(_Translation_.)—If I desire to pass over a part in silence, whatever
I omit will seem the most worthy to have been recorded. Shall I
pursue his old exploits and early youth? His recent merits recall
the mind to themselves. Shall I dwelt on his justice? The glory of
the warrior rises before me resplendent. Shall I relate his strength
in arms? He performed yet greater things unarmed.
“THERE is something,” says Harrington, in the Preliminaries to the
Oceana, “first in the making of a commonwealth, then in the governing of
it, and last of all in the leading of its armies, which though there be
great divines, great lawyers, great men in all ranks of life, seems to be
peculiar only to the genius of a gentleman. For so it is in the
universal series of history, that if any man has founded a commonwealth,
he was first a gentleman.” Such also, he adds, as have got any fame as
civil governors, have been gentlemen, or persons of known descents. Sir
Alexander Ball was a gentleman by birth; a younger brother of an old and
respectable family in Gloucestershire. He went into the navy at an early
age from his own choice, and, as he himself told me, in consequence of
the deep impression and vivid images left on his mind by the perusal of
“Robinson Crusoe.” It is not my intention to detail the steps of his
promotion, or the services in which he was engaged as a subaltern. I
recollect many particulars indeed, but not the dates, with such
distinctness as would enable me to state them (as it would be necessary
to do if I stated them at all) in the order of time. These dates might
perhaps have been procured from the metropolis; but incidents that are
neither characteristic nor instructive, even such as would be expected
with reason in a regular life, are no part of my plan; while those which
are both interesting and illustrative I have been precluded from
mentioning, some from motives which have been already explained, and
others from still higher considerations. The most important of these may
be deduced from a reflection with which he himself once concluded a long
and affecting narration: namely, that no body of men can for any length
of time be safely treated otherwise than as rational beings; and that,
therefore, the education of the lower classes was of the utmost
consequence to the permanent security of the empire, even for the sake of
our navy. The dangers, apprehended from the education of the lower
classes, arose (he said) entirely from its not being universal, and from
the unusualness in the lowest classes of those accomplishments which he,
like Dr. Bell, regarded as one of the means of education, and not as
education itself. If, he observed, the lower classes in general
possessed but one eye or one arm, the few who were so fortunate as to
possess two would naturally become vain and restless, and consider
themselves as entitled to a higher situation. He illustrated this by the
faults attributed to learned women, and that the same objections were
formerly made to educating women at all; namely, that their knowledge
made them vain, affected, and neglectful of their proper duties. Now
that all women of condition are well educated, we hear no more of these
apprehensions, or observe any instances to justify them. Yet if a lady
understood the Greek one-tenth part as well as the whole circle of her
acquaintances understood the French language, it would not surprise us to
find her less pleasing from the consciousness of her superiority in the
possession of an unusual advantage. Sir Alexander Ball quoted the speech
of an old admiral, one of whose two great wishes was to have a ship’s
crew composed altogether of serious Scotchmen. He spoke with great
reprobation of the vulgar notion, the worse man the better sailor.
Courage, he said, was the natural product of familiarity with danger,
which thoughtlessness would oftentimes turn into fool-hardiness; and that
he always found the most usefully brave sailors the gravest and most
rational of his crew. The best sailor he had ever had, first attracted
his notice by the anxiety which he expressed concerning the means of
remitting some money, which he had received in the West Indies, to his
sister in England; and this man, without any tinge of Methodism, was
never heard to swear an oath, and was remarkable for the firmness with
which he devoted a part of every Sunday to the reading of his Bible. I
record this with satisfaction as a testimony of great weight, and in all
respects unexceptionable; for Sir Alexander Ball’s opinions throughout
life remained unwarped by zealotry, and were those of a mind seeking
after truth, in calmness and complete self-possession. He was much
pleased with an unsuspicious testimony furnished by Dampier (vol. ii.
part 2, page 89): “I have particularly observed,” writes this famous old
navigator, “there and in other places, that such as had been well-bred
were generally most careful to improve their time, and would be very
industrious and frugal where there was any probability of considerable
gain; but on the contrary, such as had been bred up in ignorance and hard
labour, when they came to have plenty would extravagantly squander away
their time and money in drinking and making a bluster.” Indeed it is a
melancholy proof how strangely power warps the minds of ordinary men,
that there can be a doubt on this subject among persons who have been
themselves educated. It tempts a suspicion that, unknown to themselves,
they find a comfort in the thought, that their inferiors are something
less than men; or that they have an uneasy half-consciousness that, if
this were not the case, they would themselves have no claim to be their
superiors. For a sober education naturally inspires self-respect. But
he who respects himself will respect others; and he who respects both
himself and others, must of necessity be a brave man. The great
importance of this subject, and the increasing interest which good men of
all denominations feel in the bringing about of a national education,
must be my excuse for having entered so minutely into Sir Alexander
Ball’s opinions on this head, in which, however, I am the more excusable,
being now on that part of his life which I am obliged to leave almost a
blank.
