[Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 683. SATURDAY, JANUARY 27, 1877. PRICE 1½_d._]
THE BANFFSHIRE NATURALIST.
Our old friend, Samuel Smiles, now a veteran in literature, who has
been indefatigable in writing of the power of Self-help, has, as one of
his late exploits, narrated in a most amusing and instructive manner
the _Life of a Scotch Naturalist_, Thomas Edward, who at an advanced
age modestly occupies the position of a working shoemaker in Banff.
This is a curious and interesting book. Few persons would have taken
the trouble that Mr Smiles has done to narrate the efforts in pursuit
of a knowledge of Nature of so very obscure and poor a man as is the
hero of his remarkable biography. The thing is altogether unique.
Nothing but vast kindliness of heart, along with the pleasure of
shewing what can be done by constant self-denial and industry, could
have influenced the benevolent writer. As probably not many of our
readers have yet had an opportunity of seeing the work--a beautifully
embellished duodecimo of four hundred pages, published by John Murray,
London--we shall try to give a sort of abridged history of the now
famed Scotch naturalist, with such observations as occur to us.
Thomas Edward, born in 1814, is the son of a private in the Fifeshire
militia, who on the breaking up of his regiment, resided for a short
time at Kettle, his native place in Fife, and then, for the sake of
work as a handloom weaver, settled with his wife and child at Aberdeen.
Here the boy was brought up in the usual rough way experienced by the
humbler class of Scotch children. He ran about barefooted, was poorly
fed, and required pretty much to find his own amusement. His parents,
while willing to do their best for him, soon found that he was far
from being easily managed. He was intractable, and in a very strange
way. While still a child, he demonstrated an extraordinary love of
animals of all kinds. He took delight in dogs, cats, pigs, hens, birds
of every kind, and every description of small creatures, down to bees,
beetles, flies, spiders, and so on--in fact, any living thing he could
lay hold of; even rats and mice did not come amiss. This idiosyncrasy
considerably puzzled and vexed the father and mother. Not understanding
him, he was scolded and cuffed, but all to no use. The boy was moved by
a predominant passion, amounting to a species of mania. When asked what
he meant by his eccentricities, he said he could not tell. His love of
Nature was an unconquerable instinct.
Tam Edward, as he was ordinarily called, was thought to be in some
degree out of his senses. At from four to five years of age he was sent
to a dame's school, but did not long continue at it; for being found
to have a kae or jackdaw in his pocket, that caused some trouble, he
was summarily dismissed by the schoolmistress. Another school received
him, and here ensued a similar catastrophe. The teacher was plagued
beyond endurance by his bringing all kinds of disagreeable little
creatures to school. On one occasion he brought with him a bottleful
of horse-leeches which he had gathered in a neighbouring pool. All
went on smoothly until one of the leeches escaping, crawled up a boy's
leg, and a fearful commotion ensued. Telling the culprit to take his
bottle of leeches and begone, the schoolmaster turned Tam to the door,
at the same time bringing down the taws so heavily upon him that he
thought his back was broken. Another school was tried; but there he
was worse used. One morning the master felt something creeping on his
arm, which shaking from him proved to be a centipede. Edward was at
once called up and accused of bringing the creature to the school.
The charge was quite erroneous, for he had not done so. His denial
was unavailing, and by the enraged teacher he was beaten in a most
unjust and unmerciful manner. Finally, he told the poor boy to take his
slate and books and go about his business. Thus he was expelled from
his third and last school. Disgusted with the cruel treatment he had
received, he positively refused to go to any other school. So there,
at six years of age his education ended. He could read, knew a little
of arithmetic--nothing of writing and grammar. He had already acquired
somewhat idle habits vagrandising in quest of animals, but he was
honest, exceedingly truthful, and by no means indisposed to work for a
livelihood. For about two years he was employed at a tobacco-work at a
short distance from the town. This was a happy time, for in going to
and returning from his labour in the factory, he had pleasant rambles
in the woods and plantations, which afforded opportunities for picking
up a knowledge of birds, insects, wild-flowers, and plants, the like of
which he had never seen before.
It was a hapless thing that this eagerly inquiring child had no one
to direct him in a way likely to be useful. His father and mother had
no sympathy for his love of nature. All they cared about was to have
him apprenticed to some regular trade, by which he would gain his
living. At length they succeeded in apprenticing him to a shoemaker,
named Begg, who proved to be a dissolute drunken vagabond, very ill
qualified to teach the boy his business. Tam, however, learnt to make
upper-leathers, and was proceeding to make shoe-bottoms, when all went
wrong on the discovery that he brought boxes of butterflies and such
like to the workshop; the sight of them usually throwing Begg into a
rage. Doubtless, it was indiscreet to bring his pet animals with him;
but there ought to have been allowances on account of his youth, as
well as from the fact that he never spent a moment of his master's time
on his amusements. One afternoon, when waiting till his master came
in to allow him to go to dinner, and while he had no work to do, he
amused himself with a young sparrow which he had taught to do a number
of little tricks. The master, entering in a drunken fury, struck Edward
such a blow as laid him flat on the floor, and then trampled the bird
with his foot. Picking up the poor and innocent creature, Tam found it
was still breathing. He put it tenderly in his bosom, and went home
crying over the unprovoked outrage. Shewing the mangled and dead bird
to his mother, he said he did not care so much for himself, if only the
bird had been spared, adding that 'if Begg struck him again without a
cause, he would certainly run away. She strongly remonstrated against
this, because, being bound apprentice for six years, he must serve out
his time, come what would.'
