Throughout the whole of this book the evangelistic Temperance work is

very evident, but in this chapter I gather up a few special instances

connected with his lifelong anti-drink crusades.

Of his earlier days, I have gathered a great deal of information from

Mr. Richardson--Mr. Charrington's old and valued friend, who is

referred to elsewhere in this book.

Here is one story of this time taken down in shorthand exactly as Mr.

Richardson told it me.

"A large meeting was held in the East End for the support of certain

candidates for the London School Board. The three great brewers,

Edward North Buxton, Sir Edmund Hay-Currie, who is now the secretary

of the Hospital Sunday Fund, and Mr. William Hoare were present.

"Mr. Bryant, of the celebrated match-makers' firm, was in the chair.

Mr. Charrington went to this meeting, and took some few men with him.

Before starting, he said to them, 'We are pretty sure to get some

bones broken, so do not come unless you are willing to run the risk.

We must keep near the door, and look out for our heads. We shall very

likely be thrown down the stone staircase.'

"They went to the meeting, and just got in the back of the hall of the

Bow and Bromley Institute. There were nearly two thousand people

there. Mr. Hoare, the brewer, was speaking. He was a very hesitating

speaker, and was just saying, 'And we must do something for those

wretched, ragged little children that roam about our streets and are

not gathered into the schools.'

"Mr. Charrington thought that as he hesitated for another sentence, it

was a good opportunity to break in, and he said at once, before Mr.

Hoare could speak again, 'Why, it is you, Mr. Hoare, with your beer,

and you, Mr. Buxton, and you, Sir Edmund Hay-Currie, with your gin,

who are causing these wretched, ragged children to be roaming about

our streets. It is you who are ruining and blasting the homes of the

working classes, and I am ashamed to see you clergymen and ministers

supporting these brewers and distillers upon this platform here

to-night.'

'Mr. Charrington had only gone, in the first instance, to make a

protest, not a speech, and expected to be thrust out of the place

every moment. He hesitated for a moment, and there was a death-like

silence. The proverbial pin could have been heard (if it had been

dropped). Then amidst the silence a voice said faintly, 'Why, it's

young Charrington! It's young Charrington!' And then another one said

a little louder, 'Well done, Charrington! Well done, Charrington! Go

it, let 'em have it, let 'em have it!'

"These publicans were going against their own people because their

houses were all tied ones. Then followed a scene of indescribable

excitement. The language used was unprintable. Mr. Charrington

suddenly found himself in the most extraordinary manner the champion

of the people. They took him up in the most enthusiastic fashion,

shouting out for a speech, delighted with him for personally opposing

the brewers, and denouncing them to their faces. They cursed and swore

at them, calling them everything imaginable. During all this there

were ladies upon the platform. All the people were shouting, 'Make way

for him! Make way for him!'

"They pushed one another aside, and somehow made a little alley for

him right up to the platform at the other end of the hall, and

cheering him on as one would a fireman going up a ladder. He walked

forward amid the deafening cheers of the people, mingled with the

awful curses on the brewers and the distillers upon the platform.

"When he got as far as the platform, those on it did all they could to

keep him off. However, he managed to get on to a chair, laid hold of

the rail, and swung himself on to the platform. As he did so the

supporters of the brewers thrust their fists at him and tried to beat

him off.

"Mr. Charrington just got his footing, and threw himself head first at

the stomach of the gentleman standing just in front of him. He

recovered himself, and then jerked his elbow into the stomach of the

gentleman on his right, and then his other elbow into the gentleman on

his left. There was a grand piano standing at one side of the

platform, and he climbed on to this and ran along it, and managed to

drop into a chair just beside the chairman.

"All this time the people were yelling and getting frantic with

delight, as they saw him on the platform at last. And then clergymen

on the one side, and Nonconformist ministers on the other, began to

abuse him, saying that his conduct was disgraceful. He said that, on

the contrary, their being there at all was disgraceful. It was

criminal for Christian ministers to be supporting brewers and

distillers.

"The chairman rose and tried to get a hearing. 'Whenever he was

chairman,' he said, 'he always tried to act justly and see that

justice was done to all sides. As it was a public meeting, Mr.

Charrington had just as much right to speak as any one else. If he

would kindly wait until Mr. Hoare had finished his speech, he would

then call upon Mr. Charrington for his.'

"The people present invited Miss Hastings, a lady of good family, to

become the candidate in opposition to the brewers and distillers. Mr.

Charrington proceeded to advocate her cause, and pleaded with the

electors to vote for the lady candidate instead of the brewers and

distillers. The result of it all was that Edward North Buxton only got

in by four votes, and Miss Hastings was returned at the head of the

poll. Mr. Hoare was turned out."

On another occasion, when Mr. Charrington was member for Mile End on

the London County Council, a licensing debate was held at which he was

present. It was decided that the licenses of public houses then closed

should drop, so as to reduce the number of public houses in London.

Mr. F. C. Carr-Gonn, a great property owner in South London, was

another member, and was also present on this occasion.

On the subject of the Temperance question Mr. Charrington used some

illustrations of the evil effects of drink, and said, "Only recently

we have had a case of a young man who was otherwise a respectable

young fellow enough until he got intoxicated. Although the facts of

the case were scarcely known, because he was alone with his mother at

the time, it was said by the doctor afterwards that he had kicked his

mother to death. He must have kicked her for nearly an hour, and her

head was battered to a pulp, and he had kicked out all her teeth. She

was most horribly disfigured. All this was through the effect of

strong drink. He was a very affectionate son otherwise."

Just then, Mr. Carr-Gonn, in a state of great excitement, rose.

The chairman on that occasion was Lord Rosebery. It had been decided a

short time ago that the chairman was always to be addressed as "Mr.

Chairman," regardless of his title.

Mr. Carr-Gonn, being in a very excited condition, hardly knew what he

was saying. He cried, "Mr. Rosebery! No, I mean my Lord Chairman! No!

no! I mean Mr. Rosebery! My Lord Chairman, will you stop him! will you

stop him!"

Lord Rosebery rose and said, "I am sorry, Mr. Carr-Gonn, but I must

rule that Mr. Charrington is perfectly in order, and if he likes to

illustrate the subject, he is at liberty to do so. I cannot interfere.

Please proceed with your speech, Mr. Charrington."

At this, Mr. Charrington went on to tell another story of a poor Irish

couple who lived in a very dark little alley in the East End of

London. They were a respectable and loving couple. The husband,

however, would generally get drunk on Saturday nights. One Saturday

night he came home drunk as usual, but his wife had made a point of

never nagging him, and always spoke kindly to him when he was like

that. She got him to rest on the bed on this particular occasion,

saying, "Lie down for a little and sleep. You will be better when you

wake up."

When he woke up, she said kindly to him, "Oh, Tim, Tim, do give up the

drink; it will be better for us all." His only reply was to pick up a

bar of iron that was lying on the fender, and did duty for a poker,

and with one blow smash in her skull. She never spoke again. He had

killed her on the spot. And when Mr. Charrington heard of this, he

said, "Well, he stopped her voice, but so long as I have got breath in

my body, she being dead, shall go on speaking through me--I will

repeat her words: 'Give up the drink; it will be better for us all.'

It will be better for the nation, it will be better for the families,

it will be better for us all to give up this cursed, damning drink."

We know that all this started the temperance policy of the L.C.C.

I now come to an incident in Frederick Charrington's splendid work

for Temperance which shows, as clearly as anything can show, the

enormous stir that his determined opposition to the liquor traffic

made in London at the time of which I speak.

The brewing interest, and the publicans, held a meeting in Trafalgar

Square. It was to have been a mass meeting, and indeed it was largely

attended, though not so largely as was anticipated by the originators.

A counter temperance demonstration was organised, and in the result

the brewers' meeting was completely spoilt and broken up.

Now with this counter demonstration Mr. Charrington had nothing

whatever to do--as it happened. His name, however, was so widely

identified with the Temperance cause, that the opposition had no doubt

in their own minds that their meeting had been disturbed by him.

They determined, therefore, to "get even" with him, and the method

selected was to smash up everything at the next meeting in the hall.

Mr. Charrington had issued invitations for six o'clock, but at

four-thirty the Mile End Waste was alive with a huge crowd, numbering

among its members some of the most sinister-looking ruffians in

London. They were there with a definite and avowed purpose of

retaliation.

In a lane by the side of the hall, so seriously was the situation

viewed, a hundred and fifty mounted police were waiting.

The crowd clamoured for admission, and surged forward, making the most

violent efforts to enter at different points.

In the event, the people became so numerous and threatening, that the

authorities of the hall were simply compelled to throw the doors open

and admit them.

The hall was filled in an incredibly short space of time, and it was

filled by the worst elements in the crowd--the hired bullies who were

to wreak the vengeance of the liquor lords upon Mr. Charrington and

his supporters. Each man of this crowd had been provided with a bottle

of whisky, and many of them had bludgeons in addition.

A great rush was made to the platform, and a yelling fury of drunken

men endeavoured to storm it, the stewards literally fighting for their

lives to protect it.

I am informed that the _melee_ passed description, and that many of

those who were in it had to be removed to the nearest hospital that

night.

The police rushed in and linked arms three deep to hold the assailed

platform, upon which Mr. Charrington was sitting, calmly surveying the

tumult.

Even after some semblance of order was restored by the police--that is

to say, after the actual fight ceased--the subsequent proceedings were

all in dumb show. Huge blackboards were produced, resolutions written

upon them, and declared carried with drunken roars of approval. Sir

Wilfrid Lawson was to have spoken at this meeting, but he remained in

a committee room, and was not allowed to show his face at all, as the

resentment of the crowd was specially directed against him--though not

more so than against Mr. Charrington.

When the whole affair was over, many credible witnesses saw the hired

bullies being paid half-a-crown each at the entrance of the hall, by

men with bags of silver coin, who had organised this disgraceful riot.

I must now deal with one of the most curious coincidences that has

ever come across my notice.

Sir Walter Besant, as I said in the first chapter of this book, drew

his character of "Miss Messenger" from Mr. Charrington, and his action

in regard to the paternal brewery. As a result of Sir Walter's

book--_All Sorts and Conditions of Men_--the People's Palace

definitely grew into being, and was about to be erected. Frederick

Charrington, on two memorable occasions, was brought into direct

conflict with the controlling authorities upon the ever burning

question of drink.

