are at about three leagues +distance.”’</p> +<p>The old gentleman added that he was proud to receive strangers +who came to do honour to the memory of his illustrious townsman; +and hoped we would visit him next day, on our return from the +fulling-mills, when he would have the pleasure of conducting us +to the house of the Quijanas, in the cellars of which Cervantes +was confined.</p> +<p>To the <i>batanes</i> we went next morning. Their +historical importance entitles them to an accurate +description. None could be more lucid than that of my +companion. ‘These clumsy, ancient machines are +composed of a couple of huge wooden mallets, slung in a timber +framework, which, being pushed out of the perpendicular by knobs +on a water-wheel, clash back again alternately in two troughs, +pounding severely whatever may be put in between the face of the +mallet and the end of the trough into which the water +runs.’</p> +<p>It will be remembered that, after a copious meal, Sancho +having neglected to replenish the gourd, both he and his master +suffered greatly from thirst. It was now ‘so +dark,’ says the history, ‘that they could see +nothing; but they had not gone two hundred paces when a great +noise of water reached their ears. . . . The sound rejoiced +them exceedingly; and, stopping to listen from whence it came, +they heard on a sudden another dreadful noise, which abated their +pleasure occasioned by that of the water, especially +Sancho’s. . . . They heard a dreadful din of irons +and chains rattling across one another, and giving mighty strokes +in time and measure which, together with the furious noise of the +water, would have struck terror into any other heart than that of +Don Quixote.’ For him it was but an opportunity for +some valorous achievement. So, having braced on his buckler +and mounted Rosinante, he brandished his spear, and explained to +his trembling squire that by the will of Heaven he was reserved +for deeds which would obliterate the memory of the Platirs, +Tablantes, the Olivantes, and Belianesas, with the whole tribe of +the famous knights-errant of times past.</p> +<p>‘Wherefore, straighten Rosinante’s girths a +little,’ said he, ‘and God be with you. Stay +for me here three days, and no more; if I do not return in that +time you may go to Toboso, where you shall say to my incomparable +Lady Dulcinea that her enthralled knight died in attempting +things that might have made him worthy to be styled +“hers.”’</p> +<p>Sancho, more terrified than ever at the thoughts of being left +alone, reminded his master that it was unwise to tempt God by +undertaking exploits from which there was no escaping but by a +miracle; and, in order to emphasize this very sensible remark, +secretly tied Rosinante’s hind legs together with his +halter. Seeing the success of his contrivance, he said: +‘Ah, sir! behold how Heaven, moved by my tears and prayers, +has ordained that Rosinante cannot go,’ and then warned him +not to set Providence at defiance. Still Sancho was much +too frightened by the infernal clatter to relax his hold of the +knight’s saddle. For some time he strove to beguile +his own fears with a very long story about the goatherd Lope +Ruiz, who was in love with the shepherdess +Torralva—‘a jolly, strapping wench, a little +scornful, and somewhat masculine.’ Now, whether owing +to the cold of the morning, which was at hand, or whether to some +lenitive diet on which he had supped, it so befell that Sancho . +. . what nobody could do for him. The truth is, the honest +fellow was overcome by panic, and under no circumstances would, +or did, he for one instant leave his master’s side. +Nay, when the knight spurred his steed and found it could not +move, Sancho reminded him that the attempt was useless, since +Rosinante was restrained by enchantment. This the knight +readily admitted, but stoutly protested that he himself was +anything but enchanted by the close proximity of his squire.</p> +<p>We all remember the grave admonitions of Don Quixote, and the +ingenious endeavours of Sancho to lay the blame upon the +knight. But the final words of the Don contain a moral +apposite to so many other important situations, that they must +not be omitted here. ‘Apostare, replicó +Sancho, que pensa vuestra merced que yo he hecho de mi persona +alguna cosa que no deba.’ ‘I will lay a +wager,’ replied Sancho, ‘that your worship thinks +that I have &c.’ The brief, but memorable, answer +was: ‘Peor es meneallo, amigo Sancho,’ which, as no +translation could do justice to it, must be left as it +stands. <i>Quieta non movere</i>.</p> +<p>We were nearly meeting with an adventure here. While I +was busy making a careful drawing of the <i>batanes</i>, +Cayley’s pony was as much alarmed by the rushing waters as +had been Sancho Panza. In his endeavours to picket the +animal, my friend dropped a pistol which I had lent him to +practise with, although he carried a revolver of his own. +Not till he had tied up the pony at some little distance did he +discover the loss. In vain he searched the spot where he +knew the pistol must have escaped from his <i>faja</i>. +Near it, three rough-looking knaves in shaggy goatskin garments, +with guns over their shoulders, were watching the progress of my +sketch. On his return Cayley asked two of these (the third +moved away as he came up) whether they had seen the pistol. +They declared they had not; upon which he said he must search +them. He was not a man to be trifled with, and although +they refused at first, they presently submitted. He then +overtook the third, and at once accused him of the theft. +The man swore he knew nothing of the lost weapon, and brought his +gun to the charge. As he did so, Cayley caught sight of the +pistol under the fellow’s sheepskin jacket, and with +characteristic promptitude seized it, while he presented a +revolver at the thief’s head. All this he told me +with great glee a minute or two later.</p> +<p>When we got back to Argamasilla the Medico was already +awaiting us. He conducted us to the house of the Quijanas, +where an old woman-servant, lamp in hand, showed the way down a +flight of steps into the dungeon. It was a low vaulted +chamber, eight feet high, ten broad, and twenty-four long, dimly +lighted by a lancet window six feet from the ground. She +confidently informed us that Cervantes was in the habit of +writing at the farthest end, and that he was allowed a lamp for +the purpose. We accepted the information with implicit +faith; silently picturing on our mental retinas the image of him +whose genius had brightened the dark hours of millions for over +three hundred years. One could see the spare form of the +man of action pacing up and down his cell, unconscious of prison +walls, roaming in spirit through the boundless realms of Fancy, +his piercing eyes intent upon the conjured visions of his +brain. One noted his vast expanse of brow, his short, +crisp, curly hair, his high cheek-bones and singularly +high-bridged nose, his refined mouth, small projecting chin and +pointed beard. One noticed, too, as he turned, the stump of +the left wrist clasped by the remaining hand. Who could +stand in such a presence and fail to bow with veneration before +this insulted greatness! Potentates pass like Ozymandias, +but not the men who, through the ages, help to save us from this +tread-mill world, and from ourselves.</p> +<p>We visited Cuenca, Segovia, and many an out-of-the-way +spot. If it be true, as Don Quixote declares, that +‘No hay libro tan malo que no tenga alguna cosa +buena’ (‘there is no book so worthless that has not +some good in it’), still more true is this of a country +like Spain. And the pleasantest places are just those which +only by-roads lead to. In and near the towns every other +man, if not by profession still by practice, is a beggar. +From the seedy-looking rascal in the street, of whom you +incautiously ask the way, and who piteously whines ‘para +zapatos’—for the wear and tear of shoe leather, to +the highest official, one and all hold out their hands for the +copper <i>cuarto</i> or the eleemosynary sinecure. As it +was then, so is it now; the Government wants support, and it is +always to be had, at a price; deputies always want +‘places.’ For every duty the functionary +performs, or ought to perform, he receives his bribe. The +Government is too poor to keep him honest, but his +<i>pour-boires</i> are not measured by his scruples. All is +winked at, if the Ministry secures a vote.</p> +<p>Away in the pretty rural districts, in the little villages +amid the woods and the mountains, with their score or so of +houses and their little chapel with its tinkling old bell and its +poverty-stricken curate, the hard-working, simple-minded men are +too proud and too honest to ask for more than a pinch of tobacco +for the <i>cigarillo</i>. The maidens are comely, and as +chaste as—can reasonably be expected.</p> +<p>Madrid is worth visiting—not for its bull-fights, which +are disgusting proofs of man’s natural brutality, but for +its picture gallery. No one knows what Velasquez could do, +or has done, till he has seen Madrid; and Charles V. was +practically master of Europe when the collection was in his +hands. The Escurial’s chief interests are in its +associations with Charles V. and Philip II. In the dark and +gloomy little bedroom of the latter is a small window opening +into the church, so that the King could attend the services in +bed if necessary.</p> +<p>It cannot be said of Philip that he was nothing if not +religious, for Nero even was not a more indefatigable murderer, +nor a more diabolical specimen of cruelty and superstition. +The very thought of the wretch tempts one to revolt at human +piety, at any rate where priestcraft and its fabrications are at +the bottom of it.</p> +<p>When at Madrid we met Mr. Arthur Birch. He had been with +Cayley at Eton, as captain of the school. While we were +together, he received and accepted the offer of an Eton +mastership. We were going by diligence to Toledo, and Birch +agreed to go with us. I mention the fact because the place +reminds me of a clever play upon its name by the Eton +scholar. Cayley bought a Toledo sword-blade, and asked +Birch for a motto to engrave upon it. In a minute or two he +hit off this: <span class="smcap">Timetoletum</span>, which reads +Time Toletum=Honour Toledo, or Timeto Letum=Fear death. +Cayley’s attempts, though not so neat, were not bad. +Here are a couple of them:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Though slight I am, no slight I stand,<br /> +Saying my master’s sleight of hand.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>or:—</p> +<blockquote><p>Come to the point; unless you do,<br /> +The point will shortly come to you.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Birch got the Latin poem medal at Cambridge the same year that +Cayley got the English one.</p> +<p>Before we set forth again upon our gipsy tramp, I received a +letter from Mr. Ellice bidding me hasten home to contest the +Borough of Cricklade in the General Election of 1852. Under +these circumstances we loitered but little on the Northern +roads. At the end of May we reached Yrun. Here we +sold our ponies—now quite worn out—for twenty-three +dollars—about five guineas. So that a thousand miles +of locomotion had cost us a little over five guineas +apiece. Not counting hotels at Madrid and such smart +places, our daily cost for selves and ponies rarely exceeded six +pesetas, or three shillings each all told. The best of it +was, the trip restored the health of my friend.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> February of this year, 1852, +Lord Palmerston, aided by an incongruous force of Peelites and +Protectionists, turned Lord John Russell out of office on his +Militia Bill. Lord Derby, with Disraeli as Chancellor of +the Exchequer and leader of the House of Commons, came into power +on a cry for Protection.</p> +<p>Not long after my return to England, I was packed off to +canvas the borough of Cricklade. It was then a very +extensive borough, including a large agricultural district, as +well as Swindon, the headquarters of the Great Western +Railway. For many years it had returned two Conservative +members, Messrs. Nield and Goddard. It was looked upon as +an impregnable Tory stronghold, and the fight was little better +than a forlorn hope.</p> +<p>My headquarters were at Coleshill, Lord Radnor’s. +The old lord had, in his Parliamentary days, been a Radical; +hence, my advanced opinions found great favour in his eyes. +My programme was—Free Trade, Vote by Ballot, and +Disestablishment. Two of these have become common-places +(one perhaps effete), and the third is nearer to accomplishment +than it was then.</p> +<p>My first acquaintance with a constituency, amongst whom I +worked enthusiastically for six weeks, was comic enough. My +instructions were to go to Swindon; there an agent, whom I had +never seen, would join me. A meeting of my supporters had +been arranged by him, and I was to make my maiden speech in the +market-place.</p> +<p>My address, it should be stated—ultra-Radical, of +course—was mainly concocted for me by Mr. Cayley, an almost +rabid Tory, and then member for the North Riding of Yorkshire, +but an old Parliamentary hand; and, in consequence of my +attachment to his son, at that time and until his death, like a +father to me.</p> +<p>When the train stopped at Swindon, there was a crowd of +passengers, but not a face that I knew; and it was not till all +but one or two had left, that a business-looking man came up and +asked if I were the candidate for Cricklade. He told me +that a carriage was in attendance to take us up to the town; and +that a procession, headed by a band, was ready to accompany us +thither. The procession was formed mainly of the Great +Western boiler-makers and artisans. Their enthusiasm seemed +slightly disproportioned to the occasion; and the vigour of the +brass, and especially of the big drum, so filled my head with +visions of Mr. Pickwick and his friend the Honourable Samuel +Slumkey, that by the time I reached the market-place, I had +forgotten every syllable of the speech which I had carefully +learnt by heart. Nor was it the band alone that upset me; +going up the hill the carriage was all but capsized by the +frightened horses and the breaking of the pole. The gallant +boiler-makers, however, at once removed the horses, and dragged +the carriage with cheers of defiance into the crowd awaiting +us.</p> +<p>My agent had settled that I was to speak from a window of the +hotel. The only available one was an upper window, the +lower sash of which could not be persuaded to keep up without +being held. The consequence was, just as I was getting over +the embarrassment of extemporary oration, down came the sash and +guillotined me. This put the crowd in the best of humours; +they roared with laughter, and after that we got on capitally +together.</p> +<p>A still more inopportune accident happened to me later in the +day, when speaking at Shrivenham. A large yard enclosed by +buildings was chosen for the meeting. The difficulty was to +elevate the speaker above the heads of the assembly. In one +corner of the yard was a water-butt. An ingenious elector +got a board, placed it on the top of the butt—which was +full of water—and persuaded me to make this my +rostrum. Here, again, in the midst of my +harangue—perhaps I stamped to emphasize my horror of small +loaves and other Tory abominations—the board gave way; and +I narrowly escaped a ducking by leaping into the arms of a +‘supporter.’</p> +<p>The end of it all was that my agent at the last moment threw +up the sponge. The farmers formed a serried phalanx against +Free Trade; it was useless to incur the expense of a poll. +Then came the bill. It was a heavy one; for in addition to +my London agent—a professional electioneering +functionary—were the local agents at towns like Malmesbury, +Wootton Bassett, Shrivenham, &c., &c. My eldest +brother, who was a soberer-minded politician than I, although +very liberal to me in other ways, declined to support my +political opinions. I myself was quite unable to pay the +costs. Knowing this, Lord Radnor called me into his study +as I was leaving Coleshill, and expressed himself warmly with +respect to my labours; regretting the victory of the other side, +he declared that, as the question of Protection would be disposed +of, one of the two seats would be safe upon a future contest.</p> +<p>‘And who,’ asked the old gentleman, with a +benevolent grin on his face, ‘who is going to pay your +expenses?’</p> +<p>‘Goodness knows, sir,’ said I; ‘I hope they +won’t come down upon me. I haven’t a thousand +pounds in the world, unless I tap my fortune.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said his Lordship, with a chuckle, +‘I haven’t paid my subscription to Brooks’s +yet, so I’ll hand it over to you,’ and he gave me a +cheque for £500.</p> +<p>The balance was obtained through Mr. Ellice from the patronage +Secretary to the Treasury. At the next election, as Lord +Radnor predicted, Lord Ashley, Lord Shaftesbury’s eldest +son, won one of the two seats for the Liberals with the greatest +ease.</p> +<p>As Coleshill was an open house to me from that time as long as +Lord Radnor lived, I cannot take leave of the dear old man +without an affectionate word at parting. Creevey has an +ill-natured fling at him, as he has at everybody else, but a +kinder-hearted and more perfect gentleman would be difficult to +meet with. His personality was a marked one. He was a +little man, with very plain features, a punch-like nose, an +extensive mouth, and hardly a hair on his head. But in +spite of these peculiarities, his face was pleasant to look at, +for it was invariably animated by a sweet smile, a touch of +humour, and a decided air of dignity. Born in 1779, he +dressed after the orthodox Whig fashion of his youth, in buff and +blue, his long-tailed coat reaching almost to his heels. +His manner was a model of courtesy and simplicity. He used +antiquated expressions: called London ‘Lunnun,’ Rome +‘Room,’ a balcony a ‘balcöny’; he +always spoke of the clergyman as the ‘pearson,’ and +called his daughter Lady Mary, ‘Meary.’ Instead +of saying ‘this day week’ he would say this day +sen’nit’ (for sen’night).</p> +<p>The independence of his character was very noticeable. +As an instance: A party of twenty people, say, would be invited +for a given day. Abundance of carriages would be sent to +meet the trains, so that all the guests would arrive in ample +time for dinner. It generally happened that some of them, +not knowing the habits of the house, or some duchess or great +lady who might assume that clocks were made for her and not she +for clocks, would not appear in the drawing-room till a quarter +of an hour after the dinner gong had sounded. If anyone did +so, he or she would find that everybody else had got through soup +and fish. If no one but Lady Mary had been down when dinner +was announced, his Lordship would have offered his arm to his +daughter, and have taken his seat at the table alone. After +the first night, no one was ever late. In the morning he +read prayers to the household before breakfast with the same +precise punctuality.</p> +<p>Lady Mary Bouverie, his unmarried daughter, was the very best +of hostesses. The house under her management was the +perfection of comfort. She married an old and dear friend +of mine, Sir James Wilde, afterwards the Judge, Lord +Penzance. I was his ‘best man.’</p> +<p>My ‘Ride over the Rocky Mountains’ was now +published; and, as the field was a new one, the writer was +rewarded, for a few weeks, with invitations to dinner, and the +usual tickets for ‘drums’ and dances. To my +astonishment, or rather to my alarm, I received a letter from the +Secretary of the Royal Geographical Society (Charles Fox, or +perhaps Sir George Simpson had, I think, proposed me—I +never knew), to say that I had been elected a member. +Nothing was further from my ambition. The very thought +shrivelled me with a sense of ignorance and insignificance. +I pictured to myself an assembly of old fogies crammed with all +the ‘ologies. I broke into a cold perspiration when I +fancied myself called upon to deliver a lecture on the +comparative sea-bottomy of the Oceanic globe, or give my theory +of the simultaneous sighting by ‘little Billee’ of +‘Madagascar, and North, and South Amerikee.’ +Honestly, I had not the courage to accept; and, young Jackanapes +as I was, left the Secretary’s letter unanswered.</p> +<p>But a still greater honour—perhaps the greatest +compliment I ever had paid me—was to come. I had +lodgings at this time in an old house, long since pulled down, in +York Street. One day, when I was practising the fiddle, who +should walk into my den but Rogers the poet! He had never +seen me in his life. He was in his ninetieth year, and he +had climbed the stairs to the first floor to ask me to one of his +breakfast parties. To say nothing of Rogers’ fame, +his wealth, his position in society, those who know what his +cynicism and his worldliness were, will understand what such an +effort, physical and moral, must have cost him. He always +looked like a death’s head, but his ghastly pallor, after +that Alpine ascent, made me feel as if he had come—to +stay.</p> +<p>These breakfasts were entertainments of no ordinary +distinction. The host himself was of greater interest than +the most eminent of his guests. All but he, were more or +less one’s contemporaries: Rogers, if not quite as dead as +he looked, was ancient history. He was old enough to have +been the father of Byron, of Shelley, of Keats, and of +Moore. He was several years older than Scott, or +Wordsworth, or Coleridge, and only four years younger than +Pitt. He had known all these men, and could, and did, talk +as no other could talk, of all of them. Amongst those whom +I met at these breakfasts were Cornewall Lewis, Delane, the +Grotes, Macaulay, Mrs. Norton, Monckton Milnes, William Harcourt +(the only one younger than myself), but just beginning to be +known, and others of scarcely less note.</p> +<p>During the breakfast itself, Rogers, though seated at table in +an armchair, took no part either in the repast or in the +conversation; he seemed to sleep until the meal was over. +His servant would then place a cup of coffee before him, and, +like a Laputian flapper, touch him gently on the shoulder. +He would at once begin to talk, while others listened. The +first time I witnessed this curious resurrection, I whispered +something to my neighbour, at which he laughed. The old +man’s eye was too sharp for us.</p> +<p>‘You are laughing at me,’ said he; ‘I dare +say you young gentlemen think me an old fellow; but there are +younger than I who are older. You should see Tommy +Moore. I asked him to breakfast, but he’s too +weak—weak here, sir,’ and he tapped his +forehead. ‘I’m not that.’ (This was +the year that Moore died.) He certainly was not; but his +whole discourse was of the past. It was as though he would +not condescend to discuss events or men of the day. What +were either to the days and men that he had known—French +revolutions, battles of Trafalgar and Waterloo, a Nelson and a +Buonaparte, a Pitt, a Burke, a Fox, a Johnson, a Gibbon, a +Sheridan, and all the men of letters and all the poets of a +century gone by? Even Macaulay had for once to hold his +tongue; and could only smile impatiently at what perhaps he +thought an old man’s astonishing garrulity. But if a +young and pretty woman talked to him, it was not his great age +that he vaunted, nor yet the ‘pleasures of +memory’—one envied the adroitness of his flattery, +and the gracefulness of his repartee.</p> +<p>My friend George Cayley had a couple of dingy little rooms +between Parliament Street and the river. Much of my time +was spent there with him. One night after dinner, quite +late, we were building castles amidst tobacco clouds, when, +following a ‘May I come in?’ Tennyson made his +appearance. This was the first time I had ever met +him. We gave him the only armchair in the room; and pulling +out his dudeen and placing afoot on each side of the hob of the +old-fashioned little grate, he made himself comfortable before he +said another word. He then began to talk of pipes and +tobacco. And never, I should say, did this important topic +afford so much ingenious conversation before. We discussed +the relative merits of all the tobaccos in the world—of +moist tobacco and dry tobacco, of old tobacco and new tobacco, of +clay pipes and wooden pipes and meerschaum pipes. What was +the best way to colour them, the advantages of colouring them, +the beauty of the ‘culotte,’ the coolness it gave to +the smoke, &c. We listened to the venerable +sage—he was then forty-three and we only five or six and +twenty—as we should have listened to a Homer or an +Aristotle, and he thoroughly enjoyed our appreciation of his +jokes.</p> +<p>Some of them would have startled such of his admirers who knew +him only by his poems; for his stories were anything but +poetical—rather humorous one might say, on the whole. +Here’s one of them: he had called last week on the Duchess +of Sutherland at Stafford House. Her two daughters were +with her, the Duchess of Argyll and the beautiful Lady Constance +Grosvenor, afterwards Duchess of Westminster. They happened +to be in the garden. After strolling about for a while, the +Mama Duchess begged him to recite some of his poetry. He +chose ‘Come into the garden, Maud’—always a +favourite of the poet’s, and, as may be supposed, many were +the fervid exclamations of ‘How beautiful!’ +When they came into the house, a princely groom of the chambers +caught his eye and his ear, and, pointing to his own throat, +courteously whispered: ‘Your dress is not quite as you +would wish it, sir.’</p> +<p>‘I had come out without a necktie; and there I was, +spouting my lines to the three Graces, as +<i>décolleté</i> as a strutting turkey +cock.’</p> +<p>The only other allusion to poetry or literature that night was +a story I told him of a Mr. Thomas Wrightson, a Yorkshire banker, +and a fanatical Swedenborgian. Tommy Wrightson, who was one +of the most amiable and benevolent of men, spent his life in +making a manuscript transcript of Swedenborg’s works. +His writing was a marvel of calligraphic art; he himself, a +curiosity. Swedenborg was for him an avatar; but if he had +doubted of Tennyson’s ultimate apotheosis, I think he would +have elected to seek him in ‘the other place.’ +Anyhow, Mr. Wrightson avowed to me that he repeated +‘Locksley Hall’ every morning of his life before +breakfast. This I told Tennyson. His answer was a +grunt; and in a voice from his boots, ‘Ugh! enough to make +a dog sick!’ I did my utmost to console him with the +assurance that, to the best of my belief, Mr. Wrightson had once +fallen through a skylight.</p> +<p>As illustrating the characters of the admired and his admirer, +it may be related that the latter, wishing for the poet’s +sign-manual, wrote and asked him for it. He addressed +Tennyson, whom he had never seen, as ‘My dear +Alfred.’ The reply, which he showed to me, was +addressed ‘My dear Tom.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">My</span> stepfather, Mr. Ellice, having +been in two Ministries—Lord Grey’s in 1830, and Lord +Melbourne’s in 1834—had necessarily a large +parliamentary acquaintance; and as I could always dine at his +house in Arlington Street when I pleased, I had constant +opportunities of meeting most of the prominent Whig politicians, +and many other eminent men of the day. One of the dinner +parties remains fresh in my memory—not because of the +distinguished men who happened to be there, but because of the +statesman whose name has since become so familiar to the +world.</p> +<p>Some important question was before the House in which Mr. +Ellice was interested, and upon which he intended to speak. +This made him late for dinner, but he had sent word that his son +was to take his place, and the guests were not to wait. +When he came Lord John Russell greeted him with—</p> +<p>‘Well, Ellice, who’s up?’</p> +<p>‘A younger son of Salisbury’s,’ was the +reply; ‘Robert Cecil, making his maiden speech. If I +hadn’t been in a hurry I should have stopped to listen to +him. Unless I am very much mistaken, he’ll make his +mark, and we shall hear more of him.’</p> +<p>There were others dining there that night whom it is +interesting to recall. The Grotes were there. Mrs. +Grote, scarcely less remarkable than her husband; Lord Mahon, +another historian (who married a niece of Mr. Ellice’s), +Lord Brougham, and two curious old men both remarkable, if for +nothing else, for their great age. One was George Byng, +father of the first Lord Strafford, and ‘father’ of +the House of Commons; the other Sir Robert Adair, who was +Ambassador at Constantinople when Byron was there. Old Mr. +Byng looked as aged as he was, and reminded one of Mr. Smallweed +doubled up in his porter’s chair. Quite different was +his compeer. We were standing in the recess of the +drawing-room window after dinner when Sir Robert said to me:</p> +<p>‘Very shaky, isn’t he! Ah! he was my fag at +Eton, and I’ve got the best of it still.’</p> +<p>Brougham having been twice in the same Government with Mr. +Ellice, and being devoted to young Mrs. Edward Ellice, his +charming daughter-in-law, was a constant visitor at 18 Arlington +Street. Mrs. Ellice often told me of his peculiarities, +which must evidently have been known to others. Walter +Bagehot, speaking of him, says:</p> +<p>‘Singular stories of eccentricity and excitement, even +of something more than either of these, darken these latter +years.’</p> +<p>What Mrs. Ellice told me was, that she had to keep a sharp +watch on Lord Brougham if he sat near her writing-table while he +talked to her; for if there was any pretty little knick-knack +within his reach he would, if her head were turned, slip it into +his pocket. The truth is perhaps better than the dark hint, +for certainly we all laughed at it as nothing but +eccentricity.</p> +<p>But the man who interested me most (for though when in the +Navy I had heard a hundred legends of his exploits, I had never +seen him before) was Lord Dundonald. Mr. Ellice presented +me to him, and the old hero asked why I had left the Navy.</p> +<p>‘The finest service in the world; and likely, begad, to +have something to do before long.’</p> +<p>This was only a year before the Crimean war. With his +strong rough features and tousled mane, he looked like a grey +lion. One expected to see him pick his teeth with a pocket +boarding-pike.</p> +<p>The thought of the old sailor always brings before me the +often mooted question raised by the sentimentalists and +humanitarians concerning the horrors of war. Not long after +this time, the papers—the sentimentalist papers—were +furious with Lord Dundonald for suggesting the adoption by the +Navy of a torpedo which he himself, I think, had invented. +The bare idea of such wholesale slaughter was revolting to a +Christian world. He probably did not see much difference +between sinking a ship with a torpedo, and firing a shell into +her magazine; and likely enough had as much respect for the +opinions of the woman-man as he had for the man-woman.</p> +<p>There is always a large number of people in the world who +suffer from emotional sensitiveness and susceptibility to nervous +shocks of all kinds. It is curious to observe the different +and apparently unallied forms in which these characteristics +manifest themselves. With some, they exhibit extreme +repugnance to the infliction of physical pain for whatever end; +with others there seems to be a morbid dread of violated +pudicity. Strangely enough the two phases are frequently +associated in the same individual. Both tendencies are +eminently feminine; the affinity lies in a hysterical +nature. Thus, excessive pietism is a frequent concomitant +of excessive sexual passion; this, though notably the case with +women, is common enough with men of unduly neurotic +temperaments.</p> +<p>Only the other day some letters appeared in the +‘Times’ about the flogging of boys in the Navy. +And, as a sentimental argument against it, we were told by the +Humanitarian Leaguers that it is ‘obscene.’ +This is just what might be expected, and bears out the foregoing +remarks. But such saintly simplicity reminds us of the kind +of squeamishness of which our old acquaintance Mephisto +observes:</p> +<blockquote><p>Man darf das nicht vor keuschen Ohren nennen,<br +/> +Was keusche Herzen nicht entbehren können.</p> +<p>(Chaste ears find nothing but the devil in<br /> +What nicest fancies love to revel in.)</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The same astute critic might have added:</p> +<blockquote><p>And eyes demure that look away when seen,<br /> +Lose ne’er a chance to peep behind the screen.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is all of a piece. We have heard of the parlour-maid +who fainted because the dining-table had ‘ceder +legs,’ but never before that a ‘switching’ was +‘obscene.’ We do not envy the unwholesomeness +of a mind so watchful for obscenity.</p> +<p>Be that as it may, so far as humanity is concerned, this +hypersensitive effeminacy has but a noxious influence; and all +the more for the twofold reason that it is sometimes sincere, +though more often mere cant and hypocrisy. At the best, it +is a perversion of the truth; for emotion combined with +ignorance, as it is in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of +a thousand, is a serious obstacle in the path of rational +judgment.</p> +<p>Is sentimentalism on the increase? It seems to be so, if +we are to judge by a certain portion of the Press, and by +speeches in Parliament. But then, this may only mean that +the propensity finds easier means of expression than it did in +the days of dearer paper and fewer newspapers, and also that +speakers find sentimental humanity an inexhaustible fund for +political capital. The excess of emotional attributes in +man over his reasoning powers must, one would think, have been at +least as great in times past as it is now. Yet it is +doubtful whether it showed itself then so conspicuously as it +does at present. Compare the Elizabethan age with our +own. What would be said now of the piratical deeds of such +men as Frobisher, Raleigh, Gilbert, and Richard Greville? +Suppose Lord Roberts had sent word to President Kruger that if +four English soldiers, imprisoned at Pretoria, were molested, he +would execute 2,000 Boers and send him their heads? The +clap-trap cry of ‘Barbaric Methods’ would have gone +forth to some purpose; it would have carried every constituency +in the country. Yet this is what Drake did when four +English sailors were captured by the Spaniards, and imprisoned by +the Spanish Viceroy in Mexico.</p> +<p>Take the Elizabethan drama, and compare it with ours. +What should we think of our best dramatist if, in one of his +tragedies, a man’s eyes were plucked out on the stage, and +if he that did it exclaimed as he trampled on them, ‘Out, +vile jelly! where is thy lustre now?’ or of a Titus +Andronicus cutting two throats, while his daughter +‘’tween her stumps doth hold a basin to receive their +blood’?</p> +<p>‘Humanity,’ says Taine, speaking of these times, +‘is as much lacking as decency. Blood, suffering, +does not move them.’</p> +<p>Heaven forbid that we should return to such brutality! I +cite these passages merely to show how times are changed; and to +suggest that with the change there is a decided loss of +manliness. Are men more virtuous, do they love honour more, +are they more chivalrous, than the Miltons, the Lovelaces, the +Sidneys of the past? Are the women chaster or more +gentle? No; there is more puritanism, but not more true +piety. It is only the outside of the cup and the platter +that are made clean, the inward part is just as full of +wickedness, and all the worse for its hysterical +fastidiousness.</p> +<p>To what do we owe this tendency? Are we degenerating +morally as well as physically? Consider the physical side +of the question. Fifty years ago the standard height for +admission to the army was five feet six inches. It is now +lowered to five feet. Within the last ten years the +increase in the urban population has been nearly three and a half +millions. Within the same period the increase in the rural +population is less than a quarter of one million. Three out +of five recruits for the army are rejected; a large proportion of +them because their teeth are gone or decayed. Do these +figures need comment? Can you look for sound minds in such +unsound bodies? Can you look for manliness, for +self-respect, and self-control, or anything but animalistic +sentimentality?</p> +<p>It is not the character of our drama or of our works of +fiction that promotes and fosters this propensity; but may it not +be that the enormous increase in the number of theatres, and the +prodigious supply of novels, may have a share in it, by their +exorbitant appeal to the emotional, and hence neurotic, elements +of our nature? If such considerations apply mainly to +dwellers in overcrowded towns, there is yet another cause which +may operate on those more favoured,—the vast increase in +wealth and luxury. Wherever these have grown to excess, +whether in Babylon, or Nineveh, or Thebes, or Alexandria, or +Rome, they have been the symptoms of decadence, and forerunners +of the nation’s collapse.</p> +<p>Let us be humane, let us abhor the horrors of war, and strain +our utmost energies to avert them. But we might as well +forbid the use of surgical instruments as the weapons that are +most destructive in warfare. If a limb is rotting with +gangrene, shall it not be cut away? So if the passions +which occasion wars are inherent in human nature, we must face +the evil stout-heartedly; and, for one, I humbly question whether +any abolition of dum-dum bullets or other attempts to mitigate +this disgrace to humanity, do, in the end, more good than +harm.</p> +<p>It is elsewhere that we must look for deliverance,—to +the overwhelming power of better educated peoples; to closer +intercourse between the nations; to the conviction that, from the +most selfish point of view even, peace is the only path to +prosperity; to the restraint of the baser Press which, for mere +pelf, spurs the passions of the multitude instead of curbing +them; and, finally, to deliverance from the ‘all-potent +wills of Little Fathers by Divine right,’ and from the +ignoble ambition of bullet-headed uncles and brothers and +cousins—a curse from which England, thank the Gods! is, and +let us hope, ever will be, free. But there are more +countries than one that are not so—just now; and the world +may ere long have to pay the bitter penalty.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is curious if one lives long +enough to watch the change of taste in books. I have no +lending-library statistics at hand, but judging by the reading of +young people, or of those who read merely for their amusement, +the authors they patronise are nearly all living or very +recent. What we old stagers esteemed as classical in +fiction and <i>belles-lettres</i> are sealed books to the present +generation. It is an exception, for instance, to meet with +a young man or young woman who has read Walter Scott. +Perhaps Balzac’s reason is the true one. Scott, says +he, ‘est sans passion; il l’ignore, ou +peut-être lui était-elle interdite par les +mœurs hypocrites de son pays. Pour lui la femme est +le devoir incarné. A de rares exceptions +près, ses héroïnes sont absolument les +mêmes . . . La femme porte le désordre dans la +société par la passion. La passion a des +accidents infinis. Peignez donc les passions, vous aurez +les sources immenses dont s’est privé ce grand +génie pour être lu dans toutes les familles de la +prude Angleterre.’ Does not Thackeray lament that +since Fielding no novelist has dared to face the national +affectation of prudery? No English author who valued his +reputation would venture to write as Anatole France writes, even +if he could. Yet I pity the man who does not delight in the +genius that created M. Bergeret.</p> +<p>A well-known author said to me the other day, he did not +believe that Thackeray himself would be popular were he writing +now for the first time—not because of his freedom, but +because the public taste has altered. No present age can +predict immortality for the works of its day; yet to say that +what is intrinsically good is good for all time is but a +truism. The misfortune is that much of the best in +literature shares the fate of the best of ancient monuments and +noble cities; the cumulative rubbish of ages buries their +splendours, till we know not where to find them. The day +may come when the most valuable service of the man of letters +will be to unearth the lost treasures and display them, rather +than add his grain of dust to the ever-increasing middens.</p> +<p>Is Carlyle forgotten yet, I wonder? How much did my +contemporaries owe to him in their youth? How readily we +followed a leader so sure of himself, so certain of his own +evangel. What an aid to strength to be assured that the +true hero is the morally strong man. One does not criticise +what one loves; one didn’t look too closely into the +doctrine that, might is right, for somehow he managed to persuade +us that right makes the might—that the strong man is the +man who, for the most part, does act rightly. He is not +over-patient with human frailty, to be sure, and is apt, as +Herbert Spencer found, to fling about his scorn rather +recklessly. One fancies sometimes that he has more respect +for a genuine bad man than for a sham good one. In fact, +his ‘Eternal Verities’ come pretty much to the same +as Darwin’s ‘Law of the advancement of all organic +bodies’; ‘let the strong live, and the weakest +die.’ He had no objection to seeing ‘the young +cuckoo ejecting its foster-brothers, or ants making +slaves.’ But he atones for all this by his hatred of +cant and hypocrisy. It is for his manliness that we love +him, for his honesty, for his indifference to any mortal’s +approval save that of Thomas Carlyle. He convinces us that +right thinking is good, but that right doing is much +better. And so it is that he does honour to men of action +like his beloved Oliver, and Fritz,—neither of them +paragons of wisdom or of goodness, but men of doughty deeds.</p> +<p>Just about this time I narrowly missed a longed-for chance of +meeting this hero of my <i>penates</i>. Lady +Ashburton—Carlyle’s Lady Ashburton—knowing my +admiration, kindly invited me to The Grange, while he was +there. The house was full—mainly of ministers or +ex-ministers,—Cornewall Lewis, Sir Charles Wood, Sir James +Graham, Albany Fonblanque, Mr. Ellice, and Charles +Buller—Carlyle’s only pupil; but the great man +himself had left an hour before I got there. I often met +him afterwards, but never to make his acquaintance. Of +course, I knew nothing of his special friendship for Lady +Ashburton, which we are told was not altogether shared by Mrs. +Carlyle; but I well remember the interest which Lady Ashburton +seemed to take in his praise, how my enthusiasm seemed to please +her, and how Carlyle and his works were topics she was never +tired of discussing.</p> +<p>The South Western line to Alresford was not then made, and I +had to post part of the way from London to The Grange. My +chaise companion was a man very well known in +‘Society’; and though not remarkably popular, was not +altogether undistinguished, as the following little tale will +attest. Frederick Byng, one of the Torrington branch of the +Byngs, was chiefly famous for his sobriquet ‘The +Poodle’; this he owed to no special merit of his own, but +simply to the accident of his thick curly head of hair. +Some, who spoke feelingly of the man, used to declare that he had +fulfilled the promises of his youth. What happened to him +then may perhaps justify the opinion.</p> +<p>The young Poodle was addicted to practical jokes—as +usual, more amusing to the player than to the playee. One +of his victims happened to be Beau Brummell, who, except when he +bade ‘George ring the bell,’ was as perfect a model +of deportment as the great Mr. Turveydrop himself. His +studied decorum possibly provoked the playfulness of the young +puppy; and amongst other attempts to disturb the Beau’s +complacency, Master Byng ran a pin into the calf of that +gentleman’s leg, and then he ran away. A few days +later Mr. Brummell, who had carefully dissembled his wrath, +invited the unwary youth to breakfast, telling him that he was +leaving town, and had a present which his young friend might +have, if he chose to fetch it. The boy kept the +appointment, and the Beau his promise. After an excellent +breakfast, Brummell took a whip from his cupboard, and gave it to +the Poodle in a way the young dog was not likely to forget.</p> +<p>The happiest of my days then, and perhaps of my life, were +spent at Mr. Ellice’s Highland Lodge, at Glenquoich. +For sport of all kinds it was and is difficult to surpass. +The hills of the deer forest are amongst the highest in Scotland; +the scenery of its lake and glens, especially the descent to Loch +Hourne, is unequalled. Here were to be met many of the most +notable men and women of the time. And as the house was +twenty miles from the nearest post-town, and that in turn two +days from London, visitors ceased to be strangers before they +left. In the eighteen years during which this was my autumn +home, I had the good fortune to meet numbers of distinguished +people of whom I could now record nothing interesting but their +names. Still, it is a privilege to have known such men as +John Lawrence, Guizot, Thiers, Landseer, Mérimée, +Comte de Flahault, Doyle, Lords Elgin and Dalhousie, Duc de +Broglie, Pélissier, Panizzi, Motley, Delane, Dufferin; and +of gifted women, the three Sheridans, Lady Seymour—the +Queen of Beauty, afterwards Duchess of Somerset—Mrs. +Norton, and Lady Dufferin. Amongst those who have a +retrospective interest were Mr. and Lady Blanche Balfour, parents +of Mr. Arthur Balfour, who came there on their wedding tour in +1843. Mr. Arthur Balfour’s father was Mrs. +Ellice’s first cousin.</p> +<p>It would be easy to lengthen the list; but I mention only +those who repeated their visits, and who fill up my mental +picture of the place and of the life. Some amongst them +impressed me quite as much for their amiability—their +loveableness, I may say—as for their renown; and regard for +them increased with coming years. Panizzi was one of +these. Dufferin, who was just my age, would have fascinated +anyone with the singular courtesy of his manner. Dicky +Doyle was necessarily a favourite with all who knew him. He +was a frequent inmate of my house after I married, and was +engaged to dine with me, alas! only eight days before he +died. Motley was a singularly pleasant fellow. My +friendship with him began over a volume of Sir W. +Hamilton’s Lectures. He asked what I was +reading—I handed him the book.</p> +<p>‘Ah,’ said he, ‘there’s no mental +gymnastic like metaphysics.’</p> +<p>Many a battle we afterwards had over them. When I was at +Cannes in 1877 I got a message from him one day saying he was +ill, and asking me to come and see him. He did not say how +ill, so I put off going. Two days after I heard he was +dead.</p> +<p>Mérimée’s cynicism rather alarmed +one. He was a capital caricaturist, though, to our +astonishment, he assured us he had never drawn, or used a +colour-box, till late in life. He had now learnt to use it, +in a way that did not invariably give satisfaction. +Landseer always struck me as sensitive and proud, a +Diogenes-tempered individual who had been spoilt by the toadyism +of great people. He was agreeable if made much of, or +almost equally so if others were made little of.