THE OFFICES OF THE "LUTHER LEAGUE"--AN INTERIOR
On the first floor of a building in the Strand, wedged in between a
little theatre and a famous restaurant, the offices of the "Luther
League" were established, and by late autumn were in the full swing of
their activity.
Visitors to this stronghold of Protestantism mounted a short flight of
stairs and arrived in a wide passage. Four or five doors opening into it
all bore the name of the association in large letters of white enamel.
The first door bore the legend:
"PUBLISHING AND GENERAL OFFICE INQUIRIES"
This room, the one by which the general public were admitted to the
inner sanctuaries, was a large place fitted up with desks and glass
compartments in much the same way as the ordinary clerks' office of a
business house. A long counter divided the room, and upon it were
stacked piles of the newly published pamphlet literature of the League.
Here could be seen that stirring narrative, _Cowed by the Confessional;
or, The Story of an English Girl in the Power of the "Priests."_ This
publication, probably the cheapest piece of pornography in print at the
moment, was published, with an illustration, at three pence. Upon the
cover a priest--for some unexplained reason in full eucharistic
vestments--was pointing sternly to the armour-plated door of a grim
confessional, while a trembling lady in a large picture hat shrunk
within.
This little book was flanked by what appeared to be a semi-jocular work
called _Who Said Reredos?_ and bore upon its cover the already
distinguished name of Samuel Hamlyn, Jr. The eye fell upon that popular
pamphlet in a wrapper of vivid scarlet--now in its sixtieth
thousand--known as _Bow to the "Altar" and Light Bloody Mary's Torture
Fires Again_.
_As Soon Pay the Devil as the Priest_ lay by the side of a more
elaborately bound volume on which was the portrait of a lady. Beneath
the picture appeared the words of the title, _My Escape; or, How I
Became a Protestant_, by Jane Pritchett.
Two clerks wrote in the ledgers on the desks, attended to visitors, and
looked after what was known in the office as the "counter trade"--to
distinguish it from the sale of Protestant literature in bulk, which was
managed direct from the "Luther League Printing Works, Hornham, N."
A second room opening into the general office was tenanted by the
assistant secretary of the League, Mr. Samuel Hamlyn, Junior. Here the
walls were decorated with scourges, horribly knotted and thonged;
"Disciplines," which were belts and armlets of sharp iron prickles,
designed to wear the skin of the toughest Ritualist into an open sore
after three days' wear. There were also two hair shirts, apparently the
worse for wear, and a locked bookcase of Ritualistic literature with a
little _index expurgatorius_ in the neat, clerkly writing of Sam Hamlyn,
and compiled by that gentleman himself.
In this chamber of horrors, the assistant secretary delighted to move
and have his being, and three or four times a day it was his pleasing
duty to show friends of the League and its yearly subscribers, the
penitential machinery by which the priest-ridden public was secretly
invited to hoist itself to heaven.
The innermost room of all was where Mr. Hamlyn, Senior, himself
transacted the multifarious and growing business of his organisation.
The secretary sat at a large roll-top desk, and a substantial safe stood
at his right hand. An air of brisk business pervaded this sanctum. The
directories, almanacs, and account-books all contributed to it, and the
end of a speaking-tube, which led to the outer office, was clipped to
the arm of the revolving chair.
Three portraits adorned the wall. From a massive gold frame the features
of that fiery Protestant virgin, Miss Pritchett, stared blandly down
into the room. Opposite it was a large photograph of Mr. Hamlyn himself,
with upraised hand and parted lips--in the very act and attitude of
making one of his now familiar protests. The third in this trio of
Protestant champions was a drawing of Martin Luther himself,
"representing the Reformer," as Mr. Hamlyn was wont to say, "singing for
joy at the waning power of Rome." The artist of this picture, however,
being a young gentleman of convivial tastes, had portrayed the
"Nightingale of Wittemberg" in a merry mood, remembering, perhaps,
Carlyle's remark, "there is laughter in this Luther," or perhaps--as is
indeed most probable--remembering little of the great man but his
authorship of the ditty that concludes:
Who loves not women, wine, and song
Will be a fool his whole life long.