The first instance when this occurred created a tremendous sensation

in the Press.

Summoned by the then Lord Mayor (Sir John Staple), who presided, a

largely attended meeting was held in the Mansion House, in connection

with the Beaumont Trust scheme for the establishment of the People's

Palace for East London. Besides numerous supporters of the movement

there were present a large number of persons who were desirous of

eliciting the views of the trustees as to their intentions with

respect to Sunday opening and selling intoxicating drink, and it was

evident that there were many who believed that the trustees had

already decided to open on Sundays and to sell liquor, although no

declaration had been made to the effect.

[Illustration: A CARTOON WHICH APPEARED IN _FUN_ DURING THE PEOPLE'S

PALACE AGITATION

[_To face p. 219._]

The Lord Mayor explained that before the money in hand could be made

available it was necessary that further sums should be received.

Having dwelt upon the desirability of technical training, one of the

objects of the scheme, his lordship said certain questions had been

put with reference to the proposed opening of the People's Palace on

Sundays, and to the sale of alcoholic beverages.

Sir E. Currie then made a statement as to the position of the scheme,

and announced that his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had written

regretting his inability to be present, and expressing his unabated

interest in it. Similar letters had been received from Lord Salisbury,

the Duke of Westminster, and others. The Queen's Hall now building

would be ready for opening early next summer.

Mr. F. R. Jennings, Master of the Drapers' Company, then moved, "That

the efforts of the trustees who are promoting the establishment of the

People's Palace for East London merit the sympathetic and practical

support of the community."

General Sir D. Lysons seconded.

Before the resolution was put to the meeting Mr. F. N. Charrington

rose to make some observations, and in reply to the Lord Mayor, who

intimated that Mr. Ritchie, M.P., and Sir R. Temple would not be able

to stop, declined to postpone his remarks, as they applied to the

first resolution only. A great many persons on both sides were

anxious, he said, that the principles should be settled before the

details were discussed, and one lady, who represented many others, had

declared she would not give a sixpence until it was settled whether

the People's Palace would be opened on Sundays or not, and whether

intoxicating drink would be sold there.

The Lord Mayor, interposing, read the resolution and added, that, as

chairman of the meeting, he considered the question raised did not

effect the motion.

Mr. Charrington rose and said, "I beg leave to say that it is

impossible to say whether the efforts of the trustees do merit our

sympathy and support until we know whether the Palace is to be opened

on the Lord's Day or not, and whether a license is to be applied for."

The Lord Mayor replied, "I should be very unwilling to prevent any

gentleman from speaking, but if you persist, I must rule you out of

order. I should be very sorry to do so."

Mr. Charrington bowed. "Then it is impossible for us to give an

opinion until the question is settled," he said. "We ask: Is strong

drink going to be sold or not, and is the Palace to be opened on the

Lord's Day? We only want these two questions answered. Both sides want

to know whether these questions are to be answered or not."

A scene of great disorder immediately ensued, and the Lord Mayor

sternly said, "I must ask you to resume your seat."

Mr. Charrington was quite unmoved. He said, "I contend that my two

questions are entirely legal. We are cursed enough with strong drink

without having any more introduced into this Palace, which is intended

for the benefit of the public."

"You are out of order altogether," was the Lord Mayor's rejoinder.

"There is beer and gin enough already," said Mr. Charrington.

The Lord Mayor: "I must ask you to leave the hall. I will not allow

this to continue."

Mr. Charrington: "Is this place to be opened on Sunday or not?"

The Lord Mayor: "Sir, if you persist in interrupting the meeting when

I have declared you to be out of order, I shall have you removed."

(Loud cheers and counter-cheers. Cries of "Bravo, Charrington!")

Mr. Charrington: "I have a legal right to speak."

The Lord Mayor: "I will take all the responsibility upon myself, and

if you don't sit down, I will order the police to remove you."

Mr. Charrington still persisting, Sir E. H. Currie left the platform

and swore at Mr. Charrington, who replied, "We've had enough of your

gin shops; go back to the platform," which he did. A police officer

having been sent for, he was directed to remove Mr. Charrington.

Accordingly, the evangelist, who was loudly cheered, left the hall

amidst great excitement, exclaiming at every step, "The curse of

strong drink!"

This action of Mr. Charrington's created an enormous sensation

throughout England. It was felt, and, I think, very rightly felt, that

such a courageous action, in such a celebrated place, would further

the Temperance cause and give it a new impetus.

I have records of nearly the whole of the religious Press at that

time, and their praise and support of Mr. Charrington's action was

unanimous.

The interruption was much criticised, of course, but mark the result.

Within two or three weeks the trustees wrote officially to the _Times_

to say that the decision arrived at was that intoxicating drinks

should _not_ be sold. As a consequence of this all the polytechnics

inserted a clause to the same effect in their trust deeds. Mr.

Charrington contends, therefore, that by standing on a chair for five

minutes he accomplished--and for nothing--what would have cost a

couple of thousand pounds to advertise and ventilate in the Press!

How right, how inevitably right he was, is amply proved by the story

which I am about to tell of what actually occurred at the People's

Palace during the next year. The passengers along the Mile End Road

one Saturday evening in November, between ten and eleven o'clock, were

amazed to cross the path, at almost every few yards, of a solitary

drunken man, and groups of three and four men in a similar condition,

in volunteer uniform, reeling about, shouting, singing, swearing, and

otherwise conducting themselves in a lawless and riotous manner. Every

one was curious to discover the cause of the unusual scene, and it was

soon whispered abroad that the intoxicated volunteers were issuing

from the People's Palace, where they had been treated to a Jubilee

supper. A ragged little urchin, who had been chaffing several

volunteers, who were sprawling about in the mud together, not far from

the Lycett Memorial Chapel, in characteristic fashion, replied to the

inquiry of a friend of mine, "They've been 'olding the Jubilee, sir,

at the expense o' Charrington; not the Assembly 'All one, ye know, but

the one 't's got the brewery. Ain't they tight, sir? Charrington's

beer bin too strong for 'em."

The supper was a complimentary "Jubilee" one, given by Mr. Spencer

Charrington, M.P., of Mile End, one of the leading partners in the

brewery firm of Charrington, Head & Co., and treasurer of the People's

Palace, to the 2nd Tower Hamlets Rifle Volunteers. The guests numbered

about a thousand men of the regiment, with thirty-two officers and

many civilians, among these being the President of the Local

Government Board, and half a dozen East End clergymen. When we

consider the amount of liquor which was given to each man--since

intoxicants could not now be sold in the Palace--it is not difficult

to understand this truly disgusting form of celebrating the Jubilee of

our gracious Queen. Of the thousand volunteers at the supper, it was

authoritatively stated that no fewer than six hundred were the worse

for drink. On leaving the scene of their evening's debauchery, and

coming into the night air, some of the volunteers became nothing

better than madmen. They rushed into the shops of tradesmen in the

Mile End Road, smashed their weighing machinery, and otherwise caused

considerable damage. They grossly insulted respectable women and

girls, and in various other ways annoyed and terrified the lieges.

Some were picked up in the gutter lying dead drunk, and bespattered

from head to foot with mud, not only in the Mile End Road, but in

various other parts of the East End. Others were lifted into cabs by

friends, and in some cases by policemen, and sent home.

Is it to be wondered at, after what has been mentioned, that a

portion of the 2nd Tower Hamlets Rifle Volunteers have acquired for

themselves the appellation of the drunken "six hundred"?

The scandal created by this affair was enormous, more particularly in

the East End, where the People's Palace stood and was a prominent

centre in the people's lives.

Mr. Charrington was determined upon a course of action which should

prevent such a disgraceful scene recurring for ever and a day.

He accordingly drafted and sent a memorial to the late Queen Victoria,

which ran as follows--

"_To the Queen's Most Excellent Majesty._

"MADAM--

"In approaching the Throne, we desire to bring to the notice

of your most Gracious Majesty the fact that the People's

Palace, Mile End Road, which on the occasion of its opening

was honoured by your Royal presence, has been used for

purposes for which it was never designed, and which we are

assured Your Majesty could not and will not approve.

"Mr. Spencer Charrington, M.P. for the Mile End Division of

the Tower Hamlets, invited, on Saturday, the 5th inst., six

hundred of your Majesty's loyal (Tower Hamlets) Volunteers

to dinner.

"Not content with the provision of a substantial repast, Mr.

Charrington, who is one of the firm of brewers bearing that

name, caused to be introduced into the noble hall of the

People's Palace no less than ten 36-gallon barrels of ale,

and enormous quantity of whisky, besides gin and other

spirits, etc.

"These liquors were distributed during the evening to your

Majesty's Tower Hamlets Volunteers, with results which have

seriously compromised their character, discipline and

honour. The fact is that inside the building scores of

Volunteers were seen in every stage of intoxication, and

that from 10.30 p.m. until 11.30 p.m. the whole roadway in

front of the People's Palace was the scene of the most

degrading intemperance. Large numbers of young men, members

of the Volunteer corps referred to, came out of the Palace

reeling about in every stage of drunkenness.

"Their conduct was shameful and abominable, and what is

truthfully described in a leading article in the _Eastern

Post and City Chronicle_ as 'The Orgy at the People's

Palace,' disgraced the whole neighbourhood. Mr. Charrington

is a large brewer, and a Member of the House of Commons, and

it would appear that his great influence has sufficed to

keep out of the London daily Press any notice or criticism

of this great disgrace to a large public institution.

Therefore we have taken the opportunity of bringing the

facts before the notice of Your Most Gracious Majesty. Mr.

Charrington is one of the principal Trustees, and the

Treasurer of the People's Palace. It is humbly submitted to

Your Gracious Majesty that this gentleman is not at liberty

to use this Institution for scenes as those described on the

corresponding page of this memorial.

"We are simply expressing the desire of large numbers of

Your Majesty's dutiful subjects, when we humbly and

respectfully ask that Your Majesty will be graciously

pleased to cause such inquiries to be made as may be

desirable to ascertain the facts as set forth in this

letter, and that Your Majesty's powerful influence may be

exercised to prevent such demoralising scenes being again

witnessed at the People's Palace. This institution was

designed to further the instruction and social elevation of

Your Majesty's subjects residing in the East End of the

metropolis, and it was never contemplated that it should be

used to foster intemperance amongst Your Most Gracious

Majesty's loyal volunteers.