</p> +<p>But of all those named, surely John Lawrence was the +greatest. I wish I had read his life before it ended. +Yet, without knowing anything more of him than that he was Chief +Commissioner of the Punjab, which did not convey much to my +understanding, one felt the greatness of the man beneath his calm +simplicity. One day the party went out for a deer-drive; I +was instructed to place Sir John in the pass below mine. To +my disquietude he wore a black overcoat. I assured him that +not a stag would come within a mile of us, unless he covered +himself with a grey plaid, or hid behind a large rock there was, +where I assured him he would see nothing.</p> +<p>‘Have the deer to pass me before they go on to +you?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘Certainly they have,’ said I; ‘I shall be +up there above you.’</p> +<p>‘Well then,’ was his answer, ‘I’ll get +behind the rock—it will be more snug out of the +wind.’</p> +<p>One might as well have asked the deer not to see him, as try +to persuade John Lawrence not to sacrifice himself for +others. That he did so here was certain, for the deer came +within fifty yards of him, but he never fired a shot.</p> +<p>Another of the Indian viceroys was the innocent occasion of +great discomfort to me, or rather his wife was. Lady Elgin +had left behind her a valuable diamond necklace. I was +going back to my private tutor at Ely a few days after, and the +necklace was entrusted to me to deliver to its owner on my way +through London. There was no railway then further north +than Darlington, except that between Edinburgh and Glasgow. +When I reached Edinburgh by coach from Inverness, my portmanteau +was not to be found. The necklace was in a despatch-box in +my portmanteau; and by an unlucky oversight, I had put my purse +into my despatch-box. What was to be done? I was a +lad of seventeen, in a town where I did not know a soul, with +seven or eight shillings at most in my pocket. I had to +break my journey and to stop where I was till I could get news of +the necklace; this alone was clear to me, for the necklace was +the one thing I cared for.</p> +<p>At the coach office all the comfort I could get was that the +lost luggage might have gone on to Glasgow; or, what was more +probable, might have gone astray at Burntisland. It might +not have been put on board, or it might not have been taken off +the ferry-steamer. This could not be known for twenty-four +hours, as there was no boat to or from Burntisland till the +morrow. I decided to try Glasgow. A return +third-class ticket left me without a copper. I went, found +nothing, got back to Edinburgh at 10 <span +class="GutSmall">P.M.</span>, ravenously hungry, dead tired, and +so frightened about the necklace that food, bed, means of +continuing my journey, were as mere death compared with +irreparable dishonour. What would they all think of +me? How could I prove that I had not stolen the +diamonds? Would Lord Elgin accuse me? How could I +have been such an idiot as to leave them in my portmanteau! +Some rascal might break it open, and then, goodbye to my chance +for ever! Chance? what chance was there of seeing that +luggage again? There were so many +‘mights.’ I couldn’t even swear that I +had seen it on the coach at Inverness. Oh dear! oh +dear! What was to be done? I walked about the +streets; I glanced woefully at door-steps, whereon to pass the +night; I gazed piteously through the windows of a cheap +cook’s shop, where solid wedges of baked pudding, that +would have stopped digestion for a month, were advertised for a +penny a block. How rich should I have been if I had had a +penny in my pocket! But I had to turn away in despair.</p> +<p>At last the inspiration came. I remembered hearing Mr. +Ellice say that he always put up at Douglas’ Hotel when he +stayed in Edinburgh. I had very little hope of success, but +I was too miserable to hesitate. It was very late, and +everybody might be gone to bed. I rang the bell. +‘I want to see the landlord.’</p> +<p>‘Any name?’ the porter asked.</p> +<p>‘No.’ The landlord came, fat, amiable +looking. ‘May I speak to you in private?’ +He showed the way to an unoccupied room. ‘I think you +know Mr. Ellice?’</p> +<p>‘Glenquoich, do you mean?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, very well—he always stays here on his way +through.’</p> +<p>‘I am his step-son; I left Glenquoich yesterday. I +have lost my luggage, and am left without any money. Will +you lend me five pounds?’ I believe if I were in the +same strait now, and entered any strange hotel in the United +Kingdom at half-past ten at night, and asked the landlord to give +me five pounds upon a similar security, he would laugh in my +face, or perhaps give me in charge of a policeman.</p> +<p>My host of Douglas’ did neither; but opened both his +heart and his pocket-book, and with the greatest good humour +handed me the requested sum. What good people there are in +this world, which that crusty old Sir Peter Teazle calls ‘a +d—d wicked one.’ I poured out all my trouble to +the generous man. He ordered me an excellent supper, and a +very nice room. And on the following day, after taking a +great deal of trouble, he recovered my lost luggage and the +priceless treasure it contained. It was a proud and happy +moment when I returned his loan, and convinced him, of what he +did not seem to doubt, that I was positively not a swindler.</p> +<p>But the roofless night and the empty belly, consequent on an +empty pocket, was a lesson which I trust was not thrown away upon +me. It did not occur to me to do so, but I certainly might +have picked a pocket, if—well, if I had been brought up to +it. Honesty, as I have often thought since, is dirt cheap +if only one can afford it.</p> +<p>Before departing from my beloved Glenquoich, I must pay a +passing tribute to the remarkable qualities of Mrs. Edward Ellice +and of her youngest sister Mrs. Robert Ellice, the mother of the +present member for St. Andrews. It was, in a great measure, +the bright intelligence, the rare tact, and social gifts of these +two ladies that made this beautiful Highland resort so attractive +to all comers.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> winter of 1854–55 I spent +in Rome. Here I made the acquaintance of Leighton, then +six-and-twenty. I saw a good deal of him, as I lived almost +entirely amongst the artists, taking lessons myself in water +colours of Leitch. Music also brought us into +contact. He had a beautiful voice, and used to sing a good +deal with Mrs. Sartoris—Adelaide Kemble—whom he +greatly admired, and whose portrait is painted under a +monk’s cowl, in the Cimabue procession.</p> +<p>Calling on him one morning, I found him on his knees buttering +and rolling up this great picture, preparatory to sending it to +the Academy. I made some remark about its unusual size, +saying with a sceptical smile, ‘It will take up a lot of +room.’</p> +<p>‘If they ever hang it,’ he replied; ‘but +there’s not much chance of that.’</p> +<p>Seeing that his reputation was yet to win, it certainly seemed +a bold venture to make so large a demand for space to begin +with. He did not appear the least sanguine. But it +was accepted; and Prince Albert bought it before the Exhibition +opened.</p> +<p>Gibson also I saw much of. He had executed a large +alto-rilievo monument of my mother, which is now in my parish +church, and the model of which is on the landing of one of the +staircases of the National Gallery. His studio was always +an interesting lounge, for he was ever ready to lecture upon +antique marbles. To listen to him was like reading the +‘Laocoon,’ which he evidently had at his +fingers’ ends. My companion through the winter was +Mr. Reginald Cholmondeley, a Cambridge ally, who was studying +painting. He was the uncle of Miss Cholmondeley the +well-known authoress, whose mother, by the way, was a first +cousin of George Cayley’s, and also a great friend of +mine.</p> +<p>On my return to England I took up my abode in Dean’s +Yard, and shared a house there with Mr. Cayley, the Yorkshire +member, and his two sons, the eldest a barrister, and my friend +George. Here for several years we had exceedingly pleasant +gatherings of men more or less distinguished in literature and +art. Tennyson was a frequent visitor—coming late, +after dinner hours, to smoke his pipe. He varied a good +deal, sometimes not saying a word, but quietly listening to our +chatter. Thackeray also used to drop in occasionally.</p> +<p>George Cayley and I, with the assistance of his father and +others, had started a weekly paper called ‘The +Realm.’ It was professedly a currency paper, and also +supported a fiscal policy advocated by Mr. Cayley and some of his +parliamentary clique. Coming in one day, and finding us +hard at work, Thackeray asked for information. We handed +him a copy of the paper. ‘Ah,’ he exclaimed, +with mock solemnity, ‘“The Rellum,” should be +printed on vellum.’ He too, like Tennyson, was +variable. But this depended on whom he found. In the +presence of a stranger he was grave and silent. He would +never venture on puerile jokes like this of his +‘Rellum’—a frequent playfulness, when at his +ease, which contrasted so unexpectedly with his impenetrable +exterior. He was either gauging the unknown person, or +feeling that he was being gauged. Monckton Milnes was +another. Seeing me correcting some proof sheets, he said, +‘Let me give you a piece of advice, my young friend. +Write as much as you please, but the less you print the +better.’</p> +<p>‘For me, or for others?’</p> +<p>‘For both.’</p> +<p>George Cayley had a natural gift for, and had acquired +considerable skill, in the embossing and working of silver +ware. Millais so admired his art that he commissioned him +to make a large tea-tray; Millais provided the silver. +Round the border of the tray were beautifully modelled +sea-shells, cray-fish, crabs, and fish of quaint forms, in high +relief. Millais was so pleased with the work that he +afterwards painted, and presented to Cayley, a fine portrait in +his best style of Cayley’s son, a boy of six or seven years +old.</p> +<p>Laurence Oliphant was one of George Cayley’s +friends. Attractive as he was in many ways, I had little +sympathy with his religious opinions, nor did I comprehend +Oliphant’s exalted inspirations; I failed to see their +practical bearing, and, at that time I am sorry to say, looked +upon him as an amiable faddist. A special favourite with +both of us was William Stirling of Keir. His great work on +the Spanish painters, and his ‘Cloister Life of Charles the +Fifth,’ excited our unbounded admiration, while his +<i>bonhomie</i> and radiant humour were a delight we were always +eager to welcome.</p> +<p>George Cayley and I now entered at Lincoln’s Inn. +At the end of three years he was duly called to the Bar. I +was not; for alas, as usual, something ‘turned up,’ +which drew me in another direction. For a couple of years, +however, I ‘ate’ my terms—not unfrequently with +William Harcourt, with whom Cayley had a Yorkshire intimacy even +before our Cambridge days.</p> +<p>Old Mr. Cayley, though not the least strait-laced, was a +religious man. A Unitarian by birth and conviction, he +began and ended the day with family prayers. On Sundays he +would always read to us, or make us read to him, a sermon of +Channing’s, or of Theodore Parker’s, or what we all +liked better, one of Frederick Robertson’s. He was +essentially a good man. He had been in Parliament all his +life, and was a broad-minded, tolerant, philosophical +man-of-the-world. He had a keen sense of humour, and was +rather sarcastical; but, for all that, he was sensitively +earnest, and conscientious. I had the warmest affection and +respect for him. Such a character exercised no small +influence upon our conduct and our opinions, especially as his +approval or disapproval of these visibly affected his own +happiness.</p> +<p>He was never easy unless he was actively engaged in some +benevolent scheme, the promotion of some charity, or in what he +considered his parliamentary duties, which he contrived to make +very burdensome to his conscience. As his health was bad, +these self-imposed obligations were all the more onerous; but he +never spared himself, or his somewhat scanty means. Amongst +other minor tasks, he used to teach at the Sunday-school of St. +John’s, Westminster; in this he persuaded me to join +him. The only other volunteer, not a clergyman, was Page +Wood—a great friend of Mr. Cayley’s—afterwards +Lord Chancellor Hatherley. In spite of Mr. Cayley’s +Unitarianism, like Frederick the Great, he was all for letting +people ‘go to Heaven in their own way,’ and was +moreover quite ready to help them in their own way. So that +he had no difficulty in hearing the boys repeat the day’s +collect, or the Creed, even if Athanasian, in accordance with the +prescribed routine of the clerical teachers.</p> +<p>This was right, at all events for him, if he thought it +right. My spirit of nonconformity did not permit me to +follow his example. Instead thereof, my teaching was purely +secular. I used to take a volume of Mrs. Marcet’s +‘Conversations’ in my pocket; and with the aid of the +diagrams, explain the application of the mechanical +forces,—the inclined plane, the screw, the pulley, the +wedge, and the lever. After two or three Sundays my class +was largely increased, for the children keenly enjoyed their +competitive examinations. I would also give them bits of +poetry to get by heart for the following Sunday—lines from +Gray’s ‘Elegy,’ from Wordsworth, from +Pope’s ‘Essay on Man’—such in short as +had a moral rather than a religious tendency.</p> +<p>After some weeks of this, the boys becoming clamorous in their +zeal to correct one another, one of the curates left his class to +hear what was going on in mine. We happened at the moment +to be dealing with geography. The curate, evidently +shocked, went away and brought another curate. Then the two +together departed, and brought back the rector—Dr. +Jennings, one of the Westminster Canons—a most kind and +excellent man. I went on as if unconscious of the +censorship, the boys exerting themselves all the more eagerly for +the sake of the ‘gallery.’ When the hour was +up, Canon Jennings took me aside, and in the most polite manner +thanked me for my ‘valuable assistance,’ but did not +think that the ‘Essay on Man,’ or especially +geography, was suited for the teaching in a Sunday-school. +I told him I knew it was useless to contend with so high a +canonical authority; personally I did not see the impiety of +geography, but then, as he already knew, I was a confirmed +latitudinarian. He clearly did not see the joke, but +intimated that my services would henceforth be dispensed +with.</p> +<p>Of course I was wrong, though I did not know it then, for it +must be borne in mind that there were no Board Schools in those +days, and general education, amongst the poor, was deplorably +deficient. At first, my idea was to give the children (they +were all boys) a taste for the ‘humanities,’ which +might afterwards lead to their further pursuit. I assumed +that on the Sunday they would be thinking of the baked meats +awaiting them when church was over, or of their week-day tops and +tipcats; but I was equally sure that a time would come when these +would be forgotten, and the other things remembered. The +success was greater from the beginning than could be looked for; +and some years afterwards I had reason to hope that the forecast +was not altogether too sanguine.</p> +<p>While the Victoria Tower was being built, I stopped one day to +watch the masons chiselling the blocks of stone. Presently +one of them, in a flannel jacket and a paper cap, came and held +out his hand to me. He was a handsome young fellow with a +big black beard and moustache, both powdered with his +chippings.</p> +<p>‘You don’t remember me, sir, do you?’</p> +<p>‘Did I ever see you before?’</p> +<p>‘My name is Richards; don’t you remember, +sir? I was one of the boys you used to teach at the +Sunday-school. It gave me a turn for mechanics, which I +followed up; and that’s how I took to this trade. +I’m a master mason now, sir; and the whole of this lot is +under me.’</p> +<p>‘I wonder what you would have been,’ said I, +‘if we’d stuck to the collects?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t think I should have had a hand in this +little job,’ he answered, looking up with pride at the +mighty tower, as though he had a creative share in its +construction.</p> +<p>All this while I was working hard at my own education, and +trying to make up for the years I had wasted (so I thought of +them), by knocking about the world. I spent laborious days +and nights in reading, dabbling in geology, chemistry, +physiology, metaphysics, and what not. On the score of +dogmatic religion I was as restless as ever. I had an +insatiable thirst for knowledge; but was without guidance. +I wanted to learn everything; and, not knowing in what direction +to concentrate my efforts, learnt next to nothing. All +knowledge seemed to me equally important, for all bore alike upon +the great problems of belief and of existence. But what to +pursue, what to relinquish, appeared to me an unanswerable +riddle. Difficult as this puzzle was, I did not know then +that a long life’s experience would hardly make it +simpler. The man who has to earn his bread must fain +resolve to adapt his studies to that end. His choice not +often rests with him. But the unfortunate being cursed in +youth with the means of idleness, yet without genius, without +talents even, is terribly handicapped and perplexed.</p> +<p>And now, with life behind me, how should I advise another in +such a plight? When a young lady, thus embarrassed, wrote +to Carlyle for counsel, he sympathetically bade her ‘put +her drawers in order.’</p> +<p>Here is the truth to be faced at the outset: ‘Man has +but the choice to go a little way in many paths, or a great way +in only one.’ ‘Tis thus John Mill puts +it. Which will he, which should he, choose? Both +courses lead alike to incompleteness. The universal man is +no specialist, and has to generalise without his details. +The specialist sees only through his microscope, and knows about +as much of cosmology as does his microbe. Goethe, the most +comprehensive of Seers, must needs expose his incompleteness by +futile attempts to disprove Newton’s theory of +colour. Newton must needs expose his, by a still more +lamentable attempt to prove the Apocalypse as true as his own +discovery of the laws of gravitation. All science nowadays +is necessarily confined to experts. Without illustrating +the fact by invidious hints, I invite anyone to consider the +intellectual cost to the world which such limitation entails; nor +is the loss merely negative; the specialist is unfortunately too +often a bigot, when beyond his contracted sphere.</p> +<p>This, you will say, is arguing in a circle. The +universal must be given up for the detail, the detail for the +universal; we leave off where we began. Yes, that is the +dilemma. Still, the gain to science through a devotion of a +whole life to a mere group of facts, in a single branch of a +single science, may be an incalculable acquisition to human +knowledge, to the intellectual capital of the race—a gain +that sometimes far outweighs the loss. Even if we narrow +the question to the destiny of the individual, the sacrifice of +each one for the good of the whole is doubtless the highest aim +the one can have.</p> +<p>But this conclusion scarcely helps us; for remember, the +option is not given to all. Genius, or talent, or special +aptitude, is a necessary equipment for such an undertaking. +Great discoverers must be great observers, dexterous +manipulators, ingenious contrivers, and patient thinkers.</p> +<p>The difficulty we started with was, what you and I, my friend, +who perhaps have to row in the same boat, and perhaps ‘with +the same sculls,’ without any of these provisions, what we +should do? What point of the compass should we steer +for? ‘Whatever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy +might.’ Truly there could be no better advice. +But the ‘finding’ is the puzzle; and like the search +for truth it must, I fear, be left to each one’s power to +do it. And then—and then the countless thousands who +have the leisure without the means—who have hands at least, +and yet no work to put them to—what is to be done for +these? Not in your time or mine, dear friend, will that +question be answered. For this, I fear we must wait till by +the ‘universal law of adaptation’ we reach ‘the +ultimate development of the ideal man.’ +‘Colossal optimism,’ exclaims the critic.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> February, 1855, Roebuck moved +for a select committee to inquire into the condition of the Army +before Sebastopol. Lord John Russell, who was leader of the +House, treated this as a vote of censure, and resigned. +Lord Palmerston resisted Roebuck’s motion, and generously +defended the Government he was otherwise opposed to. But +the motion was carried by a majority of 157, and Lord Aberdeen +was turned out of office. The Queen sent for Lord Derby, +but without Lord Palmerston he was unable to form a +Ministry. Lord John was then appealed to, with like +results; and the premiership was practically forced upon +Palmerston, in spite of his unpopularity at Court. Mr. +Horsman was made Chief Secretary for Ireland; and through Mr. +Ellice I became his private secretary.</p> +<p>Before I went to the Irish Office I was all but a stranger to +my chief. I had met him occasionally in the tennis court; +but the net was always between us. He was a man with a +great deal of manner, but with very little of what the French +call ‘conviction.’ Nothing keeps people at a +distance more effectually than simulated sincerity; Horsman was a +master of the art. I was profoundly ignorant of my +duties. But though this was a great inconvenience to me at +first, it led to a friendship which I greatly prized until its +tragic end. For all information as to the writers of +letters, as to Irish Members who applied for places for +themselves, or for others, I had to consult the principal +clerk. He was himself an Irishman of great ability; and +though young, was either personally or officially acquainted, so +it seemed to me, with every Irishman in the House of Commons, or +out of it. His name is too well known—it was Thomas +Bourke, afterwards Under Secretary, and one of the victims of the +Fenian assassins in the Phœnix Park. His patience and +amiability were boundless; and under his guidance I soon learnt +the tricks of my trade.</p> +<p>During the session we remained in London; and for some time it +was of great interest to listen to the debates. When Irish +business was before the House, I had often to be in attendance on +my chief in the reporters’ gallery. Sometimes I had +to wait there for an hour or two before our questions came on, +and thus had many opportunities of hearing Bright, Gladstone, +Disraeli, and all the leading speakers. After a time the +pleasure, when compulsory, began to pall; and I used to wonder +what on earth could induce the ruck to waste their time in +following, sheeplike, their bell-wethers, or waste their money in +paying for that honour. When Parliament was up we moved to +Dublin. I lived with Horsman in the Chief Secretary’s +lodge. And as I had often stayed at Castle Howard before +Lord Carlisle became Viceroy, between the two lodges I saw a +great deal of pleasant society.