Fortunately, Mr. Hamlyn, whose historical studies had been extremely
restricted, did not know of this effort--just as he did not know that to
the end of his life the student of Erfurt steadily proclaimed his belief
in the Real Presence in the Eucharist.
About ten o'clock on a grey, cold November morning, the two Hamlyns
arrived at the offices of the Luther League together, walked briskly up
the stairs, and, with a curt "good morning" to the clerks, entered the
innermost room together.
People who had known the father and son six months ago, seeing them now,
would have found a marked, though subtle, difference in both of them.
They were much better dressed, for one thing. The frock-coats were not
made in Hornham, the silk hats were glossy and with the curly brims of
the fashion. Both still suggested a more than nodding acquaintance with
religious affairs in their costume, some forms of Christianity always
preferring to evince themselves by the style of a cravat or the texture
of a cloth.
Confidence had never been lacking in either of the two, but now the
sense of power and success had increased it, and had also imposed a
certain quietness and gravity which impressed people. Here, at any rate,
were two men of affairs, men whose names were beginning to be known
throughout the land, and Mr. Hamlyn's manner of preoccupation and
thought was only natural after all in one who (as his son would remark
to Protestant visitors) "practically held the fortunes of the Church in
his hands, and was destroying the Catholic wolves with the sword of
Protestant Truth."
The two men took off their overcoats and hung them up. Then Mr. Hamlyn,
from mere force of old habit, pulled at his cuffs--in order to lay them
aside during business hours. Finding that he could not withdraw them,
for increasing position and emolument had seemed to necessitate the
wearing of a white shirt, he sat down with a half sigh for the freedom
and comfort of an earlier day and began to open the large pile of
correspondence on the table before him.
"We'll take the cash first, Sam," he said, pulling a small paper-knife
from a drawer.
Sam opened a note-book in which the first rough draughts of matter
relating to this most important subject were entered, preparatory to
being copied out into one of the ledgers in the outer office.
Hamlyn began to slit up the letters with a practised hand. Those that
contained the sinews of war he read with a running comment, others were
placed in a basket for further consideration.
"'Well-wisher,' five shillings; 'Well-wisher,' £2 0 0, by cheque, Sam.
'Ethel and her sisters,' ten and six--small family that, I should think!
'Protestant,' five pounds--a note, Sam, take the number. It's curious
that 'Protestant' always gives most. Yesterday seven 'Protestants'
totalled up to fourteen, twelve, six, while five 'Well-wishers' worked
out at slightly under three shillings a head. What's this? Ah! cheque
for a guinea and a letter on crested paper! Enter up the address and
make a note to send half a dozen _Bloody Marys_, one Miss Pritchett's
_Escape_, and a few _Pay the Devils_. During the last week or two, the
upper classes have been rallying to the flag. They're the people. I'll
send this woman the ten-guinea subscription form and ask her to be one
of the vice-presidents. Listen here:
MARGRAVINE HOUSE,
LEICESTER
Lady Johnson begs to enclose a cheque for one guinea to aid Mr.
Hamlyn in his splendid Crusade against the Ritualists. She would be
glad to hear full details of the "Luther League" and its objects.
She wonders why Mr. Hamlyn has confined his protests against
_Romanism_ in the guise of _English Churchmanship_ to the London
district, and would point out that in her own neighbourhood there
is a hot-bed of Ritualism which should be exposed."
Sam went to the book shelf and took down a Peerage. "She's the wife of a
knight," he said, "one of the city knights."
"Probably very well off," said Mr. Hamlyn. "We'll nail her for the
Cause! See that the books go off at once, and I'll write her a personal
letter during the day."
He rubbed his hands together with a movement of inexpressible
satisfaction. His keen face was lighted up with the pleasures of power
and success.
"She's got her own axe to grind," remarked Sam. "Had a flare-up with the
local parson, I expect."