"We remain, with profound respect, Your Majesty's most

dutiful subjects,

"FRED. N. CHARRINGTON,

Great Assembly Hall, Mile End, E.

"HENRY VARLEY,

48, Elgin Crescent, W.

"EDWIN H. KERWIN,

31, Mile End Road, E."

A reply was received from Sir Henry Ponsonby as follows--

"_Balmoral_,

"_November 20, 1887_.

"SIR,

"I am commanded by the Queen to acknowledge the receipt of

your letter of the 16th instant, and to inform you that it

has been referred to the Trustees of the People's Palace.

"I have the honour to be, Sir,

"Your obedient servant,

"HENRY F. PONSONBY."

On the 14th of December of that year Mr. Charrington had the

gratification of knowing that his efforts had been crowned with

success. He again received a letter from Sir Henry Ponsonby, which ran

as follows--

"_Windsor Castle._

"_December 13, 1887._

"SIR,

"Your letter of the 16th November was duly forwarded by the

Queen's command to the Trustees of the People's Palace. The

Trustees have passed a resolution that in future no

intoxicating liquors will be allowed upon the premises of

the People's Palace.

"I have the honour to be, Sir,

"Your obedient servant,

"H. F. PONSONBY."

This was a signal success for temperance, a success entirely due to

Frederick Charrington's personal efforts. His energy has always been

extraordinary, and one is really lost in amazement as one thinks of

those days. He interrupts, throws into utter confusion, an important

meeting at the Mansion House. He risks his life over and over again in

his temperance crusades. Determined to stamp out the abuse of drink,

he not only memorialises the Queen of England, but achieves his

purpose in so doing. It is an astonishing record.

In one of the debates in the Houses of Parliament, the question of

compensation for the closing of public houses occurred, and one of the

greatest demonstrations ever held was held in connection with this,

and entitled "The No Compensation Demonstration." It is supposed to

have been the largest gathering of people that ever came together in

Hyde Park.

A meeting of leading temperance workers was held in Lord Kinnaird's

private house in town on this subject. Mr. Charrington happened to be

away at the time, and so was not present at this meeting. When he

returned, he found that they had come to the conclusion that the

Government was too strong for them to make any opposition to their

proposals to compensate the publicans. Mr. Charrington said, "Oh, but

this will never do. We must have a great demonstration." He then and

there determined to start it on his own responsibility. He first of

all paid a visit to the lobby of the House of Commons, and interviewed

all the members he could who were in favour of temperance. He informed

them that a demonstration was going to be held, despite the resolution

taken at Lord Kinnaird's meeting, and that being the case, would they

join in and help in it? They all agreed to give their time or their

money for the project. After that Mr. Charrington went round to the

temperance societies, telling them that he had arranged for the

demonstration to be held, and asking them if they would join in with

his scheme?

They all agreed to help. Thereupon Mr. Charrington called in the

assistance of well-known temperance workers, and started on his own

part. The various churches in the metropolis and the temperance

societies all entered into the scheme, with the exception of the

Salvation Army, who would not join as a body. Mr. Charrington's

warmest supporter was Cardinal Manning, who brought all his people

with their bands and consecrated banners.

This was shortly before the Cardinal's death, and Mr. Charrington

often recalls with great interest the visit that he paid to the

Cardinal in relation to this matter.

One of Mr. Charrington's honorary secretaries, Mr. Samuel Insull,

accompanied him to the residence, and, not knowing that Mr.

Charrington was already very intimate with the Cardinal, he said, "Do

you know Mr. Charrington, Your Eminence?" who replied, "I should think

I did know Mr. Charrington," and, laying his wasted hand upon Mr.

Charrington's shoulder, he said "God bless him!"

It is sufficient to say here that the whole demonstration turned out

to be the greatest success ever accomplished in the temperance cause.

So great were the numbers attending, that when, at the close of the

meeting, people were passing out from the gates, the end of the

procession was still coming in at the other end of the park. It is

calculated that there were at least over two hundred thousand people

assembled.

Mr. George Nokes, familiarly known as the Bishop of Whitechapel, has

for long years been one of Mr. Charrington's most trusty lieutenants

in conducting the total abstinence propaganda amongst the poor, with

whom he is a great favourite.

The more I write of this biography--and my pleasant labours are now

coming to a pleasant conclusion--the more I marvel at the unequal way

in which honours are bestowed in this country.

We all know the famous joke made by "Punch" when that satirical

journal coined the word "beerage" as a substitute for "peerage." Sir

Wilfred Lawson, himself a great friend and earnest supporter of Mr.

Charrington, commented upon this fact over and over again. In all his

public speeches he drove it home, and in light verse, for which he had

a pretty talent, he again pointed the moral. I have in my possession a

book lent me by Mr. Charrington, consisting of cartoons by Sir Frank

Carruthers Gould, of the _Westminster Gazette_, and Sir Wilfred

Lawson, who supplied the accompanying verses. The book was published

some years ago by Mr. Fisher Unwin, and was entitled _Cartoons in

Rhyme and Verse_. Upon the title page there was a characteristic note

"to the reader," by Sir Wilfred, who said,

"If any one thinks that these verses are 'rot,'

I'm the very last person to say they are not."

Despite Sir Wilfred's humbleness, I have no hesitation in saying that

if the verses in question have no literary form, they nevertheless go

straight to the point.

I will quote two of them.

"THE BREWER'S POWER.

Who to the heathen far away,

Send Christian men to preach and pray,

And bring them to a brighter day?

My Brewer.

Who, when aloud the poor have cried,

And poverty is raging wide,

Has means of charity supplied?

My Brewer.

Who fills his pocket with the sale

Of porter, beer, and generous ale,

Which crowd the workhouse and the gaol?

My Brewer.

Who fills our slums with waifs and strays?

Who havoc with our nation plays,

And brings disgrace on all our ways?

My Brewer.

Who is it bosses all the show,

As through this curious world we go,

And dominates both high and low?

My Brewer."

And again,

"THE BISHOP AND THE BREWER

Said the Bishop to the Brewer, 'Sir, I very greatly fear,

From all that I have heard, that you adulterate your beer.

Said the Brewer to the Bishop, 'Nay, that really is not true;

Who told you such a story? I insist on knowing who.'

But the Bishop he was silent as to what they put in beer,

He didn't seem to have, in fact, the very least idea.

For in all his great researches, both in pamphlet and in 'vol.,'

It never really struck him that it must be alcohol.

Sir William Gull has told us how the world by this is cursed,

That alcohol of all bad things is just the very worst.

But the Bishop--dear, good man!--he still has got a strong idea,

That there's something very charming in the purity of beer.

Oh! these Bishops and these Brewers, I really greatly fear,

They will never, never solve this point about what's in the beer.

But the land is full of sorrow, and there's little hope of cure,

Unless these wise men hit upon a beer that's really 'pure.'

Then let us set to work, boys, with heart, and hope, and cheer,

And help them all we can to get 'The Purity of Beer.'

'Tis beer which keeps in comfort--as by every one is known,

The Brewer in his mansion, and the Bishop on his throne.

The British Constitution, and all we value here--

Church, Army, Navy, Parliament--it's corner-stone is beer."

The brewer, because he amasses a large fortune out of beer, is

ennobled.

The ex-brewer--Frederick Charrington, for instance--who gives up an

enormous sum for conscience' sake, and an enormous sum again made from

beer, remains unhonoured, save by the love and adherence of his own

people in the East End. If Frederick Charrington had mixed up an

active political propaganda with his Christian work, by now he would

have received a baronetcy or at least a knighthood. If he had been

merely a paid secretary of some philanthropic organisation, he might

yet have been knighted--as more than one recent ennoblement shows. But

because he gave up everything, and worked for his Master, without

pandering to this or that political party--though in politics he is a

Liberal--the _accolade_ has never come in his way. From his own point

of view I know such an honour would count as nothing. It is for other,

and unworldly honours, that he has lived his life. But, as a

recognition of his self-sacrifice and devotion, surely some public

acknowledgment from the throne would be a very proper thing?

The poor people are not snobbish. It matters nothing to Mr.

Charrington's million or so of humble friends whether he is "Mr." or

"Sir." But--and of this fact I am thoroughly persuaded--they would

regard any honour which His Majesty might be pleased to confer upon

him as not only well-merited, but in some sort a fitting recompense

for a life of work and devotion almost unequalled in the annals of our

time.

I will conclude this chapter of special reference to temperance work

by quoting a poem dealing directly with Frederick Charrington, and

which has had a very considerable success.

I take it from the _Gordon League Ballads_, written by "Jim's Wife,"

who in reality is Mrs. Clement Nugent Jackson. The book is entitled

_More Gordon League Ballads_, and was published by Skeffington & Son

last year.

The first series of these ballads sold in many thousands, and as

dramatic stories in verse for reading or reciting at temperance

meetings, they can hardly be surpassed. Nearly all of them are founded

on fact, as is "A Brave Man," which I give below.

I make no apology for the inclusion of this verse. It is thoroughly

representative of what is publicly thought about Frederick Charrington

by his innumerable friends and admirers.

"A BRAVE MAN

Brave men--I say it humble,

Are common on English ground;

Common as spires and chimneys

Whenever you walk around;

But the man of whom I'm thinking was brave with a bravery rare--

Ah! a hundred times rarer than rubies--in England or anywhere.

I am thinking of a Brewer.

This may take you by surprise!

But the tale has fact to rest on,

And is not a pack of lies.

He was rolling rich and generous--generous to every one.

A Brewer and a Gentleman, John Sidney Donaldson.

He sent big cheques to Hospitals,

And for Children's Holidays,

And to Unemployed Relief Funds,

And Homes for Waifs and Strays.

He was kind to all poor people and meant to do 'em good!

Though he knew but precious little about the neighbourhood

In which the greatest number of his licensed houses stood!

'Twas the poorest part of London,

Drink-riddled through and through,

But his agents worked the business,

And all John Donaldson knew

Was how it looked on paper

And the dividends he drew.

He was Member for a County that was like a garden ground,

For blossom and for beauty and for orchards smiling round.

And you always found him willing,

To open his Manor gates

For Band of Hope rejoicings,

And Sports, and Temperance Fetes.

When Parliament was sitting,

It happened, one spring day,

He visited his brewery.

And strolling up that way--

Alone, and sort of curious to see what he would meet--

As he passed a gorgeous public, gilded and tiled complete,

He saw a tipsy woman flung out into the street.