</p> +<p>Amongst those who came to stay with Horsman was Sidney +Herbert, then Colonial Secretary, a man of singular nobility of +nature. Another celebrity for the day, but of a very +different character, was Lord Cardigan. He had just +returned from the Crimea, and was now in command of the forces in +Ireland. This was about six months after the Balaklava +charge. Horsman asked him one evening to give a description +of it, with a plan of the battle. His Lordship did so; no +words could be more suited to the deed. If this was +‘pell-mell, havock, and confusion,’ the account of it +was proportionately confounded. The noble leader scrawled +and inked and blotted all the phases of the battle upon the same +scrap of paper, till the batteries were at the starting-point of +the charge, the Light Brigade on the far side of the guns, and +all the points of the compass, attack and defence, had changed +their original places; in fact, the gallant Earl brandished his +pen as valiantly as he had his sword. When quite +bewildered, like everybody else, I ventured mildly to ask, +‘But where were you, Lord Cardigan, and where were our men +when it came to this?’</p> +<p>‘Where? Where? God bless my soul! How +should I know where anybody was?’ And this, no doubt, +described the situation to a nicety.</p> +<p>My office was in the Castle, and the next room to mine was +that of the Solicitor-General Keogh, afterwards Judge. We +became the greatest of friends. It was one of +Horsman’s peculiarities to do business circuitously. +He was fond of mysteries and of secrets, secrets that were to be +kept from everyone, but which were generally known to the office +messengers. When Keogh and I met in the morning he would +say, with admirable imitation of Horsman’s manner, +‘Well, it is all settled; the Viceroy has considered the +question, and has decided to act upon my advice. Mind you +don’t tell anyone—it is a profound secret,’ +then, lowering his voice and looking round the room, ‘His +Excellency has consented to score at the next cricket match +between the garrison and the Civil Service.’ If it +were a constabulary appointment, or even a village post-office, +the Attorney or the Solicitor-General would be strictly enjoined +not to inform me, and I received similar injunctions respecting +them. In spite of his apparent attention to details, Mr. +Horsman hunted three days a week, and stated in the House of +Commons that the office of Chief Secretary was a farce, meaning +when excluded from the Cabinet. All I know is, that his +private secretary was constantly at work an hour before breakfast +by candle-light, and never got a single day’s holiday +throughout the winter.</p> +<p>Horsman had hired a shooting—Balnaboth in Scotland; +here, too, I had to attend upon him in the autumn, mainly for the +purpose of copying voluminous private correspondence about a +sugar estate he owned at Singapore, then producing a large +income, but the subsequent failure of which was his ruin. +One year Sir Alexander Cockburn, the Lord Chief Justice, came to +stay with him; and excellent company he was. Horsman had +sometimes rather an affected way of talking; and referring to +some piece of political news, asked Cockburn whether he had seen +it in the ‘Courier.’ This he pronounced with an +accent on the last syllable, like the French +‘Courrier.’ Cockburn, with a slight twinkle in +his eye, answered in his quiet way, ‘No, I didn’t see +it in the “Courrier,” perhaps it is in the +“Morning Post,”’ also giving the French +pronunciation to the latter word.</p> +<p>Sir Alexander told us an amusing story about Disraeli. +He and Bernal Osborne were talking together about Mrs. Disraeli, +when presently Osborne, with characteristic effrontery, +exclaimed: ‘My dear Dizzy, how could you marry such a +woman?’ The answer was; ‘My dear Bernal, you +never knew what gratitude was, or you would not ask the +question.’</p> +<p>The answer was a gracious one, and doubtless sincere. +But, despite his cynicism, no one could be more courteous or say +prettier things than Disraeli. Here is a little story that +was told me at the time by my sister-in-law, who was a woman of +the bedchamber, and was present on the occasion. When her +Majesty Queen Alexandra was suffering from an accident to her +knee, and had to use crutches, Disraeli said to her: ‘I +have heard of a devil on two sticks, but never before knew an +angel to use them.’</p> +<p>Keogh, Bourke, and I, made several pleasant little excursions +to such places as Bray, the Seven Churches, Powerscourt, &c., +and, with a chosen car-driver, the wit and fun of the three +clever Irishmen was no small treat. The last time I saw +either of my two friends was at a dinner-party which Bourke gave +at the ‘Windham.’ We were only four, to make up +a whist party; the fourth was Fred Clay, the composer. It +is sad to reflect that two of the lot came to violent +ends—Keogh, the cheeriest of men in society, by his own +hands. Bourke I had often spoken to of the danger he ran in +crossing the Phœnix Park nightly on his way home, on foot +and unarmed. He laughed at me, and rather +indignantly—for he was a very vain man, though one of the +most good-natured fellows in the world. In the first place, +he prided himself on his physique—he was a tall, +well-built, handsome man, and a good boxer and fencer to +boot. In the next place, he prided himself above all things +on being a thorough-bred Irishman, with a sneaking sympathy with +even Fenian grievances. ‘They all know +<i>me</i>,’ he would say. ‘The rascals know +I’m the best friend they have. I’m the last man +in the world they’d harm, for political reasons. +Anyway, I can take care of myself.’ And so it was he +fell.</p> +<p>The end of Horsman’s secretaryship is soon told. A +bishopric became vacant, and almost as much intrigue was set +agoing as we read of in the wonderful story of +‘L’Anneau d’Améthyste.’ +Horsman, at all times a profuse letter-writer, wrote folios to +Lord Palmerston on the subject, each letter more exuberant, more +urgent than the last. But no answer came. Finally, +the whole Irish vote, according to the Chief Secretary, being at +stake—not to mention the far more important matter of +personal and official dignity—Horsman flew off to London, +boiling over with impatience and indignation. He rushed to +10 Downing Street. His Lordship was at the Foreign office, +but was expected every minute; would Mr. Horsman wait? Mr. +Horsman was shown into his Lordship’s room. Piles of +letters, opened and unopened, were lying upon the table. +The Chief Secretary recognised his own signatures on the +envelopes of a large bundle, all amongst the +‘un’s.’ The Premier came in, an +explanation <i>extrêmement vive</i> followed; on his return +to Dublin Mr. Horsman resigned his post, and from that moment +became one of Lord Palmerston’s bitterest opponents.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XL</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> lectures at the Royal +Institution were of some help to me. I attended courses by +Owen, Tyndall, Huxley, and Bain. Of these, Huxley was +<i>facile princeps</i>, though both Owen and Tyndall were second +to no other. Bain was disappointing. I was a careful +student of his books, and always admired the logical lucidity of +his writing. But to the mixed audience he had to lecture +to—fashionable young ladies in their teens, and drowsy +matrons in charge of them, he discreetly kept clear of +transcendentals. In illustration perhaps of some theory of +the relation of the senses to the intellect, he would tell an +amusing anecdote of a dog that had had an injured leg dressed at +a certain house, after which the recovered dog brought a canine +friend to the same house to have his leg—or +tail—repaired. Out would come all the tablets and +pretty pencil cases, and every young lady would be busy for the +rest of the lecture in recording the marvellous history. If +the dog’s name had been ‘Spot’ or +‘Bob,’ the important psychological fact would have +been faithfully registered. As to the theme of the +discourse, that had nothing to do with—millinery. And +Mr. Bain doubtless did not overlook the fact.</p> +<p>Owen was an accomplished lecturer; but one’s attention +to him depended on two things—a primary interest in the +subject, and some elementary acquaintance with it. If, for +example, his subject were the comparative anatomy of the cycloid +and ganoid fishes, the difference in their scales was scarcely of +vital importance to one’s general culture. But if he +were lecturing on fish, he would stick to fish; it would be +essentially a <i>jour maigre</i>.</p> +<p>With Huxley, the suggestion was worth more than the thing +said. One thought of it afterwards, and wondered whether +his words implied all they seemed to imply. One knew that +the scientist was also a philosopher; and one longed to get at +him, at the man himself, and listen to the lessons which his work +had taught him. At one of these lectures I had the honour +of being introduced to him by a great friend of mine, John +Marshall, then President of the College of Surgeons. In +later years I used to meet him constantly at the +Athenæum.</p> +<p>Looking back to the days of one’s plasticity, two men +are pre-eminent among my Dii Majores. To John Stuart Mill +and to Thomas Huxley I owe more, educationally, than to any other +teachers. Mill’s logic was simply a revelation to +me. For what Kant calls ‘discipline,’ I still +know no book, unless it be the ‘Critique’ itself, +equal to it. But perhaps it is the men themselves, their +earnestness, their splendid courage, their noble simplicity, that +most inspired one with reverence. It was Huxley’s aim +to enlighten the many, and he enlightened them. It was +Mill’s lot to help thinkers, and he helped them. +<i>Sapere aude</i> was the motto of both. How few there are +who dare to adopt it! To love truth is valiantly professed +by all; but to pursue it at all costs, to ‘dare to be +wise’ needs daring of the highest order.</p> +<p>Mill had the enormous advantage, to start with, of an +education unbiassed by any theological creed; and he brought +exceptional powers of abstract reasoning to bear upon matters of +permanent and supreme importance to all men. Yet, in spite +of his ruthless impartiality, I should not hesitate to call him a +religious man. This very tendency which no imaginative +mind, no man or woman with any strain of poetical feeling, can be +without, invests Mill’s character with a clash of humanity +which entitles him to a place in our affections. It is in +this respect that he so widely differs from Mr. Herbert +Spencer. Courageous Mr. Spencer was, but his courage seems +to have been due almost as much to absence of sympathy or kinship +with his fellow-creatures, and to his contempt of their opinions, +as from his dispassionate love of truth, or his sometimes +passionate defence of his own tenets.</p> +<p>My friend Napier told me an amusing little story about John +Mill when he was in the East India Company’s +administration. Mr. Macvey Napier, my friend’s elder +brother, was the senior clerk. On John Mill’s +retirement, his co-officials subscribed to present him with a +silver standish. Such was the general sense of Mill’s +modest estimate of his own deserts, and of his aversion to all +acknowledgment of them, that Mr. Napier, though it fell to his +lot, begged others to join in the ceremony of presentation. +All declined; the inkstand was left upon Mill’s table when +he himself was out of the room.</p> +<p>Years after the time of which I am writing, when Mill stood +for Westminster, I had the good fortune to be on the platform at +St. James’s Hall, next but one to him, when he made his +first speech to the electors. He was completely unknown to +the public, and, though I worshipped the man, I had never seen +him, nor had an idea what he looked like. To satisfy my +curiosity I tried to get a portrait of him at the photographic +shop in Regent Street.</p> +<p>‘I want a photograph of Mr. Mill.’</p> +<p>‘Mill? Mill?’ repeated the shopman, +‘Oh yes, sir, I know—a great sporting gent,’ +and he produced the portrait of a sportsman in top boots and a +hunting cap.</p> +<p>Very different from this was the figure I then saw. The +hall and the platform were crowded. Where was the principal +personage? Presently, quite alone, up the side steps, and +unobserved, came a thin but tallish man in black, with a tail +coat, and, almost unrecognised, took the vacant front seat. +He might have been, so far as dress went, a clerk in a +counting-house, or an undertaker. But the face was no +ordinary one. The wide brow, the sharp nose of the Burke +type, the compressed lips and strong chin, were suggestive of +intellect and of suppressed emotion. There was no applause, +for nothing was known to the crowd, even of his opinions, beyond +the fact that he was the Liberal candidate for Westminster. +He spoke with perfect ease to himself, never faltering for the +right word, which seemed to be always at his command. If +interrupted by questions, as he constantly was, his answers could +not have been amended had he written them. His voice was +not strong, and there were frequent calls from the far end to +‘speak up, speak up; we can’t hear you.’ +He did not raise his pitch a note. They might as well have +tried to bully an automaton. He was doing his best, and he +could do no more. Then, when, instead of the usual +adulations, instead of declamatory appeals to the passions of a +large and a mixed assembly, he gave them to understand, in very +plain language, that even socialists are not +infallible,—that extreme and violent opinions, begotten of +ignorance, do not constitute the highest political wisdom; then +there were murmurs of dissent and disapproval. But if the +ignorant and the violent could have stoned him, his calm manner +would still have said, ‘Strike, but hear me.’</p> +<p>Mr. Robert Grosvenor—the present Lord Ebury—then +the other Liberal member for Westminster, wrote to ask me to take +the chair at Mill’s first introduction to the Pimlico +electors. Such, however, was my admiration of Mill, I did +not feel sure that I might not say too much in his favour; and +mindful of the standish incident, I knew, that if I did so, it +would embarrass and annoy him.</p> +<p>Under these circumstances I declined the honour.</p> +<p>When Owen was delivering a course of lectures at Norwich, my +brother invited him to Holkham. I was there, and we took +several long walks together. Nothing seemed to escape his +observation. My brother had just completed the recovery of +many hundred acres of tidal marsh by embankments. Owen, who +was greatly interested, explained what would be the effect upon +the sandiest portion of this, in years to come; what the chemical +action of the rain would be, how the sand would eventually become +soil, how vegetation would cover it, and how manure render it +cultivable. The splendid crops now grown there bear +testimony to his foresight. He had always something +instructive to impart, stopping to contemplate trifles which only +a Zadig would have noticed.</p> +<p>‘I observe,’ said he one day, ‘that your +prevailing wind here is north-west.’</p> +<p>‘How do you know?’ I asked.</p> +<p>‘Look at the roots of all these trees; the large roots +are invariably on the north-west side. This means that the +strain comes on this side. The roots which have to bear it +loosen the soil, and the loosened soil favours the extension and +the growth of the roots. Nature is beautifully +scientific.’</p> +<p>Some years after this, I published a book called ‘Creeds +of the Day.’ My purpose was to show, in a popular +form, the bearings of science and speculative thought upon the +religious creeds of the time. I sent Owen a copy of the +work. He wrote me one of the most interesting letters I +ever received. He had bought the book, and had read +it. But the important content of the letter was the +confession of his own faith. I have purposely excluded all +correspondence from these Memoirs, but had it not been that a +forgotten collector of autographs had captured it, I should have +been tempted to make an exception in its favour. The tone +was agnostic; but timidly agnostic. He had never freed +himself from the shackles of early prepossessions. He had +not the necessary daring to clear up his doubts. Sometimes +I fancy that it was this difference in the two men that lay at +the bottom of the unfortunate antagonism between Owen and +Huxley. There is in Owen’s writing, where he is not +purely scientific, a touch of the apologist. He cannot +quite make up his mind to follow evolution to its logical +conclusions. Where he is forced to do so, it is to him like +signing the death warrant of his dearest friend. It must +not be forgotten that Owen was born more than twenty years before +Huxley; and great as was the offence of free-thinking in +Huxley’s youth, it was nothing short of anathema in +Owen’s. When I met him at Holkham, the ‘Origin +of Species’ had not been published; and Napier and I did +all we could to get Owen to express some opinion on +Lamarck’s theory, for he and I used to talk confidentially +on this fearful heresy even then. But Owen was ever on his +guard. He evaded our questions and changed the subject.</p> +<p>Whenever I pass near the South Kensington Museum I step aside +to look at the noble statues of the two illustrious men. A +mere glance at them, and we appreciate at once their respective +characters. In the one we see passive wisdom, in the other +militant force.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Before</span> I went to America, I made +the acquaintance of Dr. George Bird; he continued to be one of my +most intimate friends till his death, fifty years +afterwards. When I first knew him, Bird was the medical +adviser and friend of Leigh Hunt, whose family I used often to +meet at his house. He had been dependent entirely upon his +own exertions; had married young; and had had a pretty hard fight +at starting to provide for his children and for himself. +His energy, his abilities, his exceeding amiability, and +remarkable social qualities, gradually procured him a large +practice and hosts of devoted friends. He began looking for +the season for sprats—the cheapest of fish—to come +in; by middle life he was habitually and sumptuously entertaining +the celebrities of art and literature. With his +accomplished sister, Miss Alice Bird, to keep house for him, +there were no pleasanter dinner parties or receptions in +London. His <i>clientèle</i> was mainly amongst the +artistic world. He was a great friend of Miss Ellen +Terry’s, Mr. Marcus Stone and his sisters were frequenters +of his house, so were Mr. Swinburne, Mr. Woolner the +sculptor—of whom I was not particularly fond—Horace +Wigan the actor, and his father, the Burtons, who were much +attached to him—Burton dedicated one volume of his +‘Arabian Nights’ to him—Sir William Crookes, +Mr. Justin Macarthy and his talented son, and many others.</p> +<p>The good doctor was a Radical and Home Ruler, and attended +professionally the members of one or two labouring men’s +clubs for fees which, as far as I could learn, were rigorously +nominal. His great delight was to get an order for the +House of Commons, especially on nights when Mr. Gladstone spoke; +and, being to the last day of his life as simple-minded as a +child, had a profound belief in the statemanship and integrity of +that renowned orator.</p> +<p>As far as personality goes, the Burtons were, perhaps, the +most notable of the above-named. There was a mystery about +Burton which was in itself a fascination. No one knew what +he had done; or consequently what he might not do. He never +boasted, never hinted that he had done, or could do, anything +different from other men; and, in spite of the mystery, one felt +that he was transparently honest and sincere. He was always +the same, always true to himself; but then, that +‘self’ was a something <i>per se</i>, which could not +be categorically classed—precedent for guidance was +lacking. There is little doubt Burton had gipsy blood in +his veins; there was something Oriental in his temperament, and +even in his skin.</p> +<p>One summer’s day I found him reading the paper in the +Athenæum. He was dressed in a complete suit of +white—white trousers, a white linen coat, and a very shabby +old white hat. People would have stared at him +anywhere.</p> +<p>‘Hullo, Burton!’ I exclaimed, touching his linen +coat, ‘Do you find it so +hot—<i>déjà</i>?’</p> +<p>Said he: ‘I don’t want to be mistaken for other +people.’</p> +<p>‘There’s not much fear of that, even without your +clothes,’ I replied.</p> +<p>Such an impromptu answer as his would, from any other, have +implied vanity. Yet no man could have been less vain, or +more free from affectation. It probably concealed regret at +finding himself conspicuous.</p> +<p>After dinner at the Birds’ one evening we fell to +talking of garrotters. About this time the police reports +were full of cases of garrotting. The victim was seized +from behind, one man gagged or burked him, while another picked +his pocket.</p> +<p>‘What should you do, Burton?’ the Doctor asked, +‘if they tried to garrotte you?’</p> +<p>‘I’m quite ready for ’em,’ was the +answer; and turning up his sleeve he partially pulled out a +dagger, and shoved it back again.</p> +<p>We tried to make him tell us what became of the Arab boy who +accompanied him to Mecca, and whose suspicions threatened +Burton’s betrayal, and, of consequence, his life. I +don’t think anyone was present except us two, both of whom +he well knew to be quite shock-proof, but he held his tongue.</p> +<p>‘You would have been perfectly justified in saving your +own life at any cost. You would hardly have broken the +sixth commandment by doing so in this case,’ I +suggested.</p> +<p>‘No,’ said he gravely, ‘and as I had broken +all the ten before, it wouldn’t have so much +mattered.’</p> +<p>The Doctor roared. It should, however, be stated that +Burton took no less delight in his host’s boyish +simplicity, than the other in what he deemed his guest’s +superb candour.</p> +<p>‘Come, tell us,’ said Bird, ‘how many men +have you killed?’</p> +<p>‘How many have you, Doctor?’ was the answer.</p> +<p>Richard Burton was probably the most extraordinary linguist of +his day. Lady Burton mentions, I think, in his Life, the +number of languages and dialects her husband knew. That +Mahometans should seek instruction from him in the Koran, speaks +of itself for his astonishing mastery of the greatest linguistic +difficulties. With Indian languages and their variations, +he was as completely at home as Miss Youghal’s Sais; and, +one may suppose, could have played the <i>rôle</i> of a +fakir as perfectly as he did that of a Mecca pilgrim. I +asked him what his method was in learning a fresh language. +He said he wrote down as many new words as he could learn and +remember each day; and learnt the construction of the language +colloquially, before he looked at a grammar.</p> +<p>Lady Burton was hardly less abnormal in her way than Sir +Richard. She had shared his wanderings, and was intimate, +as no one else was, with the eccentricities of his thoughts and +deeds. Whatever these might happen to be, she worshipped +her husband notwithstanding. For her he was the standard of +excellence; all other men were departures from it. And the +singularity is, her religious faith was never for an instant +shaken—she remained as strict a Roman Catholic as when he +married her from a convent. Her enthusiasm and +cosmopolitanism, her <i>naïveté</i> and the sweetness +of her disposition made her the best of company. She had +lived so much the life of a Bedouin, that her dress and her +habits had an Eastern glow. When staying with the Birds, +she was attended by an Arab girl, one of whose duties it was to +prepare her mistress’ chibouk, which was regularly brought +in with the coffee. On one occasion, when several other +ladies were dining there, some of them yielded to Lady +Burton’s persuasion to satisfy their curiosity. The +Arab girl soon provided the means; and it was not long before +there were four or five faces as white as Mrs. Alfred +Wigan’s, under similar circumstances, in the +‘Nabob.’