"Shouldn't wonder," replied his father indifferently. "Here's two
p.o.'s, one for seven bob and one for three. From a Wesleyan minister at
Camborne in Cornwall. I'll put him down to be written to under the local
helpers' scheme. His prayers'll be with us, he says!" Mr. Sam sniffed
impatiently as he wrote down the sum in his book.
In a few more minutes, the contributions were all booked up and the
Church of England--as represented by these two eminent laymen--was
bulwarked against the enemies to the extent of some seventeen pounds.
"Now," said Mr. Hamlyn, "let's take the press-cuttings next." He opened
a large envelope.
A day or two before Mr. Hamlyn had varied his pleasant little habit of
turning up during the most solemn moments of a church service and
brawling until he was ejected with more or less force, being brought up
at a police-court a day or two afterwards and paying the fine imposed
upon him with a cheque from Miss Pritchett. During the blessing of a new
peal of bells in a provincial cathedral, he had risen and read a paper
of protest. He had read the paper in a low, hurried voice, and the
disturbance had been purely local and attracted but little attention in
the huge building. In a moment, almost, the secretary of the Luther
League had been conducted to the door of the building by vigilant
vergers.
But the commotion in the press next morning had been enormous. Lurid
reports of this great protest appeared in leaded type, comment of every
kind filled the papers, and their editors were inundated with letters on
the subject. As an editor himself, Mr. Hamlyn well understood the
interior machinery of a newspaper office, and was perfectly well
acquainted with the various methods by which things get into print. He
began to examine the cuttings from the weekly papers that Durrant's had
sent him.
"All goes on well," he said at length. "It really is astonishing the
space they give us! Who'd have thought it six months ago! Don't they go
for the League in some of them! Just listen to this, it's the finish of
a column in _Vigilance_:
"'... and I shall therefore await the publication of the promised
balance-sheet of this precious "League" with more than usual interest.
Such an indecent and futile campaign as this deserves to be thoroughly
scrutinised.'"
"That's nasty, Pa," said Sam.
"It don't matter in the least. Our League is perfectly honest and
above-board, thank goodness! We shall publish the balance-sheet, of
course. We are doing a great and glorious work for Hengland, and the
labourer is worthy of his hire. We are perfectly justified in taking our
salaries. What does a parson do? And, besides no one reads _Vigilance_
that's likely to give Protestant campaigns a penny. It's a society
paper. Religious people don't see it."
"Quite so. And all the Protestant papers are with us; that's the great
thing."
"Exactly, even the old established evangelical papers like the _Church
Recorder_ daren't say anything against us. You see our advertisements
are worth such a lot to 'em! Half the Low Church papers can't pay their
way, the big advertisers won't look at them. All the money goes to the
_Church Standard_ and the other Ritualistic rags. The _Standard's_ one
of the best paying properties in London. So the Low Church papers
_can't_ do without us. Wait a year, Sam, and we'll have our own paper,
put in some Fleet Street hack as editor, publish at a separate office,
and charge the account what we like for our own articles."
"Our position is practically unassailable, as far as I can see."
"It's just that, my boy--as long as people send in the money. But
gradually we shall find London getting dry. It's all right now that the
boom's on, but the novelty of the thing will wear off after a bit. And
what we want is to get ourselves so strong that the League will go on
_for ever_! Now, I look on it in this way: Much as I 'ate the Ritualists
and love true Henglish Protestantism"--Mr. Hamlyn's face grew full of
fervour as he said this--"much as I 'ate Romanising tricks and such, I'm
jolly well certain that neither we nor any one else is going to make
much difference to them! They're too strong, Sam. You'll find a red-hot
Ritualist would give up his arms and legs for his carryings-on.
Ritualism's getting stronger and stronger. _They've got the best men for
parsons_, and you see those chaps aren't in it for their own game, as a
rule. They live like paupers and give all they've got away. Well, that
gives 'em grip."
"Silly fools," said Sam contemptuously.