During his lieutenancy, and after he had perfected himself in the
knowledge and duties of a practical sailor, he was compelled by the state
of his health to remain in England for a considerable length of time. Of
this he industriously availed himself to the acquirement of substantial
knowledge from books; and during his whole life afterwards, he considered
those as his happiest hours, which, without any neglect of official or
professional duty, he could devote to reading. He preferred, indeed he
almost confined himself to, history, political economy, voyages and
travels, natural history, and latterly agricultural works; in short, to
such books as contain specific facts or practical principles capable of
specific application. His active life, and the particular objects of
immediate utility, some one of which he had always in his view, precluded
a taste for works of pure speculation and abstract science, though he
highly honoured those who were eminent in these respects, and considered
them as the benefactors of mankind, no less than those who afterwards
discovered the mode of applying their principles, or who realised them in
practice. Works of amusement, as novels, plays, etc., did not appear
even to amuse him; and the only poetical composition of which I have ever
heard him speak, was a manuscript poem written by one of my friends,
which I read to his lady in his presence. To my surprise he afterwards
spoke of this with warm interest; but it was evident to me that it was
not so much the poetic merit of the composition that had interested him,
as the truth and psychological insight with which it represented the
practicability of reforming the most hardened minds, and the various
accidents which may awaken the most brutalised person to a recognition of
his nobler being. I will add one remark of his own knowledge acquired
from books, which appears to me both just and valuable. The prejudice
against such knowledge, he said, and the custom of opposing it to that
which is learnt by practice, originated in those times when books were
almost confined to theology, and to logical and metaphysical subtleties;
but that at present there is scarcely any practical knowledge which is
not to be found in books. The press is the means by which intelligent
men now converse with each other, and persons of all classes and all
pursuits convey each the contribution of his individual experience. It
was, therefore, he said, as absurd to hold book-knowledge at present in
contempt, as it would be for a man to avail himself only of his own eyes
and ears, and to aim at nothing which could not be performed exclusively
by his own arms. The use and necessity of personal experience consisted
in the power of choosing and applying what had been read, and of
discriminating by the light of analogy the practicable from the
impracticable, and probability from mere plausibility. Without a
judgment matured and steadied by actual experience, a man would read to
little or perhaps to bad purpose; but yet that experience, which in
exclusion of all other knowledge has been derived from one man’s life, is
in the present day scarcely worthy of the name—at least for those who are
to act in the higher and wider spheres of duty. An ignorant general, he
said, inspired him with terror; for if he were too proud to take advice
he would ruin himself by his own blunders, and if he—were not, by
adopting the worst that was offered. A great genius may indeed form an
exception, but we do not lay down rules in expectation of wonders. A
similar remark I remember to have heard from a gallant officer, who to
eminence in professional science and the gallantry of a tried soldier,
adds all the accomplishments of a sound scholar and the powers of a man
of genius.
One incident, which happened at this period of Sir Alexander’s life, is
so illustrative of his character, and furnishes so strong a presumption,
that the thoughtful humanity by which he was distinguished was not wholly
the growth of his latter years, that, though it may appear to some
trifling in itself, I will insert it in this place with the occasion on
which it was communicated to me. In a large party at the Grand Master’s
palace, I had observed a naval officer of distinguished merit listening
to Sir Alexander Ball, whenever he joined in the conversation, with so
marked a pleasure that it seemed as if his very voice, independent of
what he said, had been delightful to him; and once, as he fixed his eyes
on Sir Alexander Ball, I could not but notice the mixed expressions of
awe and affection, which gave a more than common interest to so manly a
countenance. During his stay in the island, this officer honoured me not
unfrequently with his visits; and at the conclusion of my last
conversation with him, in which I had dwelt on the wisdom of the
Governor’s conduct in a recent and difficult emergency, he told me that
he considered himself as indebted to the same excellent person for that
which was dearer to him than his life. “Sir Alexander Ball,” said he,
“has, I dare say, forgotten the circumstance; but when he was Lieutenant
Ball, he was the officer whom I accompanied in my first boat expedition,
being then a midshipman and only in my fourteenth year. As we were
rowing up to the vessel which we were to attack, amid a discharge of
musketry, I was overpowered by fear, my knees trembled under me, and I
seemed on the point of fainting away. Lieutenant Ball, who saw the
condition I was in, placed himself close beside me, and still keeping his
countenance directed toward the enemy, took hold of my hand, and pressing
it in the most friendly manner, said in a low voice, ‘Courage, my dear
boy! don’t be afraid of yourself! you will recover in a minute or so. I
was just the same when I first went out in this way.’ Sir,” added the
officer to me, “it was as if an angel had put a new soul into me. With
the feeling that I was not yet dishonoured, the whole burden of agony was
removed, and from that moment I was as fearless and forward as the oldest
of the boat’s crew, and on our return the lieutenant spoke highly of me
to our captain. I am scarcely less convinced of my own being than that I
should have been what I tremble to think of, if, instead of his humane
encouragement, he had at that moment scoffed, threatened, or reviled me.
And this was the more kind in him, because, as I afterwards understood,
his own conduct in his first trial had evinced to all appearances the
greatest fearlessness, and that he said this, therefore, only to give me
heart and restore me to my own good opinion.”
This anecdote, I trust, will have some weight with those who may have
lent an ear to any of those vague calumnies from which no naval commander
can secure his good name, who knowing the paramount necessity of
regularity and strict discipline in a ship of war, adopts an appropriate
plan for the attainment of these objects, and remains constant and
immutable in the execution. To an Athenian, who, in praising a public
functionary, had said, that every one either applauded him or left him
without censure, a philosopher replied, “How seldom then must he have
done his duty!”
Of Sir Alexander Ball’s character, as Captain Ball, of his measures as a
disciplinarian, and of the wise and dignified principle on which he
grounded those measures, I have already spoken in a former part of this
work, and must content myself therefore with entreating the reader to
re-peruse that passage as belonging to this place, and as a part of the
present narration. Ah! little did I expect at the time I wrote that
account, that the motives of delicacy, which then impelled me to withhold
the name, would so soon be exchanged for the higher duty which now
justifies me in adding it! At the thought of such events the language of
a tender superstition is the voice of nature itself, and those facts
alone presenting themselves to our memory which had left an impression on
our hearts, we assent to, and adopt the poet’s pathetic complaint:—
O sir! the good die first,
And those whose hearts are dry as summer dust
Burn to the socket.