</p> +<p>Alfred Wigan’s father was an unforgettable man. To +describe him in a word, he was Falstag <i>redivivus</i>. In +bulk and stature, in age, in wit and humour, and morality, he was +Falstaff. He knew it and gloried in it. He would +complain with zest of ‘larding the lean earth’ as he +walked along. He was as partial to whisky as his prototype +to sack. He would exhaust a Johnsonian vocabulary in +describing his ailments; and would appeal pathetically to Miss +Bird, as though at his last gasp, for ‘just a +tea-spoonful’ of the grateful stimulant. She served +him with a liberal hand, till he cried ‘Stop!’ +But if she then stayed, he would softly insinuate ‘I +didn’t mean it, my dear.’ Yet he was no +Costigan. His brain was stronger than casks of +whisky. And his powers of digestion were in keeping. +Indeed, to borrow the well-known words applied to a great man +whom we all love, ‘He tore his dinner like a famished wolf, +with the veins swelling in his forehead, and the perspiration +running down his cheeks.’ The trend of his thoughts, +though he was eminently a man of intellect, followed the dictates +of his senses. Walk with him in the fields and, from the +full stores of a prodigious memory, he would pour forth pages of +the choicest poetry. But if you paused to watch the lambs +play, or disturbed a young calf in your path, he would almost +involuntarily exclaim: ‘How deliciously you smell of mint, +my pet!’ or ‘Bless your innocent face! What +sweetbreads you will provide!’</p> +<p>James Wigan had kept a school once. The late Serjeant +Ballantine, who was one of his pupils, mentions him in his +autobiography. He was a good scholar, and when I first knew +him, used to teach elocution. Many actors went to him, and +not a few members of both Houses of Parliament. He could +recite nearly the whole of several of Shakespeare’s plays; +and, with a dramatic art I have never known equalled by any +public reader.</p> +<p>His later years were passed at Sevenoaks, where he kept an +establishment for imbeciles, or weak-minded youths. I often +stayed with him (not as a patient), and a very comfortable and +pretty place it was. Now and then he would call on me in +London; and, with a face full of theatrical woe, tell me, with +elaborate circumlocution, how the Earl of This, or the Marquis of +That, had implored him to take charge of young Lord So-and-So, +his son; who, as all the world knew, had—well, had +‘no guts in his brains.’ Was there ever such a +chance? Just consider what it must lead to! Everybody +knew—no, nobody knew—the enormous number of idiots +there were in noble families. And, such a case as that of +young Lord Dash—though of course his residence at Sevenoaks +would be a profound secret, would be patent to the whole peerage; +and, my dear sir, a fortune to your humble servant, if—ah! +if he could only secure it!’</p> +<p>‘But I thought you said you had been implored to take +him?’</p> +<p>‘I did say so. I repeat it. His +Lordship’s father came to me with tears in his eyes. +“My dear Wigan,” were that nobleman’s words, +“do me this one favour and trust me, you will never regret +it!” But—’ he paused to remove the +dramatic tear, ‘but, I hardly dare go on. +Yes—yes, I know your kindness’ (seizing my hand) +‘I know how ready you are to help me’—(I +hadn’t said a word)—‘but—’</p> +<p>‘How much is it this time? and what is it +for?’</p> +<p>‘For? I have told you what it is for. The +merest trifle will suffice. I have the room—a +beautiful room, the best aspect in the house. It is now +occupied by young Rumagee Bumagee the great Bombay +millionaire’s son. Of course he can be moved. +But a bed—there positively is not a spare bed in the +house. This is all I want—a bed, and perhaps a +tuppenny ha’penny strip of carpet, a couple of chairs, +a—let me see; if you give me a slip of paper I can make out +in a minute what it will come to.’</p> +<p>‘Never mind that. Will a ten-pound note serve your +purposes?’</p> +<p>‘Dear boy! Dear boy! But on one condition, +on one condition only, can I accept it—this is a loan, a +loan mind! and not a gift. No, no—it is useless to +protest; my pride, my sense of honour, forbids my acceptance upon +any other terms.’</p> +<p>A day or two afterwards I would learn from George Bird that he +and Miss Alice had accepted an invitation to meet me at +Sevenoaks. Mr. Donovan, the famous phrenologist, was to be +of the party; the Rector of Sevenoaks, and one or two local +magnates, had also been invited to dine. We Londoners were +to occupy the spare rooms, for this was in the coaching days.</p> +<p>We all knew what we had to expect—a most enjoyable +banquet of conviviality. Young Mrs. Wigan, his second wife, +was an admirable housekeeper, and nothing could have been better +done. The turbot and the haunch of venison were the pick of +Grove’s shop, the champagne was iced to perfection, and +there was enough of it, as Mr. Donovan whispered to me, casting +his eyes to the ceiling, ‘to wash an omnibus, +bedad.’ Mr. Donovan, though he never refused Mr. +Wigan’s hospitality, balanced the account by vilipending +his friend’s extravagant habits. While Mr. Wigan, +probably giving him full credit for his gratitude, always spoke +of him as ‘Poor old Paddy Donovan.’</p> +<p>With Alfred Wigan, the eldest son, I was on very friendly +terms. Nothing could be more unlike his father. His +manner in his own house was exactly what it was on the +stage. Albany Fonblanque, whose experiences began nearly +forty years before mine, and who was not given to waste his +praise, told me he considered Alfred Wigan the best +‘gentleman’ he had ever seen on the stage. I +think this impression was due in a great measure to Wigan’s +entire absence of affectation, and to his persistent appeal to +the ‘judicious’ but never to the +‘groundlings.’ Mrs. Alfred Wigan was also a +consummate artiste.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Through</span> George Bird I made the +acquaintance of the leading surgeons and physicians of the North +London Hospital, where I frequently attended the operations of +Erichsen, John Marshall, and Sir Henry Thompson, following them +afterwards in their clinical rounds. Amongst the +physicians, Professor Sydney Ringer remains one of my oldest +friends. Both surgery and therapeutics interested me +deeply. With regard to the first, curiosity was +supplemented by the incidental desire to overcome the natural +repugnance we all feel to the mere sight of blood.</p> +<p>Chemistry I studied in the laboratory of a professional friend +of Dr. Bird’s. After a while my teacher would leave +me to carry out small commissions of a simple character which had +been put into his hands, such as the analysis of water, bread, or +other food-stuffs. He himself often had engagements +elsewhere, and would leave me in possession of the laboratory, +with a small urchin whom he had taught to be useful. This +boy was of the meekest and mildest disposition. Whether his +master had frightened him or not I do not know. He always +spoke in a whisper, and with downcast eyes. He handled +everything as if it was about to annihilate him, or he it, and +looked as if he wouldn’t bite—even a tartlet.</p> +<p>One day when I had finished my task, and we were alone, I +bethought me of making some laughing gas, and trying the effect +of it on the gentle youth. I offered him a shilling for the +experiment, which, however, proved more expensive than I had +bargained for. I filled a bladder with the gas, and putting +a bit of broken pipe-stem in its neck for a mouthpiece, gave it +to the boy to suck—and suck he did. In a few seconds +his eyes dilated, his face became lividly white, and I had some +trouble to tear the intoxicating bladder from his clutches. +The moment I had done so, the true nature of the gutter-snipe +exhibited itself. He began by cutting flip-flaps and +turning windmills all round the room; then, before I could stop +him, swept an armful of valuable apparatus from the tables, till +the whole floor was strewn with wreck and poisonous +solutions. The dismay of the chemist when he returned may +be more easily imagined than described.</p> +<p>Some years ago, there was a well-known band of amateur +musicians called the ‘Wandering Minstrels.’ +This band originated in my rooms in Dean’s Yard. Its +nucleus was composed of the following members: Seymour Egerton, +afterwards Lord Wilton, Sir Archibald Macdonald my +brother-in-law, Fred Clay, Bertie Mitford (the present Lord +Redesdale—perhaps the finest amateur cornet and trumpet +player of the day), and Lord Gerald Fitzgerald. Our +concerts were given in the Hanover Square Rooms, and we played +for charities all over the country.</p> +<p>To turn from the musical art to the art—or science is it +called?—of self-defence, once so patronised by the highest +fashion, there was at this time a famous pugilistic +battle—the last of the old kind—fought between the +English champion, Tom Sayers, and the American champion, +Heenan. Bertie Mitford and I agreed to go and see it.</p> +<p>The Wandering Minstrels had given a concert in the Hanover +Square Rooms. The fight was to take place on the following +morning. When the concert was over, Mitford and I went to +some public-house where the ‘Ring’ had assembled, and +where tickets were to be bought, and instructions received. +Fights when gloves were not used, and which, especially in this +case, might end fatally, were of course illegal; and every +precaution had been taken by the police to prevent it. A +special train was to leave London Bridge Station about 6 <span +class="GutSmall">A.M.</span> We sat up all night in my +room, and had to wait an hour in the train before the men with +their backers arrived. As soon as it was daylight, we saw +mounted police galloping on the roads adjacent to the line. +No one knew where the train would pull up. Ten minutes +after it did so, a ring was formed in a meadow close at +hand. The men stripped, and tossed for places. Heenan +won the toss, and with it a considerable advantage. He was +nearly a head taller than Sayers, and the ground not being quite +level, he chose the higher side of the ring. But this was +by no means his only ‘pull.’ Just as the men +took their places the sun began to rise. It was in +Heenan’s back, and right in the other’s face.</p> +<p>Heenan began the attack at once with scornful confidence; and +in a few minutes Sayers received a blow on the forehead above his +guard which sent him slithering under the ropes; his head and +neck, in fact, were outside the ring. He lay perfectly +still, and in my ignorance, I thought he was done for. Not +a bit of it. He was merely reposing quietly till his +seconds put him on his legs. He came up smiling, but not a +jot the worse. But in the course of another round or two, +down he went again. The fight was going all one way. +The Englishman seemed to be completely at the mercy of the +giant. I was so disgusted that I said to my companion: +‘Come along, Bertie, the game’s up. Sayers is +good for nothing.’</p> +<p>But now the luck changed. The bull-dog tenacity and +splendid condition of Sayers were proof against these violent +shocks. The sun was out of his eyes, and there was not a +mark of a blow either on his face or his body. His temper, +his presence of mind, his defence, and the rapidity of his +movements, were perfect. The opening he had watched for +came at last. He sprang off his legs, and with his whole +weight at close quarters, struck Heenan’s cheek just under +the eye. It was like the kick of a cart-horse. The +shouts might have been heard half-a-mile off. Up till now, +the betting called after each round had come to ‘ten to one +on Heenan’; it fell at once to evens.</p> +<p>Heenan was completely staggered. He stood for a minute +as if he did not know where he was or what had happened. +And then, an unprecedented thing occurred. While he thus +stood, Sayers put both hands behind his back, and coolly walked +up to his foe to inspect the damage he had inflicted. I had +hold of the ropes in Heenan’s corner, consequently could +not see his face without leaning over them. When I did so, +and before time was called, one eye was completely closed. +What kind of generosity prevented Sayers from closing the other +during the pause, is difficult to conjecture. But his +forbearance did not make much difference. Heenan became +more fierce, Sayers more daring. The same tactics were +repeated; and now, no longer to the astonishment of the crowd, +the same success rewarded them. Another sledge-hammer blow +from the Englishman closed the remaining eye. The +difference in the condition of the two men must have been +enormous, for in five minutes Heenan was completely +sightless.</p> +<p>Sayers, however, had not escaped scot-free. In +countering the last attack, Heenan had broken one of the bones of +Sayers’ right arm. Still the fight went on. It +was now a brutal scene. The blind man could not defend +himself from the other’s terrible punishment. His +whole face was so swollen and distorted, that not a feature was +recognisable. But he evidently had his design. Each +time Sayers struck him and ducked, Heenan made a swoop with his +long arms, and at last he caught his enemy. With gigantic +force he got Sayers’ head down, and heedless of his +captive’s pounding, backed step by step to the ring. +When there, he forced Sayers’ neck on to the rope, and, +with all his weight, leant upon the Englishman’s +shoulders. In a few moments the face of the strangled man +was black, his tongue was forced out of his mouth, and his eyes +from their sockets. His arms fell powerless, and in a +second or two more he would have been a corpse. With a wild +yell the crowd rushed to the rescue. Warning cries of +‘The police! The police!’ mingled with the +shouts. The ropes were cut, and a general scamper for the +waiting train ended this last of the greatest prize-fights.</p> +<p>We two took it easily, and as the mob were scuttling away from +the police, we saw Sayers with his backers, who were helping him +to dress. His arm seemed to hurt him a little, but +otherwise, for all the damage he had received, he might have been +playing at football or lawn tennis.</p> +<p>We were quietly getting into a first-class carriage, when I +was seized by the shoulder and roughly spun out of the way. +Turning to resent the rudeness, I found myself face to face with +Heenan. One of his seconds had pushed me on one side to let +the gladiator get in. So completely blind was he, that the +friend had to place his foot upon the step. And yet neither +man had won the fight.</p> +<p>We still think—profess to think—the barbarism of +the ‘Iliad’ the highest flight of epic poetry; if +Homer had sung this great battle, how glorious we should have +thought it! Beyond a doubt, man ‘yet partially +retains the characteristics that adapted him to an antecedent +state.’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Through</span> the Cayley family, I became +very intimate with their near relatives the Worsleys of +Hovingham, near York. Hovingham has now become known to the +musical world through its festivals, annually held at the Hall +under the patronage of its late owner, Sir William Worsley. +It was in his father’s time that this fine place, with its +delightful family, was for many years a home to me. Here I +met the Alisons, and at the kind invitation of Sir Archibald, +paid the great historian a visit at Possil, his seat in +Scotland. As men who had achieved scientific or literary +distinction inspired me with far greater awe than those of the +highest rank—of whom from my childhood I had seen +abundance—Alison’s celebrity, his courteous manner, +his oracular speech, his voluminous works, and his voluminous +dimensions, filled me with too much diffidence and respect to +admit of any freedom of approach. One listened to him, as +he held forth of an evening when surrounded by his family, with +reverential silence. He had a strong Scotch accent; and, if +a wee bit prosy at times, it was sententious and polished prose +that he talked; he talked invariably like a book. His +family were devoted to him; and I felt that no one who knew him +could help liking him.</p> +<p>When Thackeray was giving readings from ‘The Four +Georges,’ I dined with Lady Grey and Landseer, and we three +went to hear him. I had heard Dickens read ‘The Trial +of Bardell against Pickwick,’ and it was curious to compare +the style of the two great novelists. With Thackeray, there +was an entire absence of either tone or colour. Of course +the historical nature of his subject precluded the dramatic +suggestion to be looked for in the Pickwick trial, thus rendering +comparison inapposite. Nevertheless one was bound to +contrast them. Thackeray’s features were impassive, +and his voice knew no inflection. But his elocution in +other respects was perfect, admirably distinct and impressive +from its complete obliteration of the reader.</p> +<p>The selection was from the reign of George the Third; and no +part of it was more attentively listened to than his passing +allusion to himself. ‘I came,’ he says, +‘from India as a child, and our ship touched at an island +on the way home, where my black servant took me a long walk over +rocks and hills until we reached a garden, where we saw a man +walking. “That is he,” said the black man, +“that is Bonaparte! He eats three sheep every day, +and all the little children he can lay hands +on!”’ One went to hear Thackeray, to see +Thackeray; and the child and the black man and the ogre were +there on the stage before one. But so well did the lecturer +perform his part, that ten minutes later one had forgotten him, +and saw only George Selwyn and his friend Horace Walpole, and +Horace’s friend, Miss Berry—whom by the way I too +knew and remember. One saw the ‘poor society ghastly +in its pleasures, its loves, its revelries,’ and the +redeeming vision of ‘her father’s darling, the +Princess Amelia, pathetic for her beauty, her sweetness, her +early death, and for the extreme passionate tenderness with which +her father loved her.’ The story told, as Thackeray +told it, was as delightful to listen to as to read.</p> +<p>Not so with Dickens. He disappointed me. He made +no attempt to represent the different characters by varied +utterance; but whenever something unusually comic was said, or +about to be said, he had a habit of turning his eyes up to the +ceiling; so that, knowing what was coming, one nervously +anticipated the upcast look, and for the moment lost the +illusion. In both entertainments, the reader was naturally +the central point of interest. But in the case of Dickens, +when curiosity was satisfied, he alone possessed one; Pickwick +and Mrs. Bardell were put out of court.</p> +<p>Was it not Charles Lamb, or was it Hazlitt, that could not +bear to see Shakespeare upon the stage? I agree with +him. I have never seen a Falstaff that did not make me +miserable. He is even more impossible to impersonate than +Hamlet. A player will spoil you the character of Hamlet, +but he cannot spoil his thoughts. Depend upon it, we are +fortunate not to have seen Shakespeare in his ghost of Royal +Denmark.</p> +<p>In 1861 I married Lady Katharine Egerton, second daughter of +Lord Wilton, and we took up our abode in Warwick Square, which, +by the way, I had seen a few years before as a turnip +field. My wife was an accomplished pianiste, so we had a +great deal of music, and saw much of the artist world. I +may mention one artistic dinner amongst our early efforts at +housekeeping, which nearly ended with a catastrophe.</p> +<p>Millais and Dicky Doyle were of the party; music was +represented by Joachim, Piatti, and Hallé. The late +Lord and Lady de Ros were also of the number. Lady de Ros, +who was a daughter of the Duke of Richmond, had danced at the +ball given by her father at Brussels the night before +Waterloo. As Lord de Ros was then Governor of the Tower, it +will be understood that he was a veteran of some standing. +The great musical trio were enchanting all ears with their +faultless performance, when the sweet and soul-stirring notes of +the Adagio were suddenly interrupted by a loud crash and a +shriek. Old Lord de Ros was listening to the music on a +sofa at the further end of the room. Over his head was a +large picture in a heavy frame. What vibrations, what +careless hanging, what mischievous Ate or Discord was at the +bottom of it, who knows? Down came the picture on the top +of the poor old General’s head, and knocked him senseless +on the floor. He had to be carried upstairs and laid upon a +bed. Happily he recovered without serious injury. +There were many exclamations of regret, but the only one I +remember was Millais’. All he said was: ‘And it +is a good picture too.’</p> +<p>Sir Arthur Sullivan was one of our musical favourites. +My wife had known him as a chorister boy in the Chapel Royal; and +to the end of his days we were on terms of the closest intimacy +and friendship. Through him we made the acquaintance of the +Scott Russells. Mr. Scott Russell was the builder of the +Crystal Palace. He had a delightful residence at Sydenham, +the grounds of which adjoined those of the Crystal Palace, and +were beautifully laid out by his friend Sir Joseph Paxton. +One of the daughters, Miss Rachel Russell, was a pupil of Arthur +Sullivan’s. She had great musical talent, she was +remarkably handsome, exceedingly clever and well-informed, and +altogether exceptionally fascinating. Quite apart from +Sullivan’s genius, he was in every way a charming +fellow. The teacher fell in love with the pupil; and, as +naturally, his love was returned. Sullivan was but a youth, +a poor and struggling music-master. And, very naturally +again, Mrs. Scott Russell, who could not be expected to know what +magic bâton the young maestro carried in his knapsack, +thought her brilliant daughter might do better. The music +lessons were put a stop to, and correspondence between the lovers +was prohibited.</p> +<p>Once a week or so, either the young lady or the young +gentleman would, quite unexpectedly, pay us a visit about tea or +luncheon time. And, by the strangest coincidence, the other +would be sure to drop in while the one was there. This went +on for a year or two. But destiny forbade the banns. +In spite of the large fortune acquired by Mr. Scott +Russell—he was the builder of the ‘Great +Eastern’ as well as the Crystal Palace—ill-advised or +unsuccessful ventures robbed him of his well-earned wealth. +His beautiful place at Sydenham had to be sold; and the marriage +of Miss Rachel with young Arthur Sullivan was abandoned. +She ultimately married an Indian official.</p> +<p>Her story may here be told to the end. Some years later +she returned to England to bring her two children home for their +education, going back to India without them, as Indian mothers +have to do. The day before she sailed, she called to take +leave of us in London. She was terribly depressed, but +fought bravely with her trial. She never broke down, but +shunted the subject, talking and laughing with flashes of her old +vivacity, about music, books, friends, and ‘dear old dirty +London,’ as she called it. When she left, I opened +the street-door for her, and with both her hands in mine, bade +her ‘Farewell.’ Then the tears fell, and her +parting words were: ‘I am leaving England never to see it +again.’ She was seized with cholera the night she +reached Bombay, and died the following day.</p> +<p>To return to her father, the eminent engineer. He was +distinctly a man of genius, and what is called ‘a +character.’ He was always in the clouds—not in +the vapour of his engine-rooms, nor busy inventing machines for +extracting sunbeams from cucumbers, but musing on metaphysical +problems and abstract speculations about the universe +generally. In other respects a perfectly simple-minded +man.</p> +<p>It was in his palmy days that he invited me to run down to +Sheerness with him, and go over the ‘Great Eastern’ +before she left with the Atlantic cable. This was in +1865. The largest ship in the world, and the first Atlantic +cable, were both objects of the greatest interest. The +builder did not know the captain—Anderson—nor did the +captain know the builder. But clearly, each would be glad +to meet the other.</p> +<p>As the leviathan was to leave in a couple of days, everything +on board her was in the wildest confusion. Russell could +not find anyone who could find the Captain; so he began poking +about with me, till we accidentally stumbled on the +Commander. He merely said that he was come to take a +parting glance at his ‘child,’ which did not seem of +much concern to the over-busy captain. He never mentioned +his own name, but introduced me as ‘my friend Captain +Cole.’ Now, in those days, Captain Cole was well +known as a distinguished naval officer. To Russell’s +absent and engineering mind, ‘Coke’ had suggested +‘Cole,’ and ‘Captain’ was inseparable +from the latter. It was a name to conjure with. +Captain Anderson took off his cap, shook me warmly by the hand, +expressed his pleasure at making my acquaintance, and hoped I, +and my friend Mr.—ahem—would come into his cabin and +have luncheon, and then allow him to show me over his ship. +Scott Russell was far too deeply absorbed in his surroundings to +note any peculiarity in this neglect of himself and marked +respect for ‘Captain Cole.’ We made the round +of the decks, then explored the engine room. Here the +designer found himself in an earthly paradise. He +button-holed the engineer and inquired into every crank, and +piston, and valve, and every bolt, as it seemed to me, till the +officer in charge unconsciously began to ask opinions instead of +offering explanations. By degrees the captain was equally +astonished at the visitor’s knowledge, and when at last my +friend asked what had become of some fixture or other which he +missed, Captain Anderson turned to him and exclaimed, ‘Why, +you seem to know more about the ship than I do.’</p> +<p>‘Well, so I ought,’ says my friend, never for a +moment supposing that Anderson was in ignorance of his +identity.</p> +<p>‘Indeed! Who then are you, pray?’</p> +<p>‘Who? Why, Scott Russell of course, the +builder!’</p> +<p>There was a hearty laugh over it all. I managed to spare +the captain’s feelings by preserving my incognito, and so +ended a pleasant day.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> November, 1862, my wife and I +received an invitation to spend a week at Compiègne with +their Majesties the Emperor and Empress of the French. This +was due to the circumstance that my wife’s father, Lord +Wilton, as Commodore of the Royal Yacht Squadron, had entertained +the Emperor during his visit to Cowes.</p> +<p>We found an express train with the imperial carriages awaiting +the arrival of the English guests at the station du Nord. +The only other English besides ourselves were Lord and Lady +Winchilsea with Lady Florence Paget, and Lord and Lady +Castlerosse, now Lord and Lady Kenmare. These, however, had +preceded us, so that with the exception of M. Drouyn de Lhuys, we +had the saloon carriage to ourselves.</p> +<p>The party was a very large one, including the Walewskis, the +Persignys, the Metternichs—he, the Austrian +Ambassador—Prince Henri VII. of Reuss, Prussian Ambassador, +the Prince de la Moskowa, son of Marshal Ney, and the +Labedoyères, amongst the historical names. Amongst +those of art and literature, of whom there were many, the only +one whom I made the acquaintance of was Octave Feuillet. I +happened to have brought his ‘Comédies et +Proverbes’ and another of his books with me, never +expecting to meet him; this so pleased him that we became +allies. I was surprised to find that he could not even read +English, which I begged him to learn for the sake of Shakespeare +alone.</p> +<p>We did not see their Majesties till dinner-time. When +the guests were assembled, the women and the men were arranged +separately on opposite sides of the room. The Emperor and +Empress then entered, each respectively welcoming those of their +own sex, shaking hands and saying some conventional word in +passing. Me, he asked whether I had brought my guns, and +hoped we should have a good week’s sport. To each one +a word. Every night during the week we sat down over a +hundred to dinner. The Army was largely represented. +For the first time I tasted here the national frog, which is +neither fish nor flesh. The wine was, of course, supreme; +but after every dish a different wine was handed round. The +evening entertainments were varied. There was the theatre +in the Palace, and some of the best of the Paris artistes were +requisitioned for the occasion. With them came +Dèjazet, then nearly seventy, who had played before +Buonaparte.</p> +<p>Almost every night there was dancing. Sometimes the +Emperor would walk through a quadrille, but as a rule he would +retire with one of his ministers, though only to a smaller +boudoir at the end of the suite, where a couple of whist-tables +were ready for the more sedate of the party. Here one +evening I found Prince Metternich showing his Majesty a chess +problem, of which he was the proud inventor. The Emperor +asked whether I was fond of chess. I was very fond of +chess, was one of the regular <i>habitués</i> of St. +George’s Chess Club, and had made a study of the game for +years. The Prince challenged me to solve his problem in +four moves. It was not a very profound one. I had the +hardihood to discover that three, rather obvious moves, were +sufficient. But as I was not Gil Blas, and the Prince was +not the Archbishop of Grenada, it did not much matter. Like +the famous prelate, his Excellency proffered his felicitations, +and doubtless also wished me ‘un peu plus de +goût’ with the addition of ‘un peu moins de +perspicacité.’</p> +<p>One of the evening performances was an exhibition of +<i>poses-plastiques</i>, the subjects being chosen from +celebrated pictures in the Louvre. Theatrical costumiers, +under the command of a noted painter, were brought from +Paris. The ladies of the court were carefully rehearsed, +and the whole thing was very perfectly and very beautifully +done. All the English ladies were assigned parts. +But, as nearly all these depended less upon the beauties of +drapery than upon those of nature, the English ladies were more +than a little staggered by the demands of the painter and of +the—<i>un</i>dressers. To the young and handsome Lady +Castlerosse, then just married, was allotted the figure of +Diana. But when informed that, in accordance with the +original, the drapery of one leg would have to be looped up above +the knee, her ladyship used very firm language; and, though of +course perfectly ladylike, would, rendered into masculine terms, +have signified that she would ‘see the painter d—d +first.’ The celebrated ‘Cruche +cassée’ of Greuze, was represented by the reigning +beauty, the Marquise de Gallifet, with complete fidelity and +success.</p> +<p>There was one stage of the performance which neither I nor +Lord Castlerosse, both of us newly married, at all +appreciated. This was the privileges of the Green-room, or +rather of the dressing-rooms. The exhibition was given in +the ball-room. On one side of this, until the night of the +performances, an enclosure was boarded off. Within it, were +compartments in which the ladies dressed +and—undressed. At this operation, as we young +husbands discovered, certain young gentlemen of the court were +permitted to assist—I think I am not mistaken in saying +that his Majesty was of the number. What kind of assistance +was offered or accepted, Castlerosse and I, being on the wrong +side of the boarding, were not in a position to know.</p> +<p>There was a door in the boarding, over which one expected to +see, ‘No admittance except on business,’ or perhaps, +‘on pleasure.’ At this door I rapped, and +rapped again impatiently. It was opened, only as wide as +her face, by the empress.</p> +<p>‘What do you want, sir?’ was the angry demand.</p> +<p>‘To see my wife, madame,’ was the submissive +reply.</p> +<p>‘You can’t see her; she is rehearsing.’</p> +<p>‘But, madame, other gentlemen—’</p> +<p>‘Ah! Mais, c’est un enfantillage! +Allez-vous-en.’</p> +<p>And the door was slammed in my face.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ thought I, ‘the right woman is in +the right place there, at all events.’</p> +<p>Another little incident at the performance itself also +recalled the days and manners of the court of Louis XV. +Between each tableau, which was lighted solely from the raised +stage, the lights were put out, and the whole room left in +complete darkness. Whenever this happened, the sounds of +immoderate kissing broke out in all directions, accompanied by +little cries of resistance and protestation. Until then, I +had always been under the impression that humour of this kind was +confined to the servants’ hall. One could not help +thinking of another court, where things were managed +differently.</p> +<p>But the truth is, these trivial episodes were symptomatic of a +pervading tone. A no inconsiderable portion of the ladies +seemed to an outsider to have been invited for the sake of their +personal charms. After what has just been related, one +could not help fancying that there were some amongst them who had +availed themselves of the privilege which, according to Tacitus, +was claimed by Vistilia before the Ædiles. So far, +however, from any of these noble ladies being banished to the +Isle of Seriphos, they seemed as much attached to the court as +the court to them; and whatever the Roman Emperor might have +done, the Emperor of the French was all that was most +indulgent.</p> +<p>There were two days’ shooting, one day’s stag +hunting, an expedition to Pierrefonds, and a couple of days spent +in riding and skating. The shooting was very much after the +fashion of that already described at Prince Esterhazy’s, +though of a much more Imperial character. As in Hungary, +the game had been driven into coverts cut down to the height of +the waist, with paths thirty to forty yards apart, for the +guns.</p> +<p>The weather was cold, with snow on the ground, but it was a +beautifully sunny day. This was the party: the two +ambassadors, the Prince de la Moskowa, Persigny, +Walewski—Bonaparte’s natural son, and the image of +his father—the Marquis de Toulongeon, Master of the Horse, +and we three Englishmen. We met punctually at eleven in the +grand saloon. Here the Emperor joined us, with his +cigarette in his mouth, shook hands with each, and bade us take +our places in the char-a-bancs. Four splendid Normandy +greys, with postilions in the picturesque old costume, glazed +hats and huge jack-boots, took us through the forest at full +gallop, and in half an hour we were at the covert side. The +Emperor was very cheery all the way. He cautioned me not to +shoot back for the beaters’ sakes, and asked me how many +guns I had brought.</p> +<p>‘Two only? that’s not enough, I will lend you some +of mine.’</p> +<p>Arrived at our beat—‘Tire de Royallieu,’ we +found a squadron of dismounted cavalry drawn up in line, ready to +commence operations. They were in stable dress, with canvas +trousers and spurs to their boots. Several officers were +galloping about giving orders, the whole being under the command +of a mounted chief in green uniform and cocked hat! The +place of each shooter had been settled by M. de Toulongeon. +I, being the only Nobody of the lot, was put on the extreme +outside. The Emperor was in the middle; and although, as I +noticed, he made some beautiful shots at rocketers, he was +engaged much of the time in talking to ministers who walked +behind, or beside, him.</p> +<p>Our servants were already in the places allotted to their +masters, and each of us had two keepers to carry spare guns (the +Emperor had not forgotten to send me two of his, which I could +not shoot with, and never used), and a sergeant with a large card +to prick off each head of game, not as it fell to the gun, but +only after it was picked up. This conscientious scoring +amused me greatly; for, as it chanced, my bag was a heavy one, +and the Emperor’s marker sent constant messages to mine to +compare notes, and so arrange, as it transpired, to keep His +Majesty at the top of the score.</p> +<p>About half-past one we reached a clearing where +<i>déjeuner</i> was awaiting us. The scene presented +was striking. Around a tent in which every delicacy was +spread out were numbers of little charcoal fires, where a still +greater number of cooks in white caps and jackets were preparing +dainty dishes; while the Imperial footmen bustling about +brightened the picture with colour. After coffee all the +cards were brought to his Majesty. When he had scanned +them, he said to me across the table:</p> +<p>‘I congratulate you, Mr. Coke, upon having killed the +most.’</p> +<p>My answer was, ‘After you, Sir.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said he, giving his moustache an upward +twist, but with perfect gravity, ‘I always kill the +most.’</p> +<p>Just then the Empress and the whole court drove up. +Presently she came into the tent and, addressing her husband, +exclaimed:</p> +<p>‘Avez-vous bientôt fini, vous autres? Ah! +que vous êtes des gourmands!’</p> +<p>Till the finish, she and the rest walked with the +shooters. By four it was over. The total score was +1,387 head. Mine was 182, which included thirty-six +partridges, two woodcocks, and four roedeer. This, in three +and a half hours’ shooting, with two muzzle-loaders +(breech-loaders were not then in use), was an unusually good +bag.</p> +<p>Fashion is capricious. When lunch was over I went to one +of the charcoal fires, quite in the background, to light a +cigarette. An aide-de-camp immediately pounced upon me, +with the information that this was not permitted in company with +the Empress. It reminded one at once of the ejaculation at +Oliver Twist’s bedside, ‘Ladies is present, Mr. +Giles.’ After the shooting, I was told to go to tea +with the Empress—a terrible ordeal, for one had to face the +entire feminine force of the palace, nearly every one of whom, +from the highest to the lowest, was provided with her own +<i>cavaliere servente</i>.</p> +<p>The following night, when we assembled for dinner, I received +orders to sit next to the Empress. This was still more +embarrassing. It is true, one does not speak to a sovereign +unless one is spoken to; but still one is permitted to make the +initiative easy. I found that I was expected to take my +share of the task; and by a happy inspiration, introduced the +subject of the Prince Imperial, then a child of eight years +old. The <i>mondaine</i> Empress was at once merged in the +adoring mother; her whole soul was wrapped up in the boy. +It was easy enough then to speculate on his career, at least so +far as the building of castles in the air for fantasies to roam +in. What a future he had before him!—to consolidate +the Empire! to perfect the great achievement of his father, and +render permanent the foundation of the Napoleonic dynasty! to +build a superstructure as transcendent for the glories of Peace, +as those of his immortal ancestor had been for War!</p> +<p>It was not difficult to play the game with such court cards in +one’s hand. Nor was it easy to coin these <i>phrases +de sucrecandi</i> without sober and earnest reflections on the +import of their contents. What, indeed, might or might not +be the consequences to millions, of the wise or unwise or evil +development of the life of that bright and handsome little +fellow, now trotting around the dessert table, with the long +curls tumbling over his velvet jacket, and the flowers in his +hand for some pretty lady who was privileged to kiss him? +Who could foretell the cruel doom—heedless of such favours +and such splendid promises—that awaited the pretty +child? Who could hear the brave young soldier’s last +shrieks of solitary agony? Who could see the forsaken body +slashed with knives and assegais? Ah! who could dream of +that fond mother’s heart, when the end came, which eclipsed +even the disasters of a nation!</p> +<p>One by-day, when my wife and I were riding with the Emperor +through the forest of Compiègne, a rough-looking man in a +blouse, with a red comforter round his neck, sprang out from +behind a tree; and before he could be stopped, seized the +Emperor’s bridle. In an instant the Emperor struck +his hand with a heavy hunting stock; and being free, touched his +horse with the spur and cantered on. I took particular +notice of his features and his demeanour, from the very first +moment of the surprise. Nothing happened but what I have +described. The man seemed fierce and reckless. The +Emperor showed not the faintest signs of discomposure. All +he said was, turning to my wife, ‘Comme il avait +l’air sournois, cet homme!’ and resumed the +conversation at the point where it was interrupted.</p> +<p>Before we had gone a hundred yards I looked back to see what +had become of the offender. He was in the hands of two +<i>gens d’armes</i>, who had been invisible till then.</p> +<p>‘Poor devil,’ thought I, ‘this spells +dungeon for you.’</p> +<p>Now, with Kinglake’s acrimonious charge of the +Emperor’s personal cowardice running in my head, I felt +that this exhibition of <i>sang froid</i>, when taken completely +unawares, went far to refute the imputation. What happened +later in the day strongly confirmed this opinion.</p> +<p>After dark, about six o’clock, I took a stroll by myself +through the town of Compiègne. Coming home, when +crossing the bridge below the Palace, I met the Emperor +arm-in-arm with Walewski. Not ten minutes afterwards, whom +should I stumble upon but the ruffian who had seized the +Emperor’s bridle? The same red comforter was round +his neck, the same wild look was in his face. I turned +after he had passed, and at the same moment he turned to look at +me.</p> +<p>Would this man have been at large but for the Emperor’s +orders? Assuredly not. For, supposing he were crazy, +who could have answered for his deeds? Most likely he was +shadowed; and to a certainty the Emperor would be so. +Still, what could save the latter from a pistol-shot? Yet, +here he was, sauntering about the badly lighted streets of a town +where his kenspeckle figure was familiar to every +inhabitant. Call this fatalism if you will; but these were +not the acts of a coward. I told this story to a friend who +was well ‘posted’ in the club gossip of the +day. He laughed.</p> +<p>‘Don’t you know the meaning of Kinglake’s +spite against the Emperor?’ said he. +‘<i>Cherchez la femme</i>. Both of them were in love +with Mrs. —’</p> +<p>This is the way we write our histories.</p> +<p>Wishing to explore the grounds about the palace before anyone +was astir, I went out one morning about half-past eight. +Seeing what I took to be a mausoleum, I walked up to it, found +the door opened, and peeped in. It turned out to be a +museum of Roman antiquities, and the Emperor was inside, +arranging them. I immediately withdrew, but he called to me +to come in.</p> +<p>He was at this time busy with his Life of Cæsar; and, in +his enthusiasm, seemed pleased to have a listener to his +instructive explanations; he even encouraged the curiosity which +the valuable collection and his own remarks could not fail to +awaken.</p> +<p>Not long ago, I saw some correspondence in the Times’ +and other papers about what Heine calls ‘Das kleine +welthistorische Hûtchen,’ which the whole of Europe +knew so well, to its cost. Some six or seven of the +Buonaparte hats, so it appears, are still in existence. But +I noticed, that though all were located, no mention was made of +the one in the Luxembourg.</p> +<p>When we left Compiègne for Paris we were magnificently +furnished with orders for royal boxes at theatres, and for +admission to places of interest not open to the public. +Thus provided, we had access to many objects of historical +interest and of art—amongst the former, the relics of the +great conqueror. In one glass case, under lock and key, was +the ‘world-historical little hat.’ The official +who accompanied us, having stated that we were the +Emperor’s guests, requested the keeper to take it out and +show it to us. I hope no Frenchman will know it, but, I put +the hat upon my head. In one sense it was a +‘little’ hat—that is to say, it fitted a man +with a moderate sized skull—but the flaps were much larger +than pictures would lead one to think, and such was the weight +that I am sure it would give any ordinary man accustomed to our +head-gear a still neck to wear it for an hour. What has +become of this hat if it is not still in the Luxembourg?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> few years later, while +travelling with my family in Switzerland, we happened to be +staying at Baveno on Lago Maggiore at the same time, and in the +same hotel, as the Crown Prince and Princess of Germany. +Their Imperial Highnesses occupied a suite of apartments on the +first floor. Our rooms were immediately above them. +As my wife was known to the Princess, occasional greetings passed +from balcony to balcony.</p> +<p>One evening while watching two lads rowing from the shore in +the direction of Isola Bella, I was aroused from my contemplation +of a gathering storm by angry vociferations beneath me. +These were addressed to the youths in the boat. The anxious +father had noted the coming tempest; and, with hands to his +mouth, was shouting orders to the young gentlemen to +return. Loud and angry as cracked the thunder, the imperial +voice o’ertopped it. Commands succeeded admonitions, +and as the only effect on the rowers was obvious recalcitrancy, +oaths succeeded both: all in those throat-clearing tones to which +the German language so consonantly lends itself. In a few +minutes the boat was immersed in the down-pour which concealed +it.</p> +<p>The elder of the two oarsmen was no other than the future +firebrand peacemaker, Miching Mallecho, our fierce little +Tartarin de Berlin. One wondered how he, who would not be +ruled, would come in turn to rule? That question is a +burning one; and may yet set the world in flames to solve it.</p> +<p>A comic little incident happened here to my own +children. There was but one bathing-machine. This, +the two—a schoolboy and his sister—used in the early +morning. Being rather late one day, they found it engaged; +and growing impatient the boy banged at the door of the machine, +with a shout in schoolboy’s vernacular: ‘Come, hurry +up; we want to dip.’ Much to the surprise of the +guilty pair, an answer, also in the best of English, came from +the inside: ‘Go away, you naughty boy.’ The +occupant was the Imperial Princess. Needless to say the +children bolted with a mingled sense of mischief and alarm.</p> +<p>About this time I joined a society for the relief of distress, +of which Bromley Davenport was the nominal leader. The +‘managing director,’ so to speak, was Dr. Gilbert, +father of Mr. W. S. Gilbert. To him I went for +instructions. I told him I wanted to see the worst. +He accordingly sent me to Bethnal Green. For two winters +and part of a third I visited this district twice a week +regularly. What I saw in the course of those two years was +matter for a thoughtful—ay, or a thoughtless—man to +think of for the rest of his days.