"Poor deluded tools of Rome," said Mr. Hamlyn, who, now that his great
mission was an accomplished fact, was really beginning to believe in it
himself. "Well, my point is this: Ritualism will never stop. It's too
well organised, and the clergy are too well educated. And most of 'em
are 'class' too. It all tells."
"Well, then, if our efforts aren't going to do any good, in a year or so
the public will notice that, and the public will stop subscribing."
"Not a bit of it, Sam, you don't see as deep as I do. As long as we keep
the question prominent, it will be all right. First of all, we shall
always get the Nonconformist contribution. In every town, the
Nonconformist minister can be trusted to stir up people against a
Ritualistic 'priest,' especially if he's vowed to celibacy. Married ones
get on better. But what I'm coming to is this: All over Hengland there
are parishes where the vicar is more or less of a Romaniser. But he's
personally liked, perhaps, or no one makes the protest. But in every
parish, experience shows there's two or three prominent folk who hate
the vicar. Now, where there's a spark a flame can be got. It's all very
well to go and protest in a parish where there's a strong feeling
against Ritualism--like St. Elwyn's, for example. But think of the
hundreds of parishes where people jog along quite content, not knowing
the darkness in which they're groping! Now, we'll stir these places up,
we'll raise the flag of the League in places which have been going along
quiet and peaceable for years. There won't be a church from which we
can't get some people away. The Luther League shall become a household
word from John o' Groat's to Land's End."
"Good scheme, Father, if you can do it. But think of the work, and think
of the risks of letting any one else into the League. We might find
ourselves in the second place some day."
"Not at all, Sam. Not as I've worked it out. You ought to know that I
never start anything without going careful into the details."
"Sorry, Father. Let's have the plan."
"I'm going to start a band of 'Luther Lecturers' to carry Protestant
Truth into the 'idden places. I'm beginning with six young fellows I've
got. They'll travel all over the country, holding open-air meetings of
agitation, with a collection for the League--making public protests in
such churches as I give the order to be gone for, and lecturing on what
Ritualism really is. Now, these chaps will have two lectures. I've had
'em written already. One's on the Mass, another's on the
confessional,--hot Protestant stuff. They'll go like wild fire. The
young men'll learn these lectures off by heart and deliver 'em with
local allusions to the vicars of the parishes as they come to. I've got
a supply of the illegal wafers as the Ritualists use for the Lord's
Supper. Each lecture'll have one or two to show in the meetings. He'll
pull it out and show the poor deluded people the god of flour and water
their priests tell 'em to worship. There's lots of real humour in the
lectures. They'll fire the popular imagination. Every crowd likes to
hear a parson abused. I got the idea of humour and fun in the lectures
from the Salvation Army. You see, we want to reach the class of folk as
don't mind standing round a street-corner meeting and listening. The
Army makes it pay wonderfully! But they only attack sin. They don't
bother what a man does as long as he's good. We're attacking Rome in the
Henglish Church, and it's remarkable what a lot of ridiculous things and
points I've got into these lectures. There's one thing, for instance,
that'll keep all a crowd on the grin--I mean the directions to a
'priest' if an insect gets into the 'consecrated' wine. It has to be
burnt. Can't you see the lecturer with his 'Now, my friends, I ask you
what a poor little spider's done to be used like that?' It's all an
unworked mine! And you see there's no answer to it! A Ritualist 'priest'
who comes to argue--of course, discussion will be invited--is bound to
get left. He'll be so solemn and that, that the ordinary man in the
street won't understand a word he's driving at. My men'll win every
time. You'll see."
"As usual, Pa," said Sam, "you've hit on a good thing. It'll extend the
League wonderful. But what about your men--where'll you get 'em? and
what guarantee will you have that they won't rob the League?"
"Oh, that's all thought out. I shall have quite young chaps and pay them
about eighteen shillings a week and travelling expenses. Each two or
three days they'll have to send in reports as to the work, and each week
forward the collection. I shall try, eventually, to get real earnest
young men who believe in our glorious Henglish Protestant 'eritage.