The man who flung her savage,

Went back inside the place;

She fell upon the curb-stone

And cut her head and face.

And she wasn't more than thirty. 'I'll give that man in charge!

Says John Donaldson a-blazing, for his heart was big and large,

Too large to hurt a woman--

And then he went across

To lift the tipsy creature,

And I've heard him say--a Force

Like twenty batteries struck him, and made his eyes see fire!

For painted on the house-front was--DONALDSON'S ENTIRE!

He looked up at the sign-board.

The house was his own tied house.

A new one--not long opened--

And called 'The Running Grouse.'

He'd meant to call that man out. He'd meant to make a row.

And send for a policeman--but he couldn't do it now.

Something rose up and held him. The crowd that ran to stare,

Said the woman's home was handy, so he helped to take her there,

And a wretched hole he found it!...

A man was up the stairs,

Trying to cook his dinner,

And give five children theirs.

Just home from his work--poor devil

He looked up with a frown

When he saw what they were bringing--

'Ah!' he says, 'Chuck 'er down.

If you'd brought 'er in 'er coffing

I'd 'ave tipped yer 'arf-a-crown.'

'Your wife is hurt and bleeding,'

John Sidney Donaldson said.

'My wife,' groans the husband bitter,

'I wish she was yourn instead!'

And he picks up his yelling baby,

And crams its mouth with bread.

'Tain't the fust time she's a-bleedin'. 'Ere's a 'appy 'ome,' says he.

'That's the mother of my childring! an' she don't get drunk on tea!

Bright and 'appy, ain't we, guv'nor?

I dunno who you are,

But "The Running Grouse" 'ave done it--

With its dirty Private Bar!'

He shook his fist out of the window--'We don't want it 'ere.

My wife was a sober woman, and it's ruined her in a year!

A curse on the 'ouse, an' the landlord!

An' I'll say it till I'm dead....'

. . . . . . . . . .

John Donaldson gave him a sovereign,

And went out with a hanging head.

. . . . . . . . . .

He haunted that part of London

For three whole months and more;

And he saw what Brewers seldom see,

What he'd never faced before.

He saw the truth stark naked--not glossed or veiled or hid,

He saw with his own eye open that harm that his own beer did.

He saw for himself--John Sidney,

Wherever his Houses stood,

A Force that worked for evil,

That did not work for good.

He saw--he was bound to see it--in the slums the drink-shops made,

Christ's flag torn down and trampled by the brute heel of the Trade.

He saw, laid bare as murder

Done in the broad daylight,

The base and ceaseless tempting

That goes on day and night.

The tempting of men and women already weak in will,

And poor enough in pocket, to be poorer and weaker still.

'We didn't want it 'ere!'... No!

And they didn't want it there!

Yet here it was, and there it was,

For ever! Everywhere!

The Tied House in the open,

The Hidden Drinking lair,

The Spirit Vault, the Cellars, the Private Bar and seat,

Calling from every corner and tempting from every street!

The cries, the blows, the curses,

Entered into his ears.

He saw his golden profits

Blackened with blood and tears.

He saw--as angels see them--the facts of what has grown

The saddest money-making the world has ever known.

And when he'd seen it fairly,

He didn't turn and run!

In a hurry to forget it!

As many would have done.

He wasn't built that way,

John Sidney Donaldson.

He took and thought for over half a year.

And then he made his mind up--steady and firm and clear--

To sacrifice his fortune and say good-bye to Beer!

'You're a fool,' said brother Brewers.

'And mad!' said the world outside.

'I've seen ... _and I can't unsee it_,'

John Donaldson replied.

'There are other ways of business that are happier ways and higher,

And I won't make another shilling out of DONALDSON'S ENTIRE!'

. . . . . . . . . .

I don't say he turned pauper

And slept upon the boards!

But instead of a man with millions

Heading straight for the House of Lords,

He dropped to a man with hundreds--just heading for nothing at all

But the prize that falls to the conscience which has answered a noble call.

He is living now in London,

Careless of blame or praise.

Working to help the People

In a hundred splendid ways.

Pledged to the cause of Temperance

To the ending of his days.

What he did may be forgotten, or labelled a mistake!

But the sacrifice of riches is a mighty one to make.

I'm proud of this little Island that gave John Donaldson birth

And I place him right in the forefront of the bravest men on earth!"

Since I am quoting a few verses in this chapter, I may perhaps give,

as a final specimen, a few sternly vigorous lines which were handed to

me by my friend the other day. They express, he told me, his whole

sentiments upon the drink question in a nut-shell. They are not in the

least my own, but that is not the point--their interest lies in the

fact that they represent Frederick Charrington's unalterable

convictions in a succinct form.

"LICENSED--TO DO WHAT?

Licensed _to make_ the strong man weak;

Licensed _to lay_ the wise man low;

Licensed a wife's fond heart _to break_,

And _make_ her children's tears to flow.

Licensed _to do_ thy neighbour harm;

Licensed _to kindle_ hate and strife;

Licensed _to nerve_ the robber's arm;

Licensed _to whet_ the murderer's knife.

Licensed thy neighbour's purse _to drain_,

And _rob_ him of his very last;

Licensed _to heat_ his feverish brain,

Till madness crown _thy_ work at last.

Licensed, like a spider for a fly,

_To spread_ thy nets for man, _thy_ prey;

_To mock_ his struggles--_suck him_ dry,

Then cast the worthless hulk away.

Licensed, where peace and quiet dwell,

_To bring_ disease, and want, and woe;

Licensed _to make this world a hell_,

And _fit_ man for a hell below."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Call up the dead from their cold, cold graves

And summon up memory's link,

And see if human tongue can tell,

The millions damned through drink."

To sum up and crystallise his great temperance efforts, Mr.

Charrington has invented a concrete symbol of them. The initials

B.R.O.T.A. stand for "The Blue Ring of Total Abstinence," which is

entirely Mr. Charrington's idea, and serves as a badge that unites

abstainers throughout the whole world.

This ring is made of metal and blue enamel, bearing the aforesaid

initials. It can be had in cheap metal, while for richer people it is

manufactured in gold set with diamonds. In itself it is a beautiful

and decorative thing. As a symbol, as a cementing of the great

brotherhood of abstainers formed by Mr. Charrington, it is unique. Mr.

Charrington invariably wears one of these rings himself, and from the

farthest parts of the world applications for them are daily received.

We now pass to the final chapter of this book, where we see Frederick

Charrington in an entirely new setting.

THE LAST CHAPTER

LORD OF THE MANOR OF OSEA

You have seen the subject of this memoir under very many changing

circumstances, the central figure in one lurid scene after another,

but there is a side to Frederick Charrington's life as strangely

contrasted as possible to nearly all I have hitherto written.

My readers will not have accompanied me so far without realising that

in Mr. Charrington is an unique personality. No one has done what he

has done, and the originality of temperament has always been curiously

aided and abetted by originality and strangeness of circumstance. I

venture to think that this chapter illustrates not the least

interesting of the great missioner's activities. Certainly he again

appears against a background without parallel in English life to-day.

A few years ago--many people will remember it--the press of Great

Britain was full of articles upon Osea Island.

Mr. Charrington, it was announced, had purchased this island, lock,

stock, and barrel, and was about to develop it as a seaside and health

resort, while at the same time carrying out the great temperance

scheme.

The whole of the island was to be let or sold under express conditions

that no license of any kind whatever would be permitted, or clubs for

the sale of intoxicating drink.

Osea was to be, in short, a Temperance Island, and as such was to

stand alone in the United Kingdom.

The announcements which appeared at the time of which I am speaking

created an extraordinary amount of interest.

[Illustration: THE PIER, OSEA ISLAND, WITH MR. CHARRINGTON'S STEAMER,

THE "ANNIE," APPROACHING]

[Illustration: THE SALTINGS, OSEA ISLAND

[_To face p. 240_]

The _Spectator_ said--

"Mr. F. N. Charrington is about to try a most interesting

experiment--the effect of total prohibition under fair conditions. He

has purchased the well-wooded island of Osea, on the coast of Essex,

and intends to turn it into a seaside resort in which the manufacture,

sale, and consumption of alcohol will be absolutely prohibited. No

license of any kind will be granted, and stringent conditions as to

intoxicants will be inserted in all the leases. The island, in fact,

will be a large sanatorium conducted on strict temperance principles,

and will, it is probable, be in the first place a resort for the great

number of persons who wish to break themselves finally of the habit of

excess in drinking. The evidence which will gradually accumulate will,

we hope, be sifted with much care, and will help to settle three

disputed points. Will total abstinence for a time eradicate the desire

for drink?--a question upon which the evidence of prisoners is by no

means hopeful. Does total abstinence develop, as many affirm, a

tendency to the use of drugs such as opium and ether?--a doubt

suggested by the mass of experience acquired in the East. Has total

abstinence any effect in diminishing working energy? Teetotalers

declare with one voice that this question is already answered in

the negative; but none of the Northern races as yet show themselves

convinced, though there is an approach to the conviction manifest in

Canada."

Nearly every paper of any importance in the kingdom devoted

considerable space to Mr. Charrington's new scheme.

Near New York there is another island where no intoxicants can be

obtained, and it was hearing of this that first gave Mr. Charrington

his idea as to the purchase of Osea.

The thought of a drink-barred domain arose in his mind as a logical

outcome of his forty years experience in dealing with the miseries and

vices of the poor in East London. The work for temperance naturally

brought Mr. Charrington into contact with all sorts and conditions of

people, and it was not only the slaves of the fiend alcohol in the

lower classes--he saw many members of the upper classes going down to

their destruction no less surely than their poorer brethren.

He made inquiries, and thought over the whole problem with sustained

and earnest attention.

He found that while there were several sanatoria for well-to-do

inebriates scattered up and down the country, yet, in nearly every

case, such retreats were in proximity to the public-house. No one knew

better than he to what lengths the inebriate will go when the craving

is upon him, and he found that the unhappy victims who were confined

in grounds often very limited in extent would either cunningly or

violently break away and secure alcohol.

It was then, while meditating upon the best methods to adopt in

rescuing inebriates, that Mr. Charrington noticed a report of the fact

that a New York temperance society had purchased an island for a

retreat or a sanatorium. Here, it seemed to him, was a thoroughly

admirable solution of the problem. Proprietorship of an island

precluded the incoming of drink across the silver streak of sea, and

at the same time, the domain was large enough in extent to make living

upon it perfectly pleasant and without any sense of confinement.