Persuaded to return to the shoemaker's shop, young Edward struggled on
till three years of his wretched apprenticeship had passed over. Then,
there was a climax. The boy had brought three young moles ensconced in
his bonnet. Begg, now more drunken than ever, discovered the moles,
killed them on the spot, knocked down his apprentice with a last,
dragged him to the door and threw him into the street. A good deal
hurt, Edward resolved he would no longer serve under such a monster.
And he kept his word. Begg threatened the terrors of the law; but,
perhaps, conscious of his brutality, he did nothing. For a time the
youth was a kind of loose waif. He thought of being a sailor, but
could get no one to take him to serve on board a ship. He had an uncle
at Kettle in Fife; and without telling any one, he went off to walk
all the way to Kettle, a distance of about a hundred miles, living on
morsels of bread he had in his pocket, and sleeping at night among
whins or under the shelter of a haystack. All the money he possessed
was sixpence, which was just sufficient to pay his fare in the
ferry-boat across the Tay. But how was he to pay a pontage of a penny
to cross the Esk at Montrose? That was a distressing consideration,
yet he would not beg, nor would he break in upon the sixpence for the
ferry. He tried again and again to sell his pocket-knife for a penny,
and only succeeded in doing so when he came in sight of the bridge. The
toil and privation endured in the journey were fruitless. The uncle, a
mean-spirited wretch, would do nothing for him, and sent him back to
Aberdeen with a present of eighteen-pence to pay his expenses on the
road.
The parents of Thomas Edward were glad to see him again, for they were
afraid he was lost. By their advice he procured work in making shoes of
a light kind, his new employer being of a kindlier nature than Begg.
In this situation, and at another shoemaking concern, he completed
his knowledge of the craft, which, however, he never liked, and stuck
to it only as a means of livelihood. As a kind of interlude in his
occupation, he enlisted in the Aberdeenshire Militia in 1831. For the
period he served as a soldier he acquitted himself creditably. His only
escapade consisted in having on one occasion quitted the ranks while
on drill to try to catch a butterfly which struck his fancy. It was a
grave military offence; but at the intercession of some ladies with
the officer on duty, was passed over lightly. When Edward was about
twenty years old, he left Aberdeen with his father and mother to reside
in Banff, a much smaller town, where his chances of advancement were
materially lessened. The removal was a blunder, and entailed on the
young naturalist a life-long depression of circumstances. Situated on
the shore of the Moray Firth, where that fine estuary expands into the
German Ocean, Banff is doubtless favourably adapted for explorations in
Natural History. Edward was so far highly favoured, but the poor fellow
had to live by his daily manual labour, and unfriended as well as
unsympathised with in this remote sea-side town, there was no prospect
of improving his position.
Good or bad, here Edward was fixed; and how, in the midst of daily
toils and cares, he found time to accumulate a vast store of knowledge
concerning animals and plants, is truly wonderful. Some may think
he made a mistake in marrying when no more than twenty-three years
old. But his wife was a sensible, prudent woman, and gave him a happy
home. 'Mutual affection,' as our author observes, 'makes up for much.'
Perhaps they occasionally felt the bitterness of poverty, for Edward's
earnings did not yet amount to more than about nine shillings and
sixpence a week!
With nothing but the most elementary education, without books, without
advisers, the young shoemaker made up for everything by immense
diligence, by sobriety, and a keen disregard of personal inconvenience.
In his assigned hours of labour he worked hard. He never spent a moment
idly. He never entered a public-house, nor drank anything stronger
than water. In his expenditure he was rigorously economical. All his
spare time was devoted to his favourite pursuit, that of acquiring a
knowledge of animals by painstaking practical inquiry. When he began
these inquiries, he did not even know the correct names of the animals
he sought for, because he had no books and nobody to tell him. He was
a thoroughly original student of nature. He learned everything by
personal observation. Nothing but a degree of enthusiasm amounting to
fanaticism could have impelled him to endure cold, wet, hunger, want
of sleep, in order to add to his stock of facts. His fellow-shoemakers
jeered at him for not joining in their vicious and costly indulgences;
but he held on his way. There, we think, was manifested his heroic, his
noble struggle--not that he ever esteemed it to be a struggle, for he
only followed the bent of a simple self-sacrificing character; but his
conduct in this respect was not less worthy of admiration.
Whatever were the sacrifices made by Edward, he was compensated, as
an intense lover of Nature. Describing his tastes and pursuits, Mr
Smiles says: 'Everything that lived and breathed had charms for him.