</p> +<p>My system was to call first upon the clergyman of the parish, +and obtain from him a guide to the severest cases of +destitution. The guide would be a Scripture reader, and, as +far as I remember, always a woman. I do not know whether +the labours of these good creatures were gratuitous—they +themselves were certainly poor, yet singularly earnest and +sympathetic. The society supplied tickets for coal, +blankets, and food. Needless to say, had these supplies +been a thousand-fold as great, they would have done as little +permanent good as those at my command.</p> +<p>In Bethnal Green the principal industry is, or was, +silk-weaving by hand looms. Nearly all the houses were +ancient and dilapidated. A weaver and his family would +occupy part of a flat, consisting of two rooms perhaps, one of +which would contain his loom. The room might be about seven +feet high, nearly dark, lighted only by a lattice window, half of +the panes of which would be replaced by dirty rags or old +newspaper. As the loom was placed against the window the +light was practically excluded. The foulness of the air and +filth which this entailed may be too easily imagined. A +couple of cases, taken almost at random, will sample scores as +bad.</p> +<p>It is one of the darkest days of December. The Thames is +nearly frozen at Waterloo Bridge. On the second floor of an +old house in — Lane, in an unusually spacious room (or does +it only look spacious because there is nothing in it save four +human beings?) are a father, a mother, and a grown-up son and +daughter. They scowl at the visitor as the Scripture reader +opens the door. What is the meaning of the intrusion? +Is he too come with a Bible instead of bread? The four are +seated side by side on the floor, leaning against the wall, +waiting for—death. Bedsteads, chairs, table, and +looms have been burnt this week or more for fuel. The grate +is empty now, and lets the freezing draught blow down the +chimney. The temporary relief is accepted, but not with +thanks. These four stubbornly prefer death to the +work-house.</p> +<p>One other case. It is the same hard winter. The +scene: a small garret in the roof, a low slanting little +skylight, now covered six inches deep in snow. No fireplace +here, no ventilation, so put your scented cambric to your nose, +my noble Dives. The only furniture a scanty armful +of—what shall we call it? It was straw once. A +starving woman and a baby are lying on it, notwithstanding. +The baby surely will not be there to-morrow. It has a very +bad cold—and the mucus, and the—pah! The woman +in a few rags—just a few—is gnawing a raw +carrot. The picture is complete. There’s +nothing more to paint. The rest—the whole indeed, +that is the consciousness of it—was, and remains, with the +Unseen.</p> +<p>You will say, ‘Such things cannot be’; you will +say, ‘There are relieving officers, whose duty, etc., +etc.’ May be. I am only telling you what I +myself have seen. There is more goes on in big cities than +even relieving officers can cope with. And who shall +grapple with the causes? That’s the point.</p> +<p>Here is something else that I have seen. I have seen a +family of six in one room. Of these, four were brothers and +sisters, all within, none over, their teens. There were +three beds between the six. When I came upon them they were +out of work,—the young ones in bed to keep warm. I +took them for very young married couples. It was the +Scripture reader who undeceived me. This is not the +exception to the rule, look you, but the rule itself. How +will you deal with it? It is with Nature, immoral Nature +and her heedless instincts that you have to deal. With what +kind of fork will you expel her? It is with Nature’s +wretched children, the <i>bêtes humaines</i>,</p> +<blockquote><p>Quos venerem incertam rapientes more ferarum,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>that your account lies. Will they cease to listen to her +maddening whispers: ‘Unissez-vous, multipliez, il +n’est d’autre loi, d’autre but, que +l’amour?’ What care they for her +aside—‘Et durez après, si vous le pouvez; cela +ne me regarde plus’? It doesn’t regard them +either.</p> +<p>The infallible panacea, so the ‘Progressive’ tell +us, is education—lessons on the piano, perhaps? +Doctor Malthus would be more to the purpose; but how shall we +administer his prescriptions? One thing we might try to +teach to advantage, and that is the elementary principles of +hygiene. I am heart and soul with the Progressive as to the +ultimate remedial powers of education. Moral advancement +depends absolutely on the humanising influences of intellectual +advancement. The foreseeing of consequences is a question +of intelligence. And the appreciation of consequences which +follow is the basis of morality. But we must not begin at +the wrong end. The true foundation and condition of +intellectual and moral progress postulates material and physical +improvement. The growth of artificial wants is as much the +cause as the effect of civilisation: they proceed <i>pari +passu</i>. A taste of comfort begets a love of +comfort. And this kind of love militates, not impotently, +against the other; for self-interest is a persuasive counsellor, +and gets a hearing when the blood is cool. Life must be +more than possible, it must be endurable; man must have some +leisure, some repose, before his brain-needs have a chance with +those of his belly. He must have a coat to his back before +he can stick a rose in its button-hole. The worst of it is, +he begins—in Bethnal Green at least—with the +rose-bud; and indulges, poor devil! in a luxury which is just the +most expensive, and—in our Bethnal Greens—the most +suicidal he could resort to.</p> +<p>There was one method I adopted with a show of temporary +success now and then. It frequently happens that a man +succumbs to difficulties for which he is not responsible, and +which timely aid may enable him to overcome. An artisan may +have to pawn or sell the tools by which he earns his +living. The redemption of these, if the man is good for +anything, will often set him on his legs. Thus, for +example, I found a cobbler one day surrounded by a starving +family. His story was common enough, severe illness being +the burden of it. He was an intelligent little fellow, and, +as far as one could judge, full of good intentions. His +wife seemed devoted to him, and this was the best of +vouchers. ‘If he had but a shilling or two to redeem +his tools, and buy two or three old cast-off shoes in the +rag-market which he could patch up and sell, he wouldn’t +ask anyone for a copper.’</p> +<p>We went together to the pawnbroker’s, then to the +rag-market, and the little man trotted home with an armful of old +boots and shoes, some without soles, some without uppers; all, as +I should have thought, picked out of dust-bins and rubbish heaps, +his sunken eyes sparkling with eagerness and renovated +hope. I looked in upon him about three weeks later. +The family were sitting round a well provided tea-table, close to +a glowing fire, the cheeks of the children smeared with jam, and +the little cobbler hammering away at his last, too busy to +partake of the bowl of hot tea which his wife had placed beside +him.</p> +<p>The same sort of treatment was sometimes very successful with +a skilful workman—like a carpenter, for instance. +Here a double purpose might be served. Nothing more common +in Bethnal Green than broken looms, and consequent +disaster. There you had the ready-made job for the +reinstated carpenter; and good could be done in a small way, at +very little cost. Of coarse much discretion is needed; +still, the Scripture readers or the relieving officers would know +the characters of the destitute, and the visitor himself would +soon learn to discriminate.</p> +<p>A system similar to this was the basis of the aid rendered by +the Royal Society for the Assistance of Discharged Prisoners, +which was started by my friend, Mr. Whitbread, the present owner +of Southill, and which I joined in its early days at his +instigation. The earnings of the prisoner were handed over +by the gaols to the Society, and the Society employed them for +his advantage—always, in the case of an artisan, by +supplying him with the needful implements of his trade. But +relief in which the pauper has no productive share, of which he +is but a mere consumer, is of no avail.</p> +<p>One cannot but think that if instead of the selfish principles +which govern our trades-unions, and which are driving their +industries out of the country, trade-schools could be +provided—such, for instance, as the cheap carving schools +to be met with in many parts of Germany and the Tyrol—much +might be done to help the bread-earners. Why could not +schools be organised for the instruction of shoemakers, tailors, +carpenters, smiths of all kinds, and the scores of other trades +which in former days were learnt by compulsory +apprenticeship? Under our present system of education the +greater part of what the poor man’s children learn is clean +forgotten in a few years; and if not, serves mainly to create and +foster discontent, which vents itself in a passion for +mass-meetings and the fuliginous oratory of our Hyde Parks.</p> +<p>The emigration scheme for poor-law children as advocated by +Mrs. Close is the most promising, in its way, yet brought before +the public, and is deserving of every support.</p> +<p>In the absence of any such projects as these, the hopelessness +of the task, and the depressing effect of the contact with much +wretchedness, wore me out. I had a nursery of my own, and +was not justified in risking infectious diseases. A saint +would have been more heroic, and could besides have promised that +sweetest of consolations to suffering millions—the +compensation of Eternal Happiness. I could not give them +even hope, for I had none to spare. The root-evil I felt to +be the overcrowding due to the reckless intercourse of the sexes; +and what had Providence to do with a law of Nature, obedience to +which entailed unspeakable misery?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the autumn following the end of +the Franco-German war, Dr. Bird and I visited all the principal +battlefields. In England the impression was that the +bloodiest battle was fought at Gravelotte. The error was +due, I believe, to our having no war correspondent on the +spot. Compared with that on the plains between St. Marie +and St. Privat, Gravelotte was but a cavalry skirmish. We +were fortunate enough to meet a German artillery officer at St. +Marie who had been in the action, and who kindly explained the +distribution of the forces. Large square mounds were +scattered about the plain where the German dead were buried, +little wooden crosses being stuck into them to denote the +regiment they had belonged to. At Gravelotte we saw the +dogs unearthing the bodies from the shallow graves. The +officer told us he did not think there was a family in Germany +unrepresented in the plains of St. Privat.</p> +<p>It was interesting so soon after the event, to sit quietly in +the little summer-house of the Château de Bellevue, +commanding a view of Sedan, where Bismarck and Moltke and General +de Wimpfen held their memorable Council. ‘Un terrible +homme,’ says the story of the +‘Débâcle,’ ‘ce +général de Moltke, qui gagnait des batailles du +fond de son cabinet à coups +d’algèbre.’</p> +<p>We afterwards made a walking tour through the Tyrol, and down +to Venice. On our way home, while staying at Lucerne, we +went up the Rigi. Soon after leaving the Kulm, on our +descent to the railway, which was then uncompleted, we lost each +other in the mist. I did not get to Vitznau till late at +night, but luckily found a steamer just starting for +Lucerne. The cabin was crammed with German students, each +one smoking his pipe and roaring choruses to alternate +singers. All of a sudden, those who were on their legs were +knocked off them. The panic was instantaneous, for every +one of us knew it was a collision. But the immediate peril +was in the rush for the deck. Violent with terror, rough by +nature, and full of beer, these wild young savages were +formidable to themselves and others. Having arrived late, I +had not got further than the cabin door, and was up the companion +ladder at a bound. It was pitch dark, and piteous screams +came up from the surrounding waters. At first it was +impossible to guess what had happened. Were we rammed, or +were we rammers? I pulled off my coats ready for a +swim. But it soon became apparent that we had run into and +sunk another boat.</p> +<p>The next morning the doctor and I went on to England. A +week after I took up the ‘Illustrated News.’ +There was an account of the accident, with an illustration of the +cabin of the sunken boat. The bodies of passengers were +depicted as the divers had found them.</p> +<p>On the very day the peace was signed I chanced to call on Sir +Anthony Rothschild in New Court. He took me across the +court to see his brother Lionel, the head of the firm. Sir +Anthony bowed before him as though the great man were Plutus +himself. He sat at a table alone, not in his own +room, but in the immense counting-room, surrounded by a brigade +of clerks. This was my first introduction to him. He +took no notice of his brother, but received me as Napoleon +received the emperors and kings at Erfurt—in other words, +as he would have received his slippers from his valet, or as he +did receive the telegrams which were handed to him at the rate of +about one a minute.</p> +<p>The King of Kings was in difficulties with a little slip of +black sticking-plaster. The thought of Gumpelino’s +Hyacinthos, <i>alias</i> Hirsch, flashed upon me. Behold! +the mighty Baron Nathan come to life again; but instead of +Hyacinthos paring his mightiness’s <i>Hühneraugen</i>, +he himself, in paring his own nails, had contrived to cut his +finger.</p> +<p>‘Come to buy Spanish?’ he asked, with eyes intent +upon the sticking-plaster.</p> +<p>‘Oh no,’ said I, ‘I’ve no money to +gamble with.’</p> +<p>‘Hasn’t Lord Leicester bought +Spanish?’—never looking off the sticking-plaster, nor +taking the smallest notice of the telegrams.</p> +<p>‘Not that I know of. Are they good +things?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know; some people think so.’</p> +<p>Here a message was handed in, and something was whispered in +his ear.</p> +<p>‘Very well, put it down.’</p> +<p>‘From Paris,’ said Sir Anthony, guessing perhaps +at its contents.</p> +<p>But not until the plaster was comfortably adjusted did Plutus +read the message. He smiled and pushed it over to me. +It was the terms of peace, and the German bill of costs.</p> +<p>‘£200,000,000!’ I exclaimed. +‘That’s a heavy reckoning. Will France ever be +able to pay it?’</p> +<p>‘Pay it? Yes. If it had been twice as +much!’ And Plutus returned to his +sticking-plaster. That was of real importance.</p> +<p>Last autumn—1904, the literary world was not a little +gratified by an announcement in the ‘Times’ that the +British Museum had obtained possession of the original manuscript +of Keats’s ‘Hyperion.’ Let me tell the +story of its discovery. During the summer of last year, my +friend Miss Alice Bird, who was paying me a visit at Longford, +gave me this account of it.</p> +<p>When Leigh Hunt’s memoirs were being edited by his son +Thornton in 1861, he engaged the services of three intimate +friends of the family to read and collate the enormous mass of +his father’s correspondence. Miss Alice Bird was one +of the chosen three. The arduous task completed, Thornton +Hunt presented each of his three friends with a number of +autographic letters, which, according to Miss Bird’s +description, he took almost at random from the eliminated +pile. Amongst the lot that fell to Miss Bird’s share +was a roll of stained paper tied up with tape. This she was +led to suppose—she never carefully examined it—might +be either a copy or a draft of some friend’s unpublished +poem.</p> +<p>The unknown treasure was put away in a drawer with the +rest. Here it remained undisturbed for forty-three +years. Having now occasion to remove these papers, she +opened the forgotten scroll, and was at once struck both with the +words of the ‘Hyperion,’ and with the resemblance of +the writing to Keats’s.</p> +<p>She forthwith consulted the Keepers of the Manuscripts in the +British Museum, with the result that her <i>trouvaille</i> was +immediately identified as the poet’s own draft of the +‘Hyperion.’ The responsible authorities soon +after, offered the fortunate possessor five hundred guineas for +the manuscript, but courteously and honestly informed her that, +were it put up to auction, some American collector would be +almost sure to give a much larger sum for it.</p> +<p>Miss Bird’s patriotism prevailed over every other +consideration. She expressed her wish that the poem should +be retained in England; and generously accepted what was +indubitably less than its market value.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII</h2> +<p>A <span class="GutSmall">MAN</span> whom I had known from my +school-days, Frederick Thistlethwayte, coming into a huge fortune +when a subaltern in a marching regiment, had impulsively married +a certain Miss Laura Bell. In her early days, when she made +her first appearance in London and in Paris, Laura Bell’s +extraordinary beauty was as much admired by painters as by men of +the world. Amongst her reputed lovers were Dhuleep Singh, +the famous Marquis of Hertford, and Prince Louis Napoleon. +She was the daughter of an Irish constable, and began life on the +stage at Dublin. Her Irish wit and sparkling merriment, her +cajolery, her good nature and her feminine artifice, were +attractions which, in the eyes of the male sex, fully atoned for +her youthful indiscretions.</p> +<p>My intimacy with both Mr. and Mrs. Thistlethwayte extended +over many years; and it is but justice to her memory to aver +that, to the best of my belief, no wife was ever more faithful to +her husband. I speak of the Thistlethwaytes here for two +reasons—absolutely unconnected in themselves, yet both +interesting in their own way. The first is, that at my +friend’s house in Grosvenor Square I used frequently to +meet Mr. Gladstone, sometimes alone, sometimes at dinner. +As may be supposed, the dinner parties were of men, but mostly of +men eminent in public life. The last time I met Mr. +Gladstone there the Duke of Devonshire and Sir W. Harcourt were +both present. I once dined with Mrs. Thistlethwayte in the +absence of her husband, when the only others were Munro of +Novar—the friend of Turner, and the envied possessor of a +splendid gallery of his pictures—and the Duke of +Newcastle—then a Cabinet Minister. Such were the +notabilities whom the famous beauty gathered about her.</p> +<p>But it is of Mr. Gladstone that I would say a word. The +fascination which he exercised over most of those who came into +contact with him is incontestable; and everyone is entitled to +his own opinion, even though unable to account for it. +This, at least, must be my plea, for to me, Mr. Gladstone was +more or less a Dr. Fell. Neither in his public nor in his +private capacity had I any liking for him. Nobody cares a +button for what a ‘man in the street’ like me says or +thinks on subject matters upon which they have made up their +minds. I should not venture, even as one of the crowd, to +deprecate a popularity which I believe to be fast passing away, +were it not that better judges and wiser men think as I do, and +have represented opinions which I sincerely share. +‘He was born,’ says Huxley, ‘to be a leader of +men, and he has debased himself to be a follower of the +masses. If working men were to-day to vote by a majority +that two and two made five, to-morrow Gladstone would believe it, +and find them reasons for it which they had never dreamt +of.’ Could any words be truer? Yes; he was not +born to be a leader of men. He was born to be, what he +was—a misleader of men. Huxley says he could be made +to believe that two and two made five. He would try to make +others believe it; but would he himself believe it? His +friends will plead, ‘he might deceive himself by the +excessive subtlety of his mind.’ This is the +charitable view to take. But some who knew him long and +well put another construction upon this facile +self-deception. There were, and are, honourable men of the +highest standing who failed to ascribe disinterested motives to +the man who suddenly and secretly betrayed his colleagues, his +party, and his closest friends, and tried to break up the Empire +to satisfy an inordinate ambition, and an insatiable craving for +power. ‘He might have been mistaken, but he acted for +the best’? Was he acting conscientiously for +the best in persuading the ‘masses’ to look upon the +‘classes’—the war cries are of his +coining—as their natural enemies, and worthy only of their +envy and hatred? Is this the part of a statesman, of a +patriot?</p> +<p>And for what else shall we admire Mr. Gladstone? Walter +Bagehot, alluding to his egotism, wrote of him in his lifetime, +‘He longs to pour forth his own belief; he cannot rest till +he has contradicted everyone else.’ And what was that +belief worth? ‘He has scarcely,’ says the same +writer, ‘given us a sentence that lives in the +memory.’</p> +<p>Even his eloquent advocate, Mr. Morley, confesses surprise at +his indifference to the teaching of evolution; in other words, +his ignorance of, and disbelief in, a scientific theory of nature +which has modified the theological and moral creeds of the +civilised world more profoundly than did the Copernican system of +the Universe.</p> +<p>The truth is, Mr. Gladstone was half a century behind the age +in everything that most deeply concerned the destiny of +man. He was a politician, and nothing but a politician; and +had it not been for his extraordinary gift of speech, we should +never have heard of him save as a writer of scholia, or as a +college don, perhaps. Not for such is the temple of +Fame.</p> +<blockquote><p>Fama di loro il mondo esser non lassa.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Whatever may be thought now, Mr. Gladstone is not the man whom +posterity will ennoble with the title of either +‘great’ or ‘good.’</p> +<p>My second reason for mentioning Frederick Thistlethwayte was +one which at first sight may seem trivial, and yet, when we look +into it, is of more importance than the renown of an ex-Prime +Minister. If these pages are ever read, what follows will +be as distasteful to some of my own friends as the above remarks +to Mr. Gladstone’s.</p> +<p>Pardon a word about the writer himself—it is needed to +emphasise and justify these <i>obiter dicta</i>. I was +brought up as a sportsman: I cannot remember the days when I +began to shoot. I had a passion for all kinds of sport, and +have had opportunities of gratifying it such as fall to the lot +of few. After the shootings of Glenquoich and Invergarry +were lost to me through the death of Mr. Ellice, I became almost +the sole guest of Mr. Thistlethwayte for twelve years at his +Highland shooting of Kinlochmohr, not very far from Fort +William. He rented the splendid deer forest of Mamore, +extensive grouse moors, and a salmon river within ten +minutes’ walk of the lodge. His marriage and his +eccentricities of mind and temper led him to shun all +society. We often lived in bothies at opposite ends of the +forest, returning to the lodge on Saturday till Monday +morning. For a sportsman, no life could be more +enjoyable. I was my own stalker, taking a couple of gillies +for the ponies, but finding the deer for myself—always the +most difficult part of the sport—and stalking them for +myself.