One cannot, however, go to Whiteley's and order an island, and there

was still the problem of finding one which should be suitable for the

purpose. It was solved at last by the purchase of Osea.

Nothing could have been more convenient. The island is a _real_

island. It is always surrounded by deep water on three sides, while on

the other the mainland is reached by a road called "The Hard" about a

mile long, and only uncovered at low tide.

Shortly after the acquisition of Osea Mr. Charrington stated his plans

to an interviewer. How these plans have been extended I shall proceed

to say, but meanwhile it is interesting to read the proprietor's views

at the time, when the island had only just become his own.

The interviewer of _Household Words_ wrote--

"I had noted in a contemporary: 'Mr. Charrington has long

been a power in the East End, where his name is a household

word,' and I thought it would be in the eternal fitness of

things if I interviewed him for _Household Words_. As

Honorary Superintendent of the Tower Hamlets Mission he is

naturally a very busy man, and as soon as he could give me

a few moments I put the question to him--

"'What is the main idea of this new scheme of yours of a

teetotal island?'

"'It is not altogether new,' was the reply, 'for the same

idea has been carried out on various properties owned by

temperance landowners of not allowing drink licenses on any

part of their property, as is the case with the Corbett

estates; but the good work has been rendered ineffectual by

drink being obtainable on adjoining property.'

"'Drink would not be obtainable in inebriate homes,' I

suggested.

"'Inebriate homes situated in ordinary neighbourhoods

experience the same difficulty,' he exclaimed. 'Inmates

afflicted with the accursed craving will scale high walls

and walk miles to obtain drink. You would not credit the

trouble they would take, the fatigue they would undergo, and

the risks to life and limb they would run to procure

alcohol. It is only a man who has spent a lifetime in a

practical study of the question who can realise its

difficulties.'

"'And you anticipate much good from the acquisition of

Osea?'

"'In many ways, yes. As a retreat for those whose removal

from all chance of temptation is a necessity it will be

perfect. Instead of being confined within four walls, like

being in a prison, they will be able to roam at large for

four miles. Already I have had applications from persons

wishing to buy building plots for inebriate homes,

convalescent homes, and from one lady M.D., who desires to

erect a house for her patients suffering from nerve trouble,

and to whom the quiet will be invaluable.'

"'Will it be populated entirely by invalids and inebriates?'

"'Oh, dear, no! Yachting men have applied for sites for

bungalows, and can have them on agreeing to the

non-intoxicant clause. It will be a very delightful

temperance seaside resort. The island is well wooded, with

high elms running in single lines north and south and east

and west, the trees being in centre of avenues, and by

planting young trees on either side we shall get double

avenues, as in Chicago and Berlin.'

"'Have you commenced to build yet?'

"'Only workmen's cottages for the builders' men to live in,

and these will be picturesque, half-timbered dwellings,

similar to those in the city of Chester.'

"'And you anticipate a commercial success for your

philanthropic investment?'

"'Most decidedly. Since I acquired Osea at a remarkably

moderate cost, I have seen two other islands offered for

sale for the same purpose, one near Tenby, and one in

Scotland, at L28,000 and L18,000 respectively, which figures

are a great contrast to mine, and Osea has the great

attraction of being the nearest seaside resort to London.'

"'How do you reach it?'

"'By Great Eastern Railway to Maldon in Essex, and thence by

a steamer which has been purchased, which now runs twice a

day, the distance being only five miles.'

"'And Osea is not a desert island?'

"'It never has been since the Conquest. In the Doomsday

Survey Book (1086) there had always previously been on the

island three serfs, one fisherman, and pasture for sixty

sheep. If needed there would be room for 10,000 people. Osea

has many natural attractions. It abounds with most curious

marine plants and shrubs, and is so wild that some of the

sea-gulls, the tuke, the stone-runner, and the bar-goose

have taken to breeding on the shore.'

"To be able to enjoy life on an island within forty miles

of the metropolis, including sea-bathing, fishing and

shooting, has the wonderful charm of novelty, to say nothing

of its freedom from the pandemonium created by drinking

trippers. This of itself ought to draw all London

holiday-makers, and we wish Mr. Charrington success in his

noble efforts to promote temperance amongst the people, and

trust he may have the gratification of seeing his most

sanguine hopes realised and his self-sacrificing labours

truly and thoroughly appreciated."

In a book such as this, which purports to be a comprehensive history

of Frederick Charrington's life, and which will be the only lengthy

biography of him ever written with his sanction, it is necessary that

I should give some account of the island with which his name will

always be associated.

I propose, in the first instance, to tell the history of the island

from the very earliest times, and afterwards to describe it in detail

and to say something of my life with Mr. Charrington there. It may

have struck some of my readers that up to the present I have said

little or nothing about the great evangelist's personality. When I

began this book I decided to leave this intimate part of the biography

to the very last chapter. I designed to draw a pen picture of the man

as he is to-day, as he lives upon the island which is his home among

the simple things of nature.

In the first place, to the history of Osea. This has been compiled by

his friend Mr. Rupert Scott for an excellent little publication issued

by Messrs. Partridge, which is in itself a complete guide to the

island.

Mr. Scott tells us that before the Norman Conquest the name of this

jewel of the Blackwater was Uvesia, and later Ovesey or Osey.

"During the reign of Edward the Confessor (1042-1066) it was owned by

one Turbert, who was Lord of the district.

"At the time of the Norman Conquest it was in the possession of one

Hamo Dapifer, nephew to William the Conqueror. He held it as a manor,

and four hides of land, and there resided on it one bordar or

resident. According to the Doomsday survey book (1086), there had

always previously been on the island three serfs, one fisherman, and

pasture for sixty sheep, and at the time of the survey belonged to the

Bouchier family, afterwards created Earls of Essex; and was included

in the Capital Manor, or Parish of Great Totham.

"During the reign of Henry II (1154-1189), it was held by Henry

Malache, from the king, as one knight's fee. This is found in a MS. of

the time of Henry VIII, viz.: 'Totham Magne cum Ovesem, alias Ovesey.'

It is not known how this Henry Malache was related to the Bouchier

family.

"In the reign of Edward II (1315), the Island of Osea was owned by

Gilbart de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, and then came into the

possession of Bartholomew de Bouchier and his wife, who retained it

from 1410-1411 under Henry VI.

"Its next owner was Sir Hugh Stafford, who married Elizabeth, daughter

of Bartholomew, Lord Bouchier, who died in 1420, and was held 'by him

as the Manor of Oveseye from King Henry V, as the Honor of Bologne, by

the service of half a knight's fee.'

"The island next came into the hands of one Ludovic Robbesart, and

Elizabeth his wife, in 1431, during the reign of Henry V, and upon

their death for the following two years was held by Anne, widow of the

Earl of March.

"The next possessor of Ovesey Island was Henry Bouchier, created first

Earl of Essex, and he held the manor of Totham-Oveseye from King

Edward VI, and died in 1483.

"He was followed by Anne Bouchier, Marchioness of Northampton, who

brought the island to her husband under the title of 'Manor or Isle of

Ovesey, with free fishery, free warren, and wrec of the sea.' She died

in 1570, during Queen Elizabeth's reign. Her husband forfeited his

estates for espousing the cause of Lady Jane Grey, but this Manor of

Ovesey was returned to him by a letter patent from the Queen dated

August 8, 1558, for his maintenance.

"On the death of the above Anne Bouchier, Marchioness of Northampton,

this manor descended to the heir-at-law, one Walter Devereux, who was

the first Earl of Essex of that name; but in order to carry on his

warfare in Ireland he mortgaged and sold his estates in Essex,

including 'Ovesey Island,' which was purchased by a Mr. Thomas

Wiseman, of Great Waltham, as, or 'in the name of one tenement, isle,

or land surrounded with water in Great Totham' and called 'Awsey,'

otherwise 'Ovesey.' Mr. Wiseman held it of Queen Elizabeth by a

Knight's service. He died July 15, 1584, without issue.

"It then came into the possession of his two sisters, Elizabeth, wife

of Richard Jennings, and Dorothy Wiseman.

"Osea Island was purchased by a Mr. Charles Coe, of Maldon, but it is

not known from whom, and it was still owned by him at the time of his

death in 1786, and afterwards was conveyed to the Pigott family, who

were evidently related to him, because on the south wall of St.

Peter's Church at Maldon there is a mural monument to 'John Coe

Pigott,' and dated March, 1802.

"The next owner of the island known was Mrs. Pigott, who married Henry

Coape, and was succeeded by his son, Henry Coe Coape, who, through

troubles, had to make it over to his brother."

* * * * *

Few spots of only a comparatively small acreage have so well-defined

and localised a history as this, and the knowledge of what Osea was,

no less than what it is, adds a unique interest to Mr. Charrington's

possession.

I arrived at Osea Island, where nearly the whole of this book has been

written, upon a bright afternoon in June. The run from Liverpool

Street to Maldon is quite a short one, and on descending from the

train at the little old-world Essex station, it was difficult to

believe that the island of which I had heard so much, and on which, as

it has turned out, I was to spend so many happy days, was really

within reach.

I drove through Maldon, and came out into an ordinary country road

fringed with dust-powdered hedges and high trees. It was ordinary

enough, and if any country lane upon a June afternoon can be lacking

in the picturesque, the lanes through which I was driven were so. It

was all rather flat and monotonous, and the sense of anticipation was

a little dulled.

After a drive of about two and a half miles, however, the coachman of

my carriage turned to me, and pointing with his whip, said, "That is

Osea."

I craned my neck forward, but could see nothing but a distant clump of

what were evidently very large trees, cutting into the horizon in a

silhouette of dark green. There seemed to be no trace of island

whatever, and even when I stood up in the carriage I could see nothing

but an adjacent sea-wall, and the red sails of some great sea-going

barge, moving, apparently, among the corn-fields.

The suggestion was curiously Dutch, and reminded me of a journey I

once made down the great ship canal which runs from Holland to Ghent.

A few minutes afterwards the carriage took a sharp turn to the right.