He loved the fields, the woods, the moors. The living presence of the
earth was always about him, and he eagerly drank in its spirit. The
babbling brooks, the whispering trees, the aspects of the clouds,
the driving wind, were all sources of delight.... He felt himself
free amidst the liberty of Nature.... As his wanderings were almost
invariably conducted at night, he had abundant opportunities of seeing
not only the ocean, but the heavens in their various aspects. What were
these stars so far off in the sky? Were they worlds? Were they but
the outposts of the earth, from which other worlds were to be seen,
far beyond the ken of the most powerful telescope? To use Edward's
own words: "I can never succeed in describing my unbounded admiration
of the works of the Almighty; not only the wonderful works which we
ourselves see upon earth, but those countless orbs which roll both
near and far in the endless immensity of space--the Home of Eternity.
Everything that moves or lives, everything that grows, everything
created or formed by the hand or will of the Omnipotent, has such a
fascinating charm for me, and sends such a thrill of pleasure through
my whole frame, that to describe my feelings is utterly impossible."'
Early in the spring of 1838, Edward began to form a collection of
specimens in natural history, for which he taught himself to stuff
and prepare the animals he was able to secure. In his researches he
was aided by an old gun, which he had bought for four-and-sixpence.
Sallying out at nine o'clock at night, when his day's work was over,
with his gun and some insect boxes and bottles, and putting a piece
of oat-cake in his pocket for supper, he scoured the country as long
as it was daylight for any living thing that came in his way. 'When
it became so dark that he could no longer observe, he dropped down by
the side of a bank, or a bush, or a tree, whichever came handiest,
and there he dozed or slept until the light returned. Then he got
up, and again began his observations, which he continued until the
time arrived when he had to return to his daily labour.' On Saturday
evenings he returned home by twelve o'clock, so as not to encroach on
the weekly day of rest. On Monday mornings he contrived to have a few
hours' observation before six o'clock. As he was known to live soberly
and honestly, there was no suspicion that he was either a poacher or a
burglar, yet these nocturnal ramblings were incomprehensible. People at
length gave him up as an oddity. Gamekeepers did not think of molesting
him in his explorations. Occasionally, he took up his quarters for the
night in a ruined castle, in some disused building, a sand-hole or
cavern amidst the rocks by the sea-shore, the shelter of a table-shaped
gravestone in a churchyard, or anywhere. This was a most dismal mode
of spending the night; for independently of exposure to the weather,
he was liable to be visited by polecats, weasels, badgers, or other
wild animals sniffing about him. There was, however, always a chance of
catching moths and other creatures that flutter or roam about in the
dark. Sometimes he was bitten on the hands by weasels and rats during
his disturbed sleep, and on one occasion he had a tremendous encounter
with a polecat. When morning broke, he had excellent opportunities of
studying the habits of the skylark, blackbird, thrush, and other early
choristers.
By these assiduous labours he had, by 1845, collected two thousand
specimens, consisting of quadrupeds, birds, reptiles, fishes,
crustacea, starfish, zoophytes, corals, sponges, and other objects.
He assorted the whole in cases made from old tea-boxes, fashioned
by his own hands, and which he neatly papered and glazed. With some
pride, he made a public exhibition of his collection at a local fair;
and by it not only paid his expenses, but had something over for
future purposes. This measure of success induced him to exhibit his
collection at Aberdeen. Although advertised, and spoken favourably of
by the newspapers, the exhibition was a failure. There was no rush of
visitors, as Edward fondly expected. In fact, the exhibition did not
nearly pay expenses. Dreading the horror of being in debt, he offered
the collection for sale; and in desperation accepted an offer of twenty
pounds ten shillings for the whole of what had cost him eight years'
labour exclusive of outlay. The gentleman who bought this very fine
collection unfortunately stored the specimens in a damp room, and the
whole went to ruin. So ended this unfortunate enterprise. Aberdeen and
Banff shires lost an opportunity of not only helping a most deserving
man of genius, but of acquiring a splendid collection illustrative of
the natural history of the two counties.
Though terribly crushed, on returning to his home in Banff, he went to
work at his usual trade of making the lighter kinds of women's shoes,
in which he was reputed to excel. Then, he resumed his researches
by the sea-shore, and in a short time began a new collection of
specimens. Suddenly he met with a grievous accident. He rolled down
a rocky precipice a depth of forty feet, falling on his gun, which
was smashed to pieces, and receiving such bodily injuries as confined
him for weeks to the house. To support his family during his illness,
he was under the necessity of selling a portion of his newly formed
collection.