</p> +<p>I may here observe that, not very long after I married, qualms +of conscience smote me as to the justifiability of killing, +<i>and wounding</i>, animals for amusement’s sake. +The more I thought of it, the less it bore thinking about. +Finally I gave it up altogether. But I went on several +years after this with the deer-stalking; the true explanation of +this inconsistency would, I fear, be that I had had enough of the +one, but would never have enough of the other—one’s +conscience adapts itself without much difficulty to one’s +inclinations.</p> +<p>Between my host and myself, there was a certain amount of +rivalry; and as the head forester was his stalker, the rivalry +between our men aroused rancorous jealousy. I think the +gillies on either side would have spoilt the others’ sport, +could they have done so with impunity. For two seasons, a +very big stag used occasionally to find its way into our forest +from the Black Mount, where it was also known. +Thistlethwayte had had a chance, and missed it; then my turn +came. I got a long snap-shot end on at the galloping +stag. It was an unsportsmanlike thing to do, but +considering the rivalry and other temptations I fired, and hit +the beast in the haunch. It was late in the day, and the +wounded animal escaped.</p> +<p>Nine days later I spied the ‘big stag’ +again. He was nearly in the middle of a herd of about +twenty, mostly hinds, on the look-out. They were on a large +open moss at the bottom of a corrie, whence they could see a +moving object on every side of them. A stalk where they +were was out of the question. I made up my mind to wait and +watch.</p> +<p>Now comes the moral of my story. For hours I watched +that stag. Though three hundred yards or so away from me, I +could through my glass see almost the expression of his +face. Not once did he rise or attempt to feed, but lay +restlessly beating his head upon the ground for hour after +hour. I knew well enough what that meant. I could not +hear his groans. His plaints could not reach my ears, but +they reached my heart. The refrain varied little: +‘How long shall I cry and Thou wilt not +hear?’—that was the monotonous burden of the moans, +though sometimes I fancied it changed to: ‘Lord how long +shall the wicked, how long shall the wicked triumph?’</p> +<p>The evening came, and then, as is their habit, the deer began +to feed up wind. The wounded stag seemed loth to +stir. By degrees the last watchful hind fed quietly out of +sight. With throbbing pulse and with the instincts of a +fox—or prehistoric man, ’tis all the same—I +crawled and dragged myself through the peat bog and the pools of +water. But nearer than two hundred yards it was impossible +to get; even to raise my head or find a tussock whereon to rest +the rifle would have started any deer but this one. From +the hollow I was in, the most I could see of him was the outline +of his back and his head and neck. I put up the 200 yards +sight and killed him.</p> +<p>A vivid description of the body is not desirable. It was +almost fleshless, wasted away, except his wounded haunch. +That was nearly twice its normal size; about one half of it was +maggots. The stench drove us all away. This I had +done, and I had done it for my pleasure!</p> +<p>After that year I went no more to Scotland. I blame no +one for his pursuit of sport. But I submit that he must +follow it, if at all, with Reason’s eyes shut. +Happily, your true sportsman does not violate his +conscience. As a friend of mine said to me the other day, +‘Unless you give a man of that kind something to kill, his +own life is not worth having.’ This, to be sure, is +all he has to think about.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">For</span> eight or nine years, while my +sons were at school, I lived at Rickmansworth. +Unfortunately the Leweses had just left it. Moor Park +belonged to Lord Ebury, my wife’s uncle, and the beauties +of its magnificent park and the amenities of its charming house +were at all times open to us, and freely taken advantage +of. During those nine years I lived the life of a student, +and wrote and published the book I have elsewhere spoken of, the +‘Creeds of the Day.’</p> +<p>Of the visitors of note whose acquaintance I made while I was +staying at Moor Park, by far the most illustrious was +Froude. He was too reserved a man to lavish his intimacy +when taken unawares; and if he suspected, as he might have done +by my probing, that one wanted to draw him out, he was much too +shrewd to commit himself to definite expressions of any kind +until he knew something of his interviewer. Reticence of +this kind, on the part of such a man, is both prudent and +commendable. But is not this habit of cautiousness +sometimes carried to the extent of ambiguity in his ‘Short +Studies on Great Subjects’? The careful reader is +left in no sort of doubt as to Froude’s own views upon +Biblical criticism, as to his theological dogmas, or his +speculative opinions. But the conviction is only reached by +comparing him with himself in different moods, by collating essay +with essay, and one part of an essay with another part of the +same essay. Sometimes we have an astute defence of +doctrines worthy at least of a temperate apologist, and a few +pages further on we wonder whether the writer was not masking his +disdain for the credulity which he now exposes and laughs +at. Neither excessive caution nor timidity are implied by +his editing of the Carlyle papers; and he may have +failed—who that has done so much has not?—in keeping +his balance on the swaying slack-rope between the judicious and +the injudicious. In his own line, however, he is, to my +taste, the most scholarly, the most refined, and the most +suggestive, of our recent essayists. The man himself in +manner and in appearance was in perfect keeping with these +attractive qualities.</p> +<p>While speaking of Moor Park and its kind owner I may avail +myself of this opportunity to mention an early reminiscence of +Lord Ebury’s concerning the Grosvenor estate in London.</p> +<p>Mr. Gladstone was wont to amuse himself with speculations as +to the future dimensions of London; what had been its growth +within his memory; what causes might arise to cheek its +increase. After listening to his remarks on the subject one +day at dinner, I observed that I had heard Lord Ebury talk of +shooting over ground which is now Eaton Square. Mr. +Gladstone of course did not doubt it; but some of the young men +smiled incredulously. I afterwards wrote to Lord Ebury to +make sure that I had not erred. Here is his reply:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">‘Moor Park, +Rickmansworth: January 9, 1883.</p> +<p>‘My dear Henry,—What you said I had told you about +snipe-shooting is quite true, though I think I ought to have +mentioned a space rather nearer the river than Eaton +Square. In the year 1815, when the battle of Waterloo was +fought, there was nothing behind Grosvenor Place but the +(—?) fields—so called, a place something like the +Scrubbs, where the household troops drilled. That part of +Grosvenor Place where the Grosvenor Place houses now stand was +occupied by the Lock Hospital and Chapel, and it ended where the +small houses are now to be found. A little farther, a +somewhat tortuous lane called the King’s Road led to +Chelsea, and, I think, where now St. Peter’s, Pimlico, was +afterwards built. I remember going to a breakfast at a +villa belonging to Lady Buckinghamshire. The Chelsea +Waterworks Company had a sort of marshy place with canals and +osier beds, now, I suppose, Ebury Street, and here it was that I +was permitted to go and try my hand at snipe-shooting, a special +privilege given to the son of the freeholder.</p> +<p>‘The successful fox-hunt terminating in either Bedford +or Russell Square is very strange, but quite appropriate, +commemorated, I suppose, by the statue <a +name="citation342"></a><a href="#footnote342" +class="citation">[342]</a> there erected.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Yours affectionately,<br /> +‘E.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The successful ‘fox-hunt’ was an event of which I +told Lord Ebury as even more remarkable than his snipe-shooting +in Belgravia. As it is still more indicative of the growth +of London in recent times it may be here recorded.</p> +<p>In connection with Mr. Gladstone’s forecasts, I had +written to the last Lord Digby, who was a grandson of my +father’s, stating that I had heard—whether from my +father or not I could not say—that he had killed a fox +where now is Bedford Square, with his own hounds.</p> +<p>Lord Digby replied:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">‘Minterne, Dorset: +January 7, 1883.</p> +<p>‘My dear Henry,—My grandfather killed a fox with +his hounds either in Bedford or Russell Square. Old Jones, +the huntsman, who died at Holkham when you were a child, was my +informant. I asked my grandfather if it was correct. +He said “Yes”—he had kennels at Epping Place, +and hunted the roodings of Essex, which, he said, was the best +scenting-ground in England.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘Yours affectionately,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Digby</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>(My father was born in 1754.)</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>Mr. W. S. Gilbert had been a much valued friend of ours before +we lived at Rickmansworth. We had been his guests for the +‘first night’ of almost every one of his +plays—plays that may have a thousand imitators, but the +speciality of whose excellence will remain unrivalled and +inimitable. His visits to us introduced him, I think, to +the picturesque country which he has now made his home. +When Mr. Gilbert built his house in Harrington Gardens he easily +persuaded us to build next door to him. This led to my +acquaintance with his neighbour on the other side, Mr. Walter +Cassels, now well known as the author of ‘Supernatural +Religion.’</p> +<p>When first published in 1874, this learned work, summarising +and elaborately examining the higher criticism of the four +Gospels up to date, created a sensation throughout the +theological world, which was not a little intensified by the +anonymity of its author. The virulence with which it was +attacked by Dr. Lightfoot, the most erudite bishop on the bench, +at once demonstrated its weighty significance and its destructive +force; while Mr. Morley’s high commendation of its literary +merits and the scrupulous equity of its tone, placed it far above +the level of controversial diatribes.</p> +<p>In my ‘Creeds of the Day’ I had made frequent +references to the anonymous book; and soon after my introduction +to Mr. Cassels spoke to him of its importance, and asked him +whether he had read it. He hesitated for a moment, then +said:</p> +<p>‘We are very much of the same way of thinking on these +subjects. I will tell you a secret which I kept for some +time even from my publishers—I am the author of +“Supernatural Religion.”’</p> +<p>From that time forth, we became the closest of allies. I +know no man whose tastes and opinions and interests are more +completely in accord with my own than those of Mr. Walter +Cassels. It is one of my greatest pleasures to meet him +every summer at the beautiful place of our mutual and sympathetic +friend, Mrs. Robertson, on the skirts of the Ashtead forest, in +Surrey.</p> +<p>The winter of 1888 I spent at Cairo under the roof of General +Sir Frederick Stephenson, then commanding the English forces in +Egypt. I had known Sir Frederick as an ensign in the +Guards. He was adjutant of his regiment at the Alma, and at +Inkerman. He is now Colonel of the Coldstreams and Governor +of the Tower. He has often been given a still higher title, +that of ‘the most popular man in the army.’</p> +<p>Everybody in these days has seen the Pyramids, and has been up +the Nile. There is only one name I have to mention here, +and that is one of the best-known in the world. Mr. Thomas +Cook was the son of the original inventor of the +‘Globe-trotter.’ But it was the extraordinary +energy and powers of organisation of the son that enabled him to +develop to its present efficiency the initial scheme of the +father.</p> +<p>Shortly before the General’s term expired, he invited +Mr. Cook to dinner. The Nile share of the Gordon Relief +Expedition had been handed over to Cook. The boats, the +provisioning of them, and the river transport service up to Wady +Halfa, were contracted for and undertaken by Cook.</p> +<p>A most entertaining account he gave of the whole affair. +He told us how the Mudir of Dongola, who was by way of rendering +every possible assistance, had offered him an enormous bribe to +wreck the most valuable cargoes on their passage through the +Cataracts.</p> +<p>Before Mr. Cook took leave of the General, he expressed the +regret felt by the British residents in Cairo at the termination +of Sir Frederick’s command; and wound up a pretty little +speech by a sincere request that he might be allowed to furnish +Sir Frederick <i>gratis</i> with all the means at his disposal +for a tour through the Holy Land. The liberal and highly +complimentary offer was gratefully acknowledged, but at once +emphatically declined. The old soldier, (at least, this was +my guess,) brave in all else, had not the courage to face the +tourists’ profanation of such sacred scenes.</p> +<p>Dr. Bird told me a nice story, a pendant to this, of Mr. +Thomas Cook’s liberality. One day, before the Gordon +Expedition, which was then in the air, Dr. Bird was smoking his +cigarette on the terrace in front of Shepherd’s Hotel, in +company with four or five other men, strangers to him and to one +another. A discussion arose as to the best means of +relieving Gordon. Each had his own favourite general. +Presently the doctor exclaimed: ‘Why don’t they put +the thing into the hands of Cook? I’ll be bound to +say he would undertake it, and do the job better than anyone +else.’</p> +<p>‘Do you know Cook, sir?’ asked one of the smokers +who had hitherto been silent.</p> +<p>‘No, I never saw him, but everybody knows he has a +genius for organisation; and I don’t believe there is a +general in the British Army to match him.’</p> +<p>When the company broke up, the silent stranger asked the +doctor his name and address, and introduced himself as Thomas +Cook. The following winter Dr. Bird received a letter +enclosing tickets for himself and Miss Bird for a trip to Egypt +and back, free of expense, ‘in return for his good opinion +and good wishes.’</p> +<p>After my General’s departure, and a month up the Nile, +I—already disillusioned, alas!—rode through Syria, +following the beaten track from Jerusalem to Damascus. On +my way from Alexandria to Jaffa I had the good fortune to make +the acquaintance of an agreeable fellow-traveller, Mr. Henry +Lopes, afterwards member for Northampton, also bound for +Palestine. We went to Constantinople and to the Crimea +together, then through Greece, and only parted at Charing +Cross.</p> +<p>It was easy to understand Sir Frederick Stephenson’s +(supposed) unwillingness to visit Jerusalem. It was +probably far from being what it is now, or even what it was when +Pierre Loti saw it, for there was no railway from Jaffa in our +time. Still, what Loti pathetically describes as ‘une +banalité de banlieue parisienne,’ was even then too +painfully casting its vulgar shadows before it. And it was +rather with the forlorn eyes of the sentimental Frenchman than +with the veneration of Dean Stanley, that we wandered about the +ever-sacred Aceldama of mortally wounded and dying +Christianity.</p> +<p>One dares not, one could never, speak irreverently of +Jerusalem. One cannot think heartlessly of a disappointed +love. One cannot tear out creeds interwoven with the +tenderest fibres of one’s heart. It is better to be +silent. Yet is it a place for unwept tears, for the deep +sadness and hard resignation borne in upon us by the eternal loss +of something dearer once than life. All we who are weary +and heavy laden, in whom now shall we seek the rest which is not +nothingness?</p> +<p>My story is told, but I fain would take my leave with words +less sorrowful. If a man has no better legacy to bequeath +than bid his fellow-beings despair, he had better take it with +him to his grave.</p> +<blockquote><p>We know all this, we know!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But it is in what we do not know that our hope and our +religion lies. Thrice blessed are we in the certainty that +here our range is infinite. This infinite that makes our +brains reel, that begets the feeling that makes us +‘shrink,’ is perhaps the most portentous argument in +the logic of the sceptic. Since the days of Laplace, we +have been haunted in some form or other with the ghost of the +<i>Mécanique Céleste</i>. Take one or two +commonplaces from the text-books of astronomy:</p> +<p>Every half-hour we are about ten thousand miles nearer to the +constellation of Lyra. ‘The sun and his system must +travel at his present rate for far more than a million years +(divide this into half-hours) before we have crossed the abyss +between our present position and the frontiers of Lyra’ +(Ball’s ‘Story of the Heavens’).</p> +<p>‘Sirius is about one million times as far from us as the +sun. If we take the distance of Sirius from the earth and +subdivide it into one million equal parts, each of these parts +would be long enough to span the great distance of 92,700,000 +miles from the earth to the sun,’ yet Sirius is one of the +<i>nearest</i> of the stars to us.</p> +<p>The velocity with which light traverses space is 186,300 miles +a second, at which rate it has taken the rays from Sirius which +we may see to-night, nine years to reach us. The proper +motion of Sirius through space is about one thousand miles a +minute. Yet ‘careful alignment of the eye would +hardly detect that Sirius was moving, in . . . even three or four +centuries.’</p> +<p>‘There may be, and probably are, stars from which Noah +might be seen stepping into the Ark, Eve listening to the +temptation of the serpent, or that older race, eating the oysters +and leaving the shell-heaps behind them, when the Baltic was an +open sea’ (Froude’s ‘Science of +History’).</p> +<p>Facts and figures such as these simply stupefy us. They +vaguely convey the idea of something immeasurably great, but +nothing further. They have no more effect upon us than +words addressed to some poor ‘bewildered creature, stunned +and paralysed by awe; no more than the sentence of death to the +terror-stricken wretch at the bar. Indeed, it is in this +sense that the sceptic uses them for our warning.</p> +<p>‘Seit Kopernikus,’ says Schopenhauer, +‘kommen die Theologen mit dem lieben Gott in +Verlegenheit.’ ‘No one,’ he adds, +‘has so damaged Theism as Copernicus.’ As if +limitation and imperfection in the celestial mechanism would make +for the belief in God; or, as if immortality were incompatible +with dependence. Des Cartes, for one, (and he counts for +many,) held just the opposite opinion.</p> +<p>Our sun and all the millions upon millions of suns whose light +will never reach us are but the aggregation of atoms drawn +together by the same force that governs their orbit, and which +makes the apple fall. When their heat, however generated, +is expended, they die to frozen cinders; possibly to be again +diffused as nebulæ, to begin again the eternal round of +change.</p> +<p>What is life amidst this change? ‘When I consider +the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars which Thou hast +ordained, what is man that Thou art mindful of him?’</p> +<p>But is He mindful of us? That is what the sceptic +asks. Is He mindful of life here or anywhere in all this +boundless space? We have no ground for supposing (so we are +told) that life, if it exists at all elsewhere, in the solar +system at least, is any better than it is here? +‘Analogy compels us to think,’ says M. France, one of +the most thoughtful of living writers, ‘that our entire +solar system is a gehenna where the animal is born for suffering. +. . . This alone would suffice to disgust me with the +universe.’ But M. France is too deep a thinker to +abide by such a verdict. There must be something +‘behind the veil.’ ‘Je sens que ces +immensités ne sont rien, et qu’enfin, s’il y a +quelque chose, ce quelque chose n’est pas ce que nous +voyons.’ That is it. All these immensities are +not ‘rien,’ but they are assuredly not what we take +them to be. They are the veil of the Infinite, behind which +we are not permitted to see.</p> +<blockquote><p>It were the seeing Him, no flesh shall dare.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The very greatness proves our impotence to grasp it, proves +the futility of our speculations, and should help us best of all +though outwardly so appalling, to stand calm while the snake of +unbelief writhes beneath our feet. The unutterable +insignificance of man and his little world connotes the infinity +which leaves his possibilities as limitless as itself.</p> +<p>Spectrology informs us that the chemical elements of matter +are everywhere the same; and in a boundless universe where such +unity is manifested there must be conditions similar to those +which support life here. It is impossible to doubt, on +these grounds alone, that life does exist elsewhere. Were +we rashly to assume from scientific data that no form of animal +life could obtain except under conditions similar to our own, +would not reason rebel at such an inference, on the mere ground +that to assume that there is no conscious being in the universe +save man, is incomparably more unwarrantable, and in itself +incredible?</p> +<p>Admitting, then, the hypothesis of the universal distribution +of life, has anyone the hardihood to believe that this is either +the best or worst of worlds? Must we not suppose that life +exists in every stage of progress, in every state of +imperfection, and, conversely, of advancement? Have we +still the audacity to believe with the ancient Israelites, or as +the Church of Rome believed only three centuries ago, that the +universe was made for us, and we its centre? Or must we not +believe that—infinity given—the stages and degrees of +life are infinite as their conditions? And where is this to +stop? There is no halting place for imagination till we +reach the <i>Anima Mundi</i>, the infinite and eternal Spirit +from which all Being emanates.</p> +<p>The materialist and the sceptic have forcible arguments on +their side. They appeal to experience and to common sense, +and ask pathetically, yet triumphantly, whether aspiration, +however fervid, is a pledge for its validity, ‘or does +being weary prove that he hath where to rest?’ They +smile at the flights of poetry and imagination, and love to +repeat:</p> +<blockquote><p>Fools! that so often here<br /> +Happiness mocked our prayer,<br /> +I think might make us fear<br /> +A like event elsewhere;<br /> +Make us not fly to dreams, but moderate desire.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But then, if the other view is true, the Elsewhere is not the +Here, nor is there any conceivable likeness between the +two. It is not mere repugnance to truths, or speculations +rather, which we dread, that makes us shrink from a creed so +shallow, so palpably inept, as atheism. There are many +sides to our nature, and I see not that reason, doubtless our +trustiest guide, has one syllable to utter against our loftiest +hopes. Our higher instincts are just as much a part of us +as any that we listen to; and reason, to the end, can never +dogmatise with what it is not conversant.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote342"></a><a href="#citation342" +class="footnote">[342]</a> Alluding to the statue of +Fox.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 497-h.htm or 497-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/9/497 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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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