The fields changed their character. Coarse pasture-land took the place

of corn, and we were running upon a well-kept road bordered by wire

fences, which seemed to lead directly to the estuary itself. And then,

in a moment more, I got what was my first real glimpse of Osea. The

carriage climbed a gentle eminence, and there, spread below me, for

the first time I saw the wide salt marshes and the long, curving

ribbon of road, submerged twelve hours in the day under fifteen feet

of water, which is the only approach to Osea by land.

Beyond was the Island.

One saw at once, and this was the first and prevailing impression,

that this was a real island. On either side beyond it was a stretch of

gleaming sea, the Island forming the centre of the picture. Just

below the road proper ended, and what is locally known as "The Hard"

took its place.

The horse began to go more slowly, and in forty seconds we had left

all cultivated lands behind and were travelling at a slow trot upon

one of the most curious and interesting highways--for "The Hard" can

claim to be that--in England.

It was dead low water, but this strange roadway was still covered here

and there with little marine pools through which the horse--well

accustomed to the journey--ploughed his way manfully. A long row of

stakes, at an interval of every ten or twelve feet or so, showed the

course of the road, and separated its firmness from the vast expanses

of mud on either side. The stakes were all hung with brilliantly-coloured

sea-weed, and decorated with arabesques of barnacles. Everywhere, here

and there, were sullen tidal creeks, or rather lakes in the mud, which

the receding tide had still left full of water. The word "mud" is an

unpleasant one, and it suggests something very different from what I

saw. Even the more technical and correct phrase, "saltings," hardly

gives a reader who has not seen this peculiar and interesting feature

of our English landscape, any adequate idea of the scene.

I have already spoken of the long stretches of water, now touched to

red and gold by the rays of the afternoon sun, but all round them the

whole of the "mud" was covered with the marsh zostera, or

widgeon-weed, in every variety of delicate greens and yellows. It

looked firm enough to the eye, and yet I knew well that a few steps

away from the good, firm passage of "The Hard" would mean frightful

danger. Once in the mud a man would sink well up to his waist. He

would sink no farther, probably, for the saltings are not quicksands,

but he would be held in a grip as firm as steel, and, unless rescued,

would remain until the "cruel, crawling foam" crept up and engulfed

him.

As we covered the first few hundred yards of the last stage of our

journey I realised with a thrill that we had indeed left the confines

of ordinary landscape, usual experience, very far behind. The plovers

were circling and calling all around us with their slow, graceful

flight, a colour symphony in dark black-green with flashes of white.

Everywhere they called to each other with their melancholy voices and

seemed quite unafraid of man. I could have shot half-a-dozen in the

first three hundred yards from the carriage, had I been bent on

slaughter.

The strange calls of the marsh-birds--not strange to me, however, who

had spent many winters wild-fowling in various parts of the United

Kingdom--were heard on either side. With flute-like tremolo the

red-shanks--dove-coloured and white--pirouetted in quartettes over the

marsh. I saw at least two varieties of the rarer gulls, and then,

greatest excitement of all, not a hundred and fifty yards away stood

three great herons, full three feet tall, standing like sable

sentinels against the green.

And now, at last, we were actually a few yards from the island itself.

A well-made road, bordered on one side by a sea-wall, grown over with

thick grass and brilliant with wild flowers, ran inland. Upon the

other side were smiling cornfields, and everywhere among the fields

rose great elms.

From where the sea-road touches the Island, up to Mr. Charrington's

home, the "Manor House," is exactly a chain mile. After the fields,

the road turns sharply to the right, and proceeds along a fine avenue

of shady trees until the "village" is reached.

For several years in succession parties of the Unemployed have been

sent to Osea by the Mansion House Committee, the _Daily Telegraph_

fund, and other agencies, and it is partly by means of their work that

roads were made, sewers laid in the village, and the costly sea-walls

strengthened.

There are quite a lot of people who can hardly conceive a picturesque

village without, as its central adornment, a village inn.

Personally--though, no doubt, there are such places--I have never seen

an English village without a public-house. Certainly in any novel

dealing with country life the village inn is always mentioned, and

frequently plays a spectacular part in the story, while upon the stage

a village scene is never complete without the rustic public-house.

Not so at Osea, though I defy any one to find a more picturesque

little spot than this tiny settlement in the heart of the Island.

Apart from the one that I have just mentioned, there are other

features about the village that make it unique.

In the first place, it is incredibly small at present. In the second,

the buildings form a most astonishingly picturesque blend of old and

new.

There is an old, flower-covered cottage as one enters, beyond it is

the village shop, where every necessary can be obtained. The farmer

who farms the cultivated land of the island lives there in a charming

old house. Close by in the little village square are enormous elm

trees with seats built round their trunks, affording a most grateful

shade upon a hot day. There are a few other quaint houses of

considerable age, and two of the prettiest and most artistic little

bungalows that I have ever seen. These are but the beginning of a

whole series of these charming little residences, and are already

occupied. With their red roofs, white walls, and green-painted

windows, they are as neat and dainty as one of those delicate models

of chalets that one buys in Switzerland.

But the principal building in the village is the convalescent home, to

which it is intended to bring some of the sick and suffering poor who

come under the sheltering care of the Great Assembly Hall workers.

This home is nearly finished. The interior alone remains incomplete,

and the sum of about a thousand pounds is yet required before it can

be opened. I am concerned now, however, merely with its picturesque

aspect, and I remember well how struck I was by my first view of the

beautiful gabled house with its tall white Tudor chimneys, its

Elizabethan woodwork, its true peace. The great bow windows are filled

with leaded glass, the high-pitched roofs are of red tiles, and when

at length the necessary money is forthcoming I can well conceive what

a Paradise this Island Palace of Rest will seem to those who come to

it from festering alley and foetid slum.

There is another very interesting building in the village, though

perhaps this can hardly be called picturesque.

This is known as the "Village Hall," and is a large structure of

corrugated iron, the money, L1000, for which was the last gift of the

late Mr. John Cory to Mr. Charrington for his Osea Island scheme. In

his letter enclosing the cheque Mr. Cory said he hoped others would

follow his example.

I may perhaps be unduly prejudiced in favour of things Osean, but even

this corrugated iron structure, with its background of trees, has

mellowed and weathered itself into harmony with its surroundings.

The interior is panelled throughout, and lighted by lofty windows.

There is an excellent stage for concerts, and three extra rooms in

addition to the large hall. There is a billiard table there for the

men working on the estate, and for the use of the many camping parties

and others to whom I shall presently refer. In wet weather badminton

is played there, and the floor is arranged for roller-skating--let

those who think that Osea is without indoor attractions owing to the

absence of gin-shop or the theatre, pause!

Of course, upon my first drive to Osea I only took in a single eyeful,

as it were, for the carriage left the village and proceeded up a firm,

gravelled road to the "Manor House," Mr. Charrington's large and

beautiful home.

Another man than Frederick Charrington might well have said to

himself, when he purchased such a place as Osea, that he would build a

retreat from the harassing work of rescue upon which he was always

engaged. He might well have allowed himself to enjoy a little peace

now and then undisturbed by those cares for others which he has

sustained so nobly throughout his life. But there is nothing of the

sentiment uttered by the cultured man in Tennyson's poem. Mr.

Charrington had no thought of building himself "a lordly

pleasure-house, in which alone to dwell."

Osea was not only to be the one prohibition island in England. It was

not only to be an example and encouragement to others in this respect,

but it was also to be a means of helping and rescuing other and very

differently placed slaves to the Fiend Alcohol than those of the East

End. The "Manor House" was not from the first, is not now, merely the

great philanthropist's charming country house. It is also a retreat

for those members of the upper classes who have fallen into the drink

habit. Here they may come if they wish and live a quiet, well-ordered

life in a mansion which presents no essential differences either in

its appointments or way of life from the comfort of their own homes.

There is no restriction of any sort. Victims of drink or of drugs are

not kept within the imprisoning walls of some large garden misnamed a

"park." They have a whole kingdom of their own in which to enjoy every

form of healthy outdoor pursuit, they have a perfectly appointed house

in which to live.

The "Manor House" is a large building with many windows looking out

over the sea, charming octagonal rooms in two turrets with

steep-pointed roofs in the style of an old French chateau, a beautiful

lounge with large, open fireplace, where every one foregathers at all

hours of the day, a billiard room, dainty private sitting-rooms--all

that the most exigeant could possibly desire. Nor is the hospitality

of this delightful house offered only to sufferers from

self-poisoning. Many people requiring absolute mental rest and perfect

quiet, both men and women, make Osea Island their home for a time. And

this leaven of the outside world makes the life of the guests at the

Manor a singularly bright and cheerful one. I only know of the life in

the regular inebriate "homes" from hearsay. But from what those who

have confided in me have said, even the best of such places are

invested with gloom--a sense of the locked door, of being set apart

from the world, which is never absent.

[Illustration: TREE POINT, OSEA ISLAND

[_To face p. 256._]

In Mr. Charrington's country house there is nothing of the sort. I

myself have stayed there to write the greater part of this

book--_experto crede_. All sorts and conditions of men, in addition to

the more regular inhabitants, who remain for a period of not less than

nine months, have passed in and out of the hospitable doors of the

Manor House during the weeks I have been there. The experiences which

Dr. Waldo, the famous American evangelist, gave me of his work under

Mr. Charrington's banner, were told me in my private study at the

Manor House, while the tall, handsome man with the twinkling eyes of

merriment was staying in the mansion. I have watched one of the most

famous painters of the day, of international renown, making sketches

of the island, and chatted with him over an after-dinner cigar upon

the ethics of Art. At dinner, a week or two ago, out of the ten men

present, eight were members of famous public schools, four of the

great Universities, one an officer of high rank in the army.

It will be seen, therefore, that not only has Mr. Charrington provided

perhaps the truest and best means of escaping from bad habits that can

be found in Great Britain, but that he also lives, when upon the

island, in an environment no less suited to his personality than that

other and greater environment in which his whole life has been spent.

For, now that I come to speak of the man personally--as I know

him--the first thing that I wish to say is that he is a very

many-sided man.

I have told you in an earlier chapter of what he is in that supreme

Lighthouse of the East End, the Great Assembly Hall. You have

accompanied him with me into the foulest slums of the Mile End Road

district, but in his quiet country home upon the island he is quite as

much a part, and always a central part, of the picture, as he is in

London.

Frederick Charrington is essentially a man who is never "out of

drawing." Whether he is chaffing the son of a peer at Rivermere,

sitting in grave conference with some of the greatest men in England,

or walking through some slum with a little girl hanging to each hand,

he is always adequate, always at his ease.