About this time, Edward had the good fortune to attract the attention
of the Rev. James Smith, of the parish of Montquhitter, a place a
few miles from Banff. This gentleman having a strong love of natural
history, and possessing a good collection of books, did an important
service in offering hints to Edward, and in lending him books to
enable him to define and classify various animals which he caught. So
instructed he began to write observations on natural objects, which
appeared in the _Banffshire Journal_. Afterwards, at the suggestion
of Mr Smith, he sent papers to the _Zoologist_, the _Naturalist_, and
the _Linnean Journal_, through which channels his name and qualities
as a writer became known to naturalists generally. The result was
a considerable private correspondence, and an enlargement of his
knowledge regarding the names and species of animals, but with no
improvement in circumstances--rather the reverse, for being ever on the
brink of starvation, the expense for paper and postage stamps pressed
severely on his resources. Yet, he willingly gave such information as
he possessed to all who requested his assistance. Considering Edward's
meagre education and his inexperience of literary composition, his
papers, of which some extracts are given by Mr Smiles, strike us with
surprise. Besides being correctly written, they have all the elegance
and graphic force of Audubon. How, by those scientific inquirers, who
had the best means of judging of his talents, Edward should have been
suffered to drag on existence at a mechanical employment which never
seems to have yielded him twenty shillings a week, is not very easily
understood. No doubt, he was shy in pushing himself forward. He had
none of the saliency of character which through devious adventure leads
to fortune; but these palliatives scarcely explain the strange neglect
which he experienced.
Nobly, but still obscurely struggling on, a great misfortune befell
Edward in the death of Mr Smith in 1854. There, a true friend was gone.
As some assuagement of his loss, he found a friend and counsellor in
the Rev. Mr Boyd, parish minister of Crimond, whose hospitable manse
was always open to him when he visited the neighbourhood. But ere long,
Mr Boyd died suddenly, and here was a fresh and agonising bereavement.
By 1858, Edward had accumulated a large and splendid collection, but at
the cost of his health and strength. 'He had used himself so hardly; he
had spent so many of his nights out of doors in the cold and wet; he
had been so tumbled about amongst the rocks; he had so often, with all
his labours, to endure privation, even to the want of oatmeal--that it
is scarcely to be wondered at if, at that time, his constitution should
have begun to shew marks of decay.' There was a fever and illness of a
month, which led to a fresh sale of articles in his collection; and on
getting well, he was distinctly told by his medical attendant 'that if
he did not at once desist from his nightly wanderings, his life would
not be worth a farthing.' From this time, making fewer pulls on his
constitution, he more particularly devoted himself to investigations
along the sea-shore, capturing rare fish, crustacea, and zoophytes.
In these sea-side researches he was considerably aided by one of his
daughters, who poking about among fishing villages, procured the refuse
material brought up by nets, in which many most interesting small
animals new to science were discovered. From the stomachs of cod-fish
he procured innumerable specimens of animals which had been voraciously
swallowed. By these and other means he gained no little celebrity for
his additions to a knowledge of the myriads of creatures which inhabit
the depths of the ocean. Twenty-six new species of crustacea were
discovered by himself alone in the Moray Firth.
Some honours--none of them of any value in a money point of view--were
now awarded to Edward. The Linnean Society having discovered his genius
and talent, unanimously elected him an Associate in 1866. Immediately
afterwards, the Natural History Society of Aberdeen unanimously
admitted him a member; and in 1867 he received the diploma of the
Glasgow Natural History Society. 'Although Banff,' says Mr Smiles,
'possessed an "Institution for Science, Literature, and the Arts, and
for the encouragement of native genius and talent," the members did
not even elect Edward an honorary member. The scientific men of Banff
fought shy of the native shoemaker.'
It is pleasing to know that Thomas Edward is still in the land of the
living, and though broken down in health, is cheerful, contented, and
able to a certain extent for his accustomed duties. Latterly, he has in
many ways derived comfort and assistance from his grown-up daughters.
His searches after strange sorts of animals are at an end. He has
fought the fight of science unaided, and he has fought it well. He has
likewise fought the fight of poverty; for he has always lived within
his means, and owes no man anything. Therein, independently of his
sacrifices in behalf of science, lies the grandeur of his character. In
these days, when the gospel of idleness is so eloquently preached, and
so readily responded to, we should be glad if it were in our power to
fix the attention of the masses on what this humble shoemaker has done
by dint of self-denial and the careful economising of time. Expecting
no one to make such extraordinary sacrifices, we would say: Look,
ye misspenders of idle time, ye wasters of existence, ye thriftless
dram-drinkers, ye vacant-minded street loungers, what was done by one
as poor, if not poorer, than yourselves! All we ask is that, reflecting
a little on your responsibilities, you would endeavour to take to heart
the thrilling and instructive instance we have presented of A Noble
Struggle!
W. C.
_P.S._--Since writing the above, we have learned that a fund to succour
Thomas Edward has been commenced at Aberdeen. The still more gratifying
fact is announced that 'the Queen has been much interested in reading
his biography by Mr Smiles, and touched by his successful pursuit of
natural science under all the cares and troubles of daily toil; Her
Majesty, therefore, has been graciously pleased to confer on him a
pension of fifty pounds a year.' The concluding days of the Scottish
Naturalist will thus be passed in the degree of freedom from toil and
anxiety which he so eminently deserves.
THE LAST OF THE HADDONS.
CHAPTER V.--'I AM LILIAN.'