_They_ won't rob us. I shall get smart young chaps with plenty of bounce
and go, but not much education. It's not _wanted_ for popular
street-corner work. You get a Ritualist parson coming to try and answer
one of my chaps--take the crucifix question, now. My man will talk about
Popish idols and that--it's all in the lecture--and all the parson will
say is that a crucifix is legal in the Church of Hengland--I believe, as
a strict matter of fact, it _is_. Then my man turns round and tells the
crowd that a crucifix is nothing but a dolly on a stick--he gets the
laugh, see? The 'priest' can't explain all his humbugging reverence and
that in an open-air meeting, with one of my chaps ready with a joke
every time he speaks. I've got four out of my six men already, and if
the thing hums as I expect, I'll put twenty or thirty in the field at
once. They're easy found! There's lots of young chaps connected with
chapels that would far rather tour the country attracting attention
wherever they go, and do nothing but agitate, than work hard! There's
young Moffatt, Peter Moffatt's son. He's a plumber, but he 'ates work.
He's got cheek for twenty, and he'll do no end of good. As for the cost,
why, the men will pay for themselves over and over again. They'll be
well supplied from the central office--extracts from the papers and so
on--they'll take local halls and advertise in local papers. I shall
expect that each man, if he's any good _at all_, will pay all his own
expenses each week and forward a clear two pounds to me! A man that
can't do that, at least, with such backing as we can give him and such a
splendid war-cry--well, I wouldn't give twopence for him."
"I see it all clear now," answered Sam, a flush of excitement coming
into his face. "And besides the money and extension of the League there
will be splendid opportunities for you and me to run down now and then
to support our men and get an 'oliday--take Brighton, for instance! It's
full of Ritualists. A couple of men could spend a month there."
"And take from two to three hundred pounds, I should think," said the
secretary, thoughtfully, "besides dealing an 'orrid blow to the wolves
in the fold of the Protestant Henglish Church. We'll have some good
protests in Brighton! Then, when our lecturers are fined for brawling,
we'll instruct them _not to pay the fine_, but to go to prison for a
fortnight instead! Of course, it'll be considered 'andsomely in their
salaries. Then we'll send them round the country with a magic lantern
and a rousing lecture. 'Imprisoned by the Romanisers,' 'In Gaol for the
Protestant Faith!' or something like that."
"That's _fine_," said Sam, in an ecstasy of enjoyment. "Why, Father, the
whole thing grows like a snowball! It _must_ grow."
"Didn't I tell you, six months ago?" said Mr. Hamlyn. "Look at us then
and now! What were we then? Nothing, 'ardly. What are we now? Directors
of a big concern, becoming known all over Hengland, drawing good
salaries, and with all the pleasure of bossing a big show. Look at the
printing account the works have against the League, look at our expenses
when we've got thirty or more Luther lecturers all over the country! And
yet there's nothing risky in it. Nothing at all. No bogus-company
promoting, no snide article to sell. We've no limited-liability company
act to fear, no treasury investigations. We stand upon solid rock and
nobody can't touch us! And why? Because we are championing the freedom
of the people's religion, we are fighting for glorious Protestantism!"
"Fancy no one thinking of it before!" said Sam.
Mr. Hamlyn's shrewd, able face beamed with merriment. "Providence," he
said, "chooses its own instruments. Now, then, send me in the shorthand
clerk; I shall be at work all day. To-night I address a public meeting
in the 'Olborn Town Hall, and before ten I'm due to sup with Miss
Pritchett. She wants something definite done in St. Elwyn's, and I must
think out a slap in the face for Blantyre."
"I'll run round to the bank," said Sam, "and pay this morning's little
lot into the general fund, and post the statement to the treasurer."
"Right, my son. What was it?"
"Seventeen pounds odd, Pa."
"Protestants are waking up," said Mr. Hamlyn, "our work for the Cause
has a blessing upon it."