Only the other day, for example, I heard in a roundabout fashion that

the little daughter of an East End tradesman who is a valued worker at

the Mission returned home for her birthday after a visit to a relative

in the country. Hearing that his little friend was coming home, Mr.

Charrington ordered a birthday cake for the child, with the words

"Welcome Ivydene" upon it in sugar. And not only this, but he himself

went to the little tea party and partook of his own cake.

I suppose, in common with every one else, there must have been moments

of deep depression in his life. I am equally sure that very few people

have been allowed to see them. He is always merry, though never

exuberantly so. His humour is quiet, but very real. There is nothing

of the dry or "pawky" order about it. It is simply an intense, an

almost childlike love of what is humorous. There is nearly always a

twinkle in his eye, and the racy stories of his experiences, told in

that low, musical voice of everyday life--which, nevertheless, has

rung with such a clarion call in so many great assemblies--would fill

a larger book than this.

There is a little humorous twitch of the mouth beneath the moustache,

the eyes light up, and then come the invariable words, "Oh, this was

rather a funny thing."...

I have never been much of a believer in photographs as being able to

convey any real idea of personality. Lots of people will differ from

me, but that is my own opinion. The portraits I have chosen to

illustrate this book are all excellent ones, as far as portraits go.

But to me, at any rate, they are only sketches and shadows of the real

Charrington. There is a painting of him when he was a very young man,

which hangs in his dining-room, and that does indeed catch something

of his spirit, and must represent him with considerable fidelity as he

was many years ago.

It was made by Edward Clifford, the fashionable portrait painter of

three decades ago, who also drew the pencil sketch which is the first

illustration in this volume. For nearly ten years this celebrated and

successful painter devoted his week-ends to helping at the Mission.

Unfortunately there is not, to my knowledge, a really good painting of

Frederick Charrington as he is to-day. Mr. Nicholson or Mr. Sargent

could do him justice, and, in passing, I would ask why there is no

authentic portrait of value? I know Frederick Charrington far too well

to suppose that he would for a moment spend--or, as he would say,

waste--the money necessary for a picture by a well-known artist,

but--and may these lines bear fruit!--surely there are hundreds of

people who would gladly join a movement which would result in some

such picture being obtained and placed in its natural home, the Great

Assembly Hall. As there is no such picture, and as photographs are

inadequate, I must do the best I can in a few words of prose, though

it is always a difficult thing to describe the appearance of any one

with whom one has lived and been in communion with for some

considerable time.

I think one would describe him as a tall, though not as a very tall

man. He is broad shouldered, but slender. Despite his sixty-two

years--and it is almost impossible to believe in his age when one sees

him--there is hardly a grey hair in his head. His hair, of a dark

brown, grows thickly. He wears moustaches and a very small imperial.

The eyes are of a deep steadfast blue, and have an extraordinary power

of penetration. I have met few people who look you so firmly and

directly in the face as Frederick Charrington. It is a steady, kindly,

unwavering regard, from the eyes of a man who has nothing to conceal,

and everything to give. The nose is straight and Grecian, the lips

tender and humorous--a singularly handsome man, in short. But the fact

that he has been blessed with good looks rather above the average

contributes only slightly to the sum of his extraordinary personality.

And yet, reading what I have written--a mere catalogue of features--I

realise how inadequate it is to present the man.

There is nothing in a mask, after all, whether it be made of painted

pasteboard or flesh. It is true that, in the case of the human

countenance, gross vices leave their marks upon it and nobility of

soul and rectitude of life inform it with a hint, a shadow, of the

soul within.

But that is when one sees a face with one's own eyes, hears a voice,

listen to the words. Nor is it always true even then.

I knew a man--he died last year--who had the face of an angel. It was

so pure and beautiful that many spotless women of the most refined

perceptions and the loftiest minds, made this man their friend. His

open life was kindly, polished, cultured, and blameless. He _was_

kindly and cultured. But beneath it all, as very few people ever knew,

as very few people ever will know, this man lived a life of such black

shame that one can only hope and pray that his stained soul has not

gone to swell the red quadrilles of Hell.

No! It is in the living, breathing man that one discerns the truth,

and his face is only an index--a finger pointing towards it.

I have spoken of Frederick Charrington's personal appearance, of his

sense of humour, and of his voice. But there is still much to be

said.

One impression he gives me, and the testimony of all those who have

known him far more intimately than I have, and who have been with him

for many years, only confirms it. I would say that he is a man

pre-eminently born to lead, to _rule_.

I am entirely convinced that in whatever station of life he found

himself he would, as if of right, rise to the head. He is the least

conceited man I have ever met. He thinks nothing whatever about

himself. But there is a certain inward force, an unconscious

conviction, in him, which makes him naturally assume the generalship,

and so stand in the forefront of the battle.

The kindliest, quietest, most gentle-spoken of men, there is

nevertheless, underlying it all, a temperamental dignity, a

determination, rather than a desire, to be obeyed, which is the

backbone of the whole man. It has made him what he is--the most

self-sacrificing and practical philanthropist of his day. He impressed

the message of his personal renunciation upon his family when he was

little more than a lad. He went his own way, regardless of opposition,

and he did this, not because of any innate stubbornness or self-will,

but simply because he was absolutely certain and convinced that God

was leading him by the hand, that to him there was indeed a cloud by

day and a pillar of fire by night.

There is something paradoxical about him, and yet, as I said once

before in one of my novels, after all, paradox is only truth standing

on its head to attract attention. And the particular paradox in regard

to my friend is this: Himself the humblest-minded servant of God who

ever fought in the Great War, a subordinate position would have been

of no use to him, I do not mean to say that he would not have accepted

it. He would have done so if his duty had seemed to him to lie that

way, but he would certainly have been a failure.

It must be remembered that this type of character is extremely rare.

It is perhaps the rarest of all--and therefore it is frequently the

most misunderstood. But there are certain temperaments so inherently

royal in their nature, so born to kingship, that if circumstance

denies them action, they are never heard of and a great force is lost

to the world.

There are thousands upon thousands of men and women this day who may

thank God Almighty that the man who has rescued them from an utter

overwhelming of body and soul has been given the opportunity of

exercising the temperament with which he was born.

But, like all leaders, Frederick Charrington is adored by his

subordinates. He must lead, but he cannot be tyrannical. A kinder and

more considerate man never breathed. All sorts of little details in my

own pleasant friendship with him, not less than those things which men

who have known him for thirty and forty years have told me, go to

prove the indubitable fact.

As a novelist one is, first and foremost, intensely interested in

temperament and the psychology of the mind. I came to Osea Island to

study this man of whom I have been writing. I have done so to the best

of my ability, and I think that very little about him has escaped me.

I once saw him in a rage royal.

I cannot detail the circumstances, it would not be fair to the other

party concerned. It is sufficient to say that a young man of good

society was behaving himself in a thoroughly indefensible way. If this

young fellow had done what he proposed to do, and it was something

which Mr. Charrington had no legal right to restrain him from doing,

the result would have been disastrous.

The young man defied the elder one. Several people were present at the

scene, and the situation was becoming one of great tension.

As a man of the world I knew what nine out of ten men would have done

at the beginning of the incident.

I saw Frederick Charrington's face change to an almost steely

hardness. The provocation was enormous, be it remembered. His eyes

gleamed with a blue fire. The strong jaw set, the hands clenched

themselves--and then as suddenly unclenched. None of us knew what was

going to happen.

What did happen was this: Mr. Charrington, still in the quiet,

persuasive voice that he had used throughout, conquered by sheer

weight of moral force. He is a strong and athletic man himself. I

knew, as certainly as that I am writing this, that the natural Adam in

him would have simply rejoiced in the swift blow, the physical

rejoinder. Nothing of the sort happened, and a quarter of an hour

afterwards, as I was sitting with him in his motor-boat and we were

slipping over the dancing waves of the Blackwater, he was quietly

lighting his pipe and laughing over the whole incident. Not a great

thing, perhaps, you will say, but an indication of the man....

The greatest characteristic, indeed, of Frederick Charrington is his

courage.

That he possesses physical courage in a marked degree no one who has

read this life will be disposed to deny. Physical courage is a high

and noble quality, but it can be overrated. It is well for the

protection of society, and for the well-being of the social order,

that we decorate the soldier with the V.C., or the man who descends

into the burning mine with the medal. But at the same time, that

moral, or should we not call it _spiritual_ courage, for which there

is no decoration in this world, is surely a far rarer, far higher

quality? When the two are combined, welded and fused into one, as is

the case with Frederick Charrington, then, indeed, we meet with a

Michael of this world!

I suppose it is a fault in a biographer to be too enthusiastic. I can

even remember, some years ago, reviewing a certain biography in which

I felt constrained to point out that the writer had quite lost his

sense of proportion in admiration of his hero. I think, now, that

probably the writer was correct, and that it was only my prejudice

against the subject of the biography which led me to say what I did at

the time.

Yet, believe me, having met many good and eminent men, in many cities,

in many parts of the world--_I write with a glow!_

And it is not only because I _should_ not, but that I _could_ not, if

my words did not come straight from my conviction.

Thus Frederick Charrington as I see him in daily life.

I will say something of my stay on Osea Island, because it will

complete the picture of Mr. Charrington in his kingdom, and will also

give me the opportunity of completing my sketch.

I have hinted before of pleasant companionship, and the visits of

well-known people. But there is another side. The peace and calm which

falls upon the soul in this remote place, which, at the same time, is

so astonishingly near to London, is a thing incommunicable by words.

The only sounds I hear from my study window are the calls of the

birds, and the _lap, lap_ of the tide. The air is extraordinary.

Every one has his own pet watering-place. Every one supposes that the

air _there_ is finer than the air anywhere else. As a matter of fact,

I am inclined to think that from the mouth of the Thames as far as

Hull the air of East-coast watering-places is precisely

alike--wonderfully invigorating, full of the salt freshness it has

gathered in its progress over the German Ocean, with real healing upon

its wings.

And, just like any one else, I have _my_ own peculiar and particular

love. That is the air of Osea.

Let me proceed to prove to you why the air at Osea is better than air

anywhere else. It is because of the "saltings." Just as the sea itself

around the island is more salt than the sea of the free ocean owing to

the deposits left upon the mud at low tide, so the air is more heavily

charged with ozone. The other day an artist on the staff of _Punch_

visited me at Osea in his yacht, and spent a few hours on the island.