I stood for a few moments at the window in contemplation of the
beautiful view of the surrounding country, so wide and varied and well
wooded; then, afraid of the sentiment which was creeping upon me again,
I turned away, and set resolutely to work at unpacking. After putting
my small belongings into something like order, I proceeded to make the
best of myself for presentation to 'Miss Farrar.' It was the first time
I had seen myself from head to foot as I now did in the large cheval
glass, and I gazed not a little curiously, as well as anxiously and
critically, at the _tout ensemble_. What should I look like to a lover,
who I knew was an admirer of women's beauty in the way a good man can
admire it? What did I look, to myself?
For the first few moments I experienced a thrill of altogether
agreeable surprise. I really had no idea my figure was so good. 'Tall,
_élancée_, head well shaped and well poised,' I thought, pleasantly
checking off my perfections up to that point. With my face, I was far
from being as well satisfied. I tried to persuade myself that it was
because I was more accustomed to it, and that such familiarity breeds
contempt; but is one ever familiar with one's own face? I can only say
I was looking very discontentedly at mine, forgetting that the very
discontent was reflecting itself.
Too much squareness about the brow, too decided a mouth and chin, and
eyes--well, if they ever looked soft, as well as large and dark, _I_
had not seen it. Then the complexion, it might do for some people, but
Philip's wife ought to have more colouring and softness, more general
loveliness than this. Philip's wife! She ought to be a child of light,
'beautiful with all the soul's expansion'--the expression of her face
ever varying with the dainty colouring of her graceful poetic thoughts.
I was still picturing to myself the kind of woman Philip's wife ought
to be, frowning the while at a dark discontented face, frowning
discontentedly back at me, when the door was softly opened, and turning
hastily round, my eyes fell upon a young girl standing upon the
threshold.
'I beg your pardon; I do not think you heard me knock, and I could not
wait. I am Lilian.'
How shall I describe Lilian Farrar? I _have_ described her! A child of
light, 'beautiful with all the soul's expansion'--the expression of
her face ever varying with the dainty colouring of her graceful poetic
thoughts. I need only add that she had deep-blue eyes, shaded by long
lashes, straight, delicately chiselled little nose, sweet sensitive
mouth, pale-brown hair, and the figure of a graceful child just merging
into womanhood.
'May I come in, please?'
Might love and loveliness and youth and all that is true, and sweet,
and good, come in? But I only bowed, and held out my hand with a smile.
'I am so sorry I did not know when to expect you, Miss Haddon.'
'I came earlier than I ought to have done.'
'O no; pray do not think that; only I should like to have been at the
station to make friends at the beginning.'
'Let us call this the beginning.'
She drew nearer to me, and in a caressing child-like way, lifted up her
mouth to be kissed, as she said: 'Welcome to Fairview.'
I am not considered to be demonstrative; but I know I kissed her as
heartily as she kissed me, quite understanding that this was not like
an ordinary first meeting. Then she gently impelled me towards a low
chair, and knelt down beside me.
'If you could only know how very anxious I have been, and how relieved
I am.'
'Relieved?' I asked, bending down to get a better view of the sweet
face.
'Yes; indeed I am.'
'Then you can in a measure understand _my_ sensations,' I replied,
smiling down into her eyes.
'O yes; but you could go if you did not like us, you know.'
'And you could dismiss me if you did not like me.'
'I did not think of that; I was only afraid--companion means so much,
does it not?--how hard it would be for me if I cared for you, and you
only cared to be here because'----
'Of the salary I received?'
'Oh, pray do not think that I meant that.--May I say exactly what I was
thinking of, Miss Haddon?'
'Pray do.'
'Then I meant that it would be bad for me if you looked down upon the
Farrars, if you were ever so nice, or even if you looked down upon the
Tippers. I have just seen papa, and he says you belong to great people.
That rather frightened me, until I saw dear old auntie, and found that
she only knew you were nice; when I began to hope.'
'I shall soon set your mind at ease about all that,' I cheerfully
replied. 'Meantime, believe this much--I have begun to look up to Mrs
Tipper.'
'What a nice kind thing to say, Miss Haddon.'
'What a pleasant thing to feel, Miss Farrar.'
She made a little _moue_ at the 'Miss Farrar,' and I went on: 'You are
very young, are you not?--younger than I expected to find you.' I was
going to add for an engaged young lady, but thought it better to let
the allusion to her engagement come first from her.
'Only just turned seventeen,' she replied with a little sigh.
'Is that so very depressing?'
'Dear Miss Haddon, if I may tell you about myself, we shall feel more
at home with each other?'
'Tell me anything you please, my dear; and try to believe this
much--you may trust me.'
'I believed that, the very first moment I looked at you. Yours is a
face to trust.'
'Is it--is it?' I murmured, smoothing the hair back from her white
brow. 'That is indeed something to be thankful for. And now I can ask
with a clear conscience, why it is a trouble to be only seventeen?'
'Because--dear Miss Haddon, I am engaged; and Arthur--that is his
name, you know--does not like waiting until I am older, to be married.
Papa says he must wait at least a year, and Arthur does not like it.
Of course I should prefer waiting. I am sure we could not possibly be
happier than we are now, and I should not like leaving papa--I will
not, until he is quite well again--but I do not like Arthur to be
disappointed either.'
'Mr Farrar told me of the engagement.'
'But I do not think that papa told you of one thing which is the very
best of all. Arthur first met me at a garden-party, given by one of our
neighbours, just after I came home for good; and he had not the least
idea that papa was rich when he began to care for me. He liked me for
myself--only for myself!' with a grave little nod at me. 'He was quite
surprised when he found that I am an heiress. Do you know, he often
says that he should prefer having to work for me; only, of course, that
need not be.'
I read her thought, and my heart went out to Lilian Farrar, as I
smilingly replied: 'He gives one that impression.'
'Do you know him?' she inquired, looking a great deal surprised.
'Enough for that, I think. Mr Wentworth, is he not?'
'Mr Wentworth!' she ejaculated. 'What made you think that? No; but
Arthur is an intimate friend of Mr Wentworth's.'
I saw that I had made a mistake. But I was so much impressed in Mr
Wentworth's favour, that the fact of his being an intimate friend of
her lover's seemed a sufficient guarantee of the latter's claims to
respect.
'They were at Eton and Oxford together, and Arthur likes him very
much,' she continued, as though she, on her side, considered that was
saying a great deal in Mr Wentworth's favour.
'A barrister, is he not?'
'Yes; but he has not been very successful as yet, though he works very
hard--writes for newspapers and magazines; and I am sure it is very
good of him, for Arthur says he was brought up in the greatest luxury
by a rich uncle, and always led to believe that he would be the old
man's heir. But just as he was leaving Oxford, his uncle married a
young girl, and when he had children of his own, he quite discarded his
nephew. But he is like Arthur, and does not care about the money; he is
a great deal more troubled about having lost the old man's good-will.
Arthur says that he lives in an old tumble-down house--which is all
he possesses of his own--with one servant, in the poorest way, and
very rarely visits anywhere but here. Even here he does not come half
often enough to please us, we all like him so much. Strange that both
Arthur and he should commence life with large expectations, and both
find themselves penniless; is it not? Mr Trafford was unfortunate in
some speculations, I believe; and the estates had to be sold after his
death.'
I said something to the effect that it was fortunate that they were
equal to the position. Later, I found that her lover's father had
squandered his property in the worst kind of extravagance.
A gong was being sounded, and she rose, putting her hand under my arm.
'You must be wanting luncheon, Miss Haddon. Auntie said that she could
not prevail upon you to take any refreshment.'
I was beginning to feel hungry, and acknowledged that I was. As she
went down, she explained that her father had of late taken to invalid
habits, and did not join them at table. We found only Mrs Tipper in
the dining-room; a large, lofty room, furnished with the same heavy
grandeur of style which had struck me in the other parts of the house.
But a change had come over Mrs Tipper since I had left her. Her genial
good-nature was veiled by the same stiffness and constraint which
had jarred upon me at first, as she politely trusted I should find
something I could eat, regretted not having known that I should arrive
early, so that she might have given orders accordingly; and so forth.
'The Haddons of Haddon!' I thought. She had seen her brother, and been
awed by them. But I really could not allow them to come between this
dear old lady and me, and therefore replied, I had been accustomed to
live so plainly that this was quite a banquet to me; as indeed it was.
I saw that I lost ground a little with the man-servant in attendance
by my candour; but I could afford to wait for his better appreciation.
Mrs Tipper hesitated a moment, when she reached the head of the table,
and signified by a gesture her wish for me to take my seat there; in
fact, I know now, as I guessed then, that she was only too glad to
slip out of taking any prominent position in the household. But I
very decidedly shook my head, and passed down, replying to her little
protest, that it was not to be thought of--it would not be right. I saw
that she understood me to mean that it would not be etiquette, and sat
down contented. Could the dear little lady have known it, my ignorance
of the ways of the fashionable world was greater than her own. To my
amusement, Mrs Tipper's superiors in such knowledge have succumbed to
the magic words, 'It would not be right,' with which, knowing no other
code, I have occasionally ventured to settle a question. With certain
people, 'It is not right,' solely means 'It is not etiquette,' than to
sin against which there is no greater wrong; and they have yielded,
because they have supposed me better acquainted with the newest
mode, rather than imagine that I could have the audacity to attempt
innovations of my own.
I soon succeeded in making matters pleasant with Mrs Tipper again.
In five minutes the Haddons of Haddon were forgotten, and we were
getting through luncheon in friendly agreeable fashion. There was a
slight obtuseness on Richard's side when I required anything; but he
found that his forgetfulness did not in the slightest degree disturb
me, nor prevent my obtaining what I wanted. I quietly waited; and as
he could not let me repeat a request more than once without drawing
the attention of the others to his negligence, he came at length to
understand that it was just as well to do a thing at once as to be
quietly forced to do it. The attention of both Lilian and her aunt was
too much concentrated upon me for them to notice the man's remissness,
and I did my best to prevent them seeing it. I knew that Lilian's
eyes were turned upon me more than once when I was supposed to be
unobservant, and thought of her words, 'Companion means so much,' with
all the more respect for her judgment, whatever it might prove to be.