As he was getting into his dinghy in the evening, he said, "I do not

know Charrington, and he must be an odd sort of crank not to allow any

drinks here. Still, I suppose he justifies himself upon the principle

that his own private air is like champagne--it certainly is

marvellous!"

I am not puffing Osea as a residential quarter, but it is worth while

recording another tribute to this life-giving air, which I shall be so

sorry to leave for a time, when I have written the imminent last words

of this biography. The head of a great City company has been staying

here recently. He came down, in search of peace, at the end of the

London season. He told me, upon the night of his arrival, that he had

been unable to sleep for weeks, unable to eat properly, was thoroughly

unnerved. Two days afterwards, as we were walking upon the pier, he

turned to me in a transport of enthusiasm. "By Jove!" he said, "I have

never met anything like it in my life!"--and the man I refer to is one

of the best travelled persons of his day.

The silence, the huge arc of sky, the life-giving breezes, the perfect

and tranquil beauty--what more can the heart of man desire? Very

little, I think, and yet there is even more to be said about Osea.

Situated as it is in the middle of the Blackwater, it is naturally a

great yachting centre. At week-ends, moored off the island, there are

innumerable boats, from the little yawl with a single cabin and a crew

of two, to the stately cutter of a hundred tons, with its auxiliary

motor, and its spruce sailors.

There is a pier of about a hundred yards long stretching out into the

tideway, where there is always a vast stretch of deep water, and to

this pier twice or three times a day, from Maldon, comes Mr.

Charrington's own steamer, which runs for the convenience of the

island inhabitants and also of excursionists. Day by day this boat,

with its hundred or more people, makes a circuit of the island, and

proceeds onwards to the German Ocean.

Osea itself is well supplied with boats belonging to the Manor House.

There is a large motor-boat, which runs in and out at the disposal of

any one. There are sailing-boats, rowing-boats, fishing-boats, to suit

every taste, every accident of tide or weather.

Sea fishing can be had all the year round. I have not tried it,

personally, nor has Mr. Charrington himself much time to devote to

this form of sport, but the islanders assure me that all is as it

should be. In the official Maldon guide to Osea I read, and from it I

reproduce, as follows--

"Spruling, or handline fishing, is the method most in vogue,

using the common log- or lugworm for bait; this fine fellow

lives in the sandy mud along the shore, but it is not easily

dug by the amateur, although in many spots it is abundant;

their local price is generally half-a-crown per quart. The

best time for fishing is autumn and spring, but it is only

for about two hours before and after low tide that it is

possible to hold ground, the tide running too strong before

and after; by spruling sufficient fish can often be caught;

a party of four has caught as many as 400 good fish in about

two hours. These are mostly dabs, plaice, whiting, codling,

and the large-mouthed, voracious little father-lasher,

locally called 'bull-rout,' which often gives good sport,

but is otherwise very little use; occasionally a weaver,

with its poisonous fin, or a red gurnard may be caught. A

more successful method of fishing is by hoop-netting,

baiting with the small shore-crab, but this is not permitted

upon the ground of the Tollesbury and Mersea Oyster Fishery

Co., which is well marked by the large beacons on each

shore; the upper edge of the oyster ground is a very good

spot for sport. Dabs, plaice, and similar flatfish are known

as market-fish, scantlings and hoppers, according to size,

the latter being the smallest; soles as soles, slips and

tongues.

"Spruling is best by night, especially in September and

October for codling and whiting, and when lying quietly at

anchor, possibly waiting for the tide to get slack enough to

fish, we are sure to notice the tide leaving the mud, and

then the drain heads, as they are called locally, make a

noise like the tail of a mill when the wheel is in motion,

or like the hum of a distant railway train. This is always

especially noticeable just at dusk.

"The variety of sport to be derived from sea-fishing is

great, and its votaries will not need them to be

particularised, while the amateur can learn best by

following the instructions of his fellow-sportsmen. Bass are

frequently caught up to 10 lb. in weight. Grey mullet are

almost as big, but they are very agile and wary, jumping

like hares over a peternet when shooting the creeks. Garfish

are taken in plenty in early summer; they swim on the top of

the water, and when present are sure to be seen in the sun

jumping out and playing on the surface; when cooked, these

little-known, long-nosed fish much resemble mackerel, but

they are sweeter; a foolish prejudice exists against them

because their bones are grass-green. It seems almost

impossible to hook the wily and soft-mouthed mullet, but

bass, garfish and other summer species may be taken by drift

lines. Eels, which are abundant, but not so large as they

used to be, are taken in quantities, but generally by the

professional by babbing; this is practised from a punt in

shallow water, by threading a bunch of logworms on worsted

and sinking this to the bottom on a short line, with a six-

to eight-foot rod. Anchor or moor the punt so that it does

not sheer about with the tide. A bite is quickly felt, as

the eel tugs very strongly, but to catch them all requires

practice; flounders are often caught with the eels. Eel

shearing or spearing on the mud, either when walking on

splatches (flat boards tied on to the soles of your boots)

or from a punt or boat, is seldom profitable to the

amateur. Eel trawling with a very fine-meshed net, a most

destructive operation, was first discovered by John Heard,

of Tollesbury, when trawling for prawns on Mersea shore. To

catch the eels it is necessary to have a tunnel in the trawl

to prevent them coming back and escaping; they travel

backwards.

"The various kinds of net-fishing are too numerous to

mention, but there are several of the Maldon fishermen who

can be prevailed upon for a consideration to take a

passenger or two for a day's trawling, if he be not too

particular as to the luxury of his accommodation. The known

fish fauna of the Blackwater is a rich one, and the

occurrence of almost any British species in this fine

estuary is possible. Salmon and trout are frequently taken."

There is a little shooting, but not much--I except always wildfowl.

For several years in the past the shooting has been let, but Mr.

Charrington has given up disposing of his rights, and in the season

such game as there is upon the island is always at the disposal of

sportsmen who are living there. Still, I think that fifty brace of

partridges would mean a very good year upon Osea.

I am tempted to catalogue the wild flowers, though I know nothing

about the details, except that all is beautiful. There are printed

authorities to consult upon the floral delights of Osea. And the

descriptive writer is too apt to catalogue the gutter, and think he is

writing of the street. Let all those things go. Let me rather tell in

a few final words of gentle evenings, August nights, and silver dawns,

in which I have talked of deep things with my host.

A world of physical and material beauty has its way in inducing high

and beautiful thoughts in the human mind. Charrington and I have sat

in the garden of the Manor House when a great round, red moon has hung

in a sky of black velvet, and the kissing night-breezes have filled us

with health and thrilled the blood. But it has not been only aesthetic

enjoyment of material perfection that irradiated the night. It has

been the stories he has told me in his low voice, while the red end of

his cigar--for, like Spurgeon, he is a great smoker--has pulsed and

glowed in the blackness--that have brought one's thoughts nearer and

nearer to the heavenly mysteries that dark and dawn have curtained

from the human sense.

I have listened to that slow, reminiscent voice, mingled with the

little breezes and the noise of the tide. I have heard, "Now, Thorne,

this is a little incident" ... or, "I expect this will strike you as

being rather funny" ... and the whole pathos of human life has become

part of the night.

I have turned towards my companion and said ... "Go on, tell me some

more."

And ever the subdued organ voice has continued, speaking of the great

work in the East End.

The whole gamut of life in its most revolting, and yet, sometimes, its

sweetest and noblest aspect, has been put before me through the quiet

hours of night in a series of flashing vivid pictures, which have

raised the soul to higher hope, have filled the heart and eyes with

tears, and have made one even more conscious of the certain presence

of God in the world than the summer night could show.

And all this without a note, without a single touch of self, on the

part of the narrator. It has all come out quite naturally and simply.

I have abstained from journalistic questionings. When he would be

silent I have not urged him to speak. When the mood was on him to talk

to me, I have listened.

All his life he has enjoyed good health, though living in the

congested East of London. Two serious illnesses alone have to be

mentioned: typhoid at one time--when it was touch-and-go with him,

another time serious influenza with some lung complication. His

doctors ordered him a year's travel, and he visited Australia, Egypt

and South Africa. He has, indeed, travelled very extensively.

He has never married. In early life, as I have said elsewhere, he

became convinced that his work would be better served if he remained

single. I think, however, that his somewhat monastic theories have

been softened by Time. At least I have heard him say that he does not

advise any one to follow his example!

There are a little cluster of us--I refer to people in the literary

and artistic world--who have come together and who are thinking of

building ourselves homes upon the shores of the island. I hope this,

for my friends and for myself, will soon come about.

Be that as it may, I shall never forget the days and nights I have

spent with Frederick Charrington when I have been endeavouring,

faithfully and without prejudice, to present his life as it has been,

and to show him to my readers through the medium of my mind.

I may have made a thousand mistakes in my view--I hope not. All I know

is, that I have tried to do my best.

All that I am certain is, that I have been privileged to tell the

story of a great spiritual force of this era.

In everything that he has done throughout his life he has always

proved himself a Christian and a Gentleman. Upon that day--many years

distant I hope and believe--when he is gathered up to be with Jesus,

he will leave behind him a legacy of good works, an inspiration to

other missionaries and evangelists of Christ, which will not easily be

forgotten.

Who of us can say that in our youth we turned away from all this world

has to offer and renounced enormous fortune and high place?

Who of us can say that since such a day we have lived wholly and

entirely for others, among the most appalling surroundings, with the

greatest courage?

To have held up the standard of our Lord in the very forefront of the

battle, never to have swerved so much as a hair's breadth from the

very thickest of the fight. To have kept the Faith always....

I will say no more.

The life of a good man, surveyed in its entirety, hushes the voice,

and stills the moving pen.

You, who have travelled with me thus far, if it seems good to you, and

for the sake of Jesus, and this man who has fought for Him so

valiantly and so long, _help him in his work_.

I bid you good-bye, as my friend also.

In the last words of this memoir, I like to think of him walking, as I

saw him not long ago, through horrible slums upon a certain Sunday

afternoon.

Clinging to each hand, trotting eagerly beside him, were two little

girls with eager, upturned faces and bright golden hair.

_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Archaic spelling and variations in spelling and hyphenation have been

retained except in obvious cases of typographical error.