That we two should be friends, I knew. I should love her, and I
believed that she might come to love me. But would ours be as the
companionship of two of the same age? Should I ever be able to lay
bare my inmost self, living so intensely and so differently to the
Mary Haddon most people knew, to this young girl? She had spoken
of her love to me; should I be able to speak of mine to her--the
love which was deeper and stronger than a girl's love? It was with
something akin to pain that I told myself no. Because it was not the
love of a girl; because it was in its heights higher and in its depths
deeper; because it was in its strength and weakness so much more
human at eight-and-twenty than at seventeen, I could not talk about
it to Lilian Farrar. The shadowy poetic sentiment which clings about
a young girl's dream, the love which is more in love with love than
with the lover, was not mine. I am an old woman now, writing a story
for men and women, and therefore I will add that I have still quite as
much romance and enthusiasm in my composition as I had at seventeen,
which is an admission to make in these days; but at eight-and-twenty
I persuaded myself that they were or ought to be dead. In truth, my
eight-and-twenty years were pressing upon me rather too heavily for
mental health. I could not take kindly to the idea that youth was gone,
or recognise that the best of me was not necessarily gone with it. But
there is no need for me to analyse and dwell upon my weaknesses here;
they will be apparent enough as I go on, and will doubtless preach
their own moral without my assistance.
After luncheon, we returned to the pretty morning-room where I had
first seen Mrs Tipper, and devoted the afternoon to making better
acquaintance with each other. I began by telling my own little story
(so far as it could be told, with Philip left out) about my dear
mother's long illness, the struggles I had had to obtain a living when
alone, and so forth, because I wished to appear in my true colours to
these two, and above all, wished to get rid of the Haddons-of-Haddon
tone in our future intercourse. Then dear old Mrs Tipper came out
grandly with her little story respecting past ups and downs; not even
omitting the fact that her deceased husband had been messenger (between
ourselves, porter, my dear) in the firm where her brother rose to be
chief, and how he had been pensioned by 'dear Jacob,' and ended his
days in peace and comfort in a cottage of his own at Holloway, all the
grandest visions of his youth realised.
Afterwards, Lilian told how her father had risen in life entirely by
his own efforts; whilst her colour deepened with an equally right
pride as she added that her mother had been a gentlewoman, to whose
foresight her child owed the education that was something better than
any her father's money alone could have purchased. As Mrs Tipper
had informed me, it had been Mrs Farrar's dying wish that the first
fifteen years of her child's life should be spent with an old friend
and distant connection of her own. She had not erred in her judgment.
Notwithstanding her naturally good disposition, Lilian would have
suffered from the disadvantages consequent upon being brought up in
luxury, the petted heiress of a wealthy man, instead of spending her
early years at a country vicarage in wholesome study and exercise. I
could understand now how it happened that Mr Farrar's daughter was so
refined and different from what might have been expected. I knew now
why it gratified her so much to believe that her lover had not sought
her for her money's sake. Any one but herself would have thought it
natural enough that she should be sought for her own sake. How true,
and good, and sweet she was, and how soon one knew it; there being no
mysterious complications in her nature which it would take time to
discover.
'To think of our having so dreaded the lady-companion, auntie; and to
think of my having pleaded so much with papa against engaging one!'
ejaculated Lilian, when, after a very pleasant afternoon, we rose to go
to our rooms and dress for dinner.
'We did dread her, did we not, dear?' smilingly returned the old lady,
putting her hand upon mine; 'though I had the most cause for dread.'
'Indeed you had not--your cause is mine,' very decidedly said Lilian.
That they could say so much before me was sufficient, had I not already
arrived at the agreeable conclusion that I had found a home until
Philip's return.
AUSTRIAN ARCTIC DISCOVERY.
At a time when the attention of this country is again being specially
directed to the question of Arctic exploration, it becomes interesting
to take note of what other nations have recently achieved in the region
of Polar discovery. It is not too much to say that it is with justice
that England considers herself in the van as yet of Arctic enterprise;
but we have little hesitation in affirming that the expedition the
story of which is told in the two volumes under notice,[A] is worthy
of ranking side by side with the most memorable of our own voyages of
discovery; and when it is considered that the attention of Austria has
but very recently been turned to the subject of Arctic exploration, the
amount of success achieved by that nation is all the more creditable.
It deserves to be stated that the expedition of the _Tegetthoff_ was
partly due to the munificence of a private individual, the Count
Wilczek, who contributed the sum of forty thousand florins towards its
equipment, besides encouraging the enterprise by every means in his
power. The _Tegetthoff_ was a screw-steamer of two hundred and twenty
tons burden, built expressly for this expedition, with engines of one
hundred horse-power, and fitted out for a voyage of two-and-a-half
years' duration. Her commander was Captain Weyprecht, and with him was
associated, as colleague and as director of the land operations, the
writer of these volumes, Lieutenant Payer. The crew, officers and men
included, numbered only twenty-four. The ideal object of the voyage was
the north-east passage; its direct and expressed aim, the exploration
of the seas and lands lying to the north-east of Novaya Zemlya. Where
the ship was to winter was not definitely fixed; and a return home by
way of Behring's Strait was, though improbable, a possibility.
The _Tegetthoff_ left Bremerhaven on June 13, 1872, and Tromsoe a
month later. Immediately previous to the voyage of the _Tegetthoff_,
a preliminary voyage of reconnaissance had been made in a small
coasting-ship by Count Wilczek, who had found the sea between
Spitzbergen and Novaya Zemlya almost entirely open and free from ice.
It was hoped, therefore, that the water would be in the same condition
when the _Tegetthoff_ crossed it, and that where a small sailing-vessel
had gone so far, a fully equipped steam-ship might penetrate almost
indefinitely. But to the latter vessel the Spitzbergen seas presented a
wholly dissimilar aspect. The ice was first encountered in seventy-four
degrees--much farther south than was expected; and from that time it
never entirely left the vessel.
Off Cape Nassau the expedition was overtaken by Count Wilczek, who
had followed in the _Isbjörn_, the small sailing-ship in which the
preliminary pioneering voyage had been made, with the object of placing
a depot for the _Tegetthoff_ on the north coast of Novaya Zemlya. Very
shortly after the two vessels separated, the _Tegetthoff_ was fairly
beset and hemmed in by the ice in latitude 76° 22′ N., longitude
63° 3′ E. The good ship had made her first and her last voyage, for from
that icy grip she was destined never to get free.
Long and desperate were the efforts made by officers and men to release
the ship. Sawing the ice and blasting with powder, both above and below
the surface, alike proved fruitless. Fissures that had been made with
great toil, froze again as soon as made; and when the vessel tried to
steam against the ice, it was unable so much as to set the floe in
motion. The _Tegetthoff_ was now entirely at the mercy of the terrible
foe by which she was beset on all sides.
It might be supposed by such as are only imperfectly acquainted with
the Arctic regions, that the ship thus firmly locked in the ice
would be safe at least from immediate danger. But this was very far
from being the case. For some time indeed, the ice by which she was
encircled remained motionless, but this condition of things was not to
last. The 13th of October--a Sunday--was a day ominous for the fate of
the expedition. In the morning, the ice-floe burst across immediately
beneath the ship. Officers and crew rushed on deck to behold the ice
heaving around them on all sides. The aft-part of the vessel was
already nipped and pressed; and the rudder, which was the first to meet
the shock, trembled and groaned. The crew were unable to unship it by
reason of its weight, and had to be satisfied with lashing it securely.
All then leaped out upon the ice, and as quickly as possible got on
board whatever articles had been left lying outside the ship. Next,
the fissures in the floe were hastily bound together with ice-anchors
and ropes, and filled up with snow, in the hope that they might freeze
over, though it was felt that at any moment a sudden heave might undo
the whole work.
During all this time meanwhile, the ice was tossing and trembling from
its bases, while the air reverberated with the most awful sounds, as
of shrieks and howls. Mountains lifted themselves suddenly above the
level surface, and the low groan that rose from the depths grew into a
deep rumble, and finally increased to a roar of fury with the volume
of myriad voices. Uproar and confusion ruled supreme, and destruction
seemed every moment drawing nearer the ship as the ice crashed against
her. Now huge blocks reared fathoms high above the vessel, forcing
themselves against her hull; now masses fell down beneath her, until
they began to raise her above the level of the sea, the explorers being
in readiness at any moment to abandon the ship, in the event of her
being crushed. The pressure approached its height at about noon, at
which time the vessel was straining and groaning in every plank and
spar; but the crisis had now been reached, the pressure abated, the
_Tegetthoff_ righted herself, and all immediate danger at least, was
past.
But the above terrible experience indicated to the explorers what they
might at any time expect. Henceforward every noise in the ice was heard
by them with apprehension and fear. It was worse than living within the
continual influence of earthquakes. At night, officers and men always
slept with their clothes on, ready to rush on deck whenever the ice was
heard beginning to groan and heave; and this state of things continued
_for one hundred and thirty days_, the whole of that period being one
of almost constant darkness.
The first winter passed by the expedition in their icy prison was
at best but a time of gloom, though all on board combined to render
each other's lot as little wearisome as possible. The conduct of
the crew throughout the enterprise was exemplary and praiseworthy;
and it is pleasant to read of the kindly feeling and sympathy that
prevailed between officers and men. Only by the maintenance of complete
harmony and mutual consideration could an existence passed under
the circumstances described in these volumes be rendered tolerable.
The devices resorted to, to employ and pass the time, were various.
Constant occupation on the part both of officers and men was found not
only to be beneficial, but absolutely necessary to ward off ennui and
depression. The duties connected with the daily routine of work were
not sufficient; occupation had to be invented. The chief officers had
their scientific observations to employ and interest them; but the
resources of the men were fewer. At first the building of snow-houses
was resorted to as a means of filling up the time. Then a school was
begun, in which were passed many hours daily; besides which, there was
seal-catching and bear-hunting. On an average, two bears were killed
weekly, and roasted bear-flesh was relished by all; and the flesh of
the seal, which was at first but little appreciated, was by-and-by
found to be at least palatable.