LOW WATER AND GREAT EXPECTATIONS
In a couple of months after the meeting between Carr and Blantyre,
public opinion had spoken in no uncertain way about the "Luther League."
Public opinion in these days is very easily led in this or that
direction--but only for a time. There is a vast stratum of common-sense,
of love of justice, of wholesome sanity, in England, and it can always
be reached by a little boring. In the end, especially upon any question
which is in its essence sociological, a proper balance is found and the
truth of a matter firmly established.
And Hamlyn's agitation was treated as a social question rather than a
religious one, at any rate by a secular press. Whether the doings of the
High Church party were legal or illegal according to the prayer-book
(such was the line the papers took) was a question to be decided by
experts in history and the authorities of the Church; a question, in
fact, that ought to be decided in a legitimate way. What was, however,
quite certain, was that the proceedings of Hamlyn and his party were
improper, vulgar, and indecent. It was simply misleading nonsense to
cover the Ritualistic party, a body of high-minded and earnest men, with
the noisy and venomous vituperation of the streets. Freedom of thought
was the heritage of every Englishman, and Hamlyn had simply elected
himself a grand inquisitor of matters that did not concern him and which
he was unable to understand. No dishonesty on the man's part was
alleged. But his history was unearthed by one or two enterprising
journalists, following the popular lead. It was shown that while nothing
had ever been said against his personal character--and nothing was said
now--he had risen from the position of a struggling local newspaper man
to comparative affluence and the control of a large and costly
organisation. The cash accounts of the League were scrutinised, and
unkind remarks were made upon the constant advertisements of the League,
with their cry for increased income and fresh subscribers. It was
pointed out that people who supported a crusade made without authority
by a self-constituted Peter the Hermit, over whom no proper control
could be exercised and whose methods of prosecuting it were a mixture of
buffoonery, uncharitable malice, and untruth, were incurring a serious
responsibility.
In short, public opinion was told in plain language exactly how it ought
to regard the campaign. Great newspapers spoke out during one fortnight
with singular unanimity. Street meetings were promptly broken up by the
police, and after some of the Luther Lecturers had been to prison,
finding that public interest in their "martyrdom" was languishing, they
subsided into quiet, devotional meetings on the sands at popular
watering-places. Whenever Mr. Hamlyn hired a hall and lectured on the
iniquities of the local clergy, he was confronted by the spectacle of a
sharp-faced man who took down every word of his utterances with
scrupulous fidelity. It was always the same machine-like man, in
Liverpool or in Plymouth, in Bath or Dundee--there he was. The
agitator's eloquence was considerably checked. He was in no condition to
sustain an action for slander or libel in which, he well knew, some poor
clergyman would somehow be able to brief all the great hawk-faced
leaders of the bar, gentlemen with whom Mr. Hamlyn wished to have as
little as possible to do.
At such open-air meetings as were permitted, some unobtrusive stranger
was generally to be found distributing leaflets among the crowd, which
resembled nothing so much as the literature of the Luther League itself
in its general "get-up" and appearance. On perusal, however, it proved
to be of quite a different tenor, being nothing else than extracts from
the best-known English newspapers on Mr. Hamlyn and his mission. This
was very trying and disturbed the harmony of many meetings.
In the assemblies convened at halls hired for the occasion,--admission
by ticket only,--it frequently happened that some well-known local
resident, who could not be denied, made his appearance, and with a few
weighty words entirely changed the character of the meeting. The reports
from his myrmidons all over the country, which reached Mr. Hamlyn in the
Strand, showed a series of counter-moves which alarmed him in their
neatness and ingenuity.
It had been for months a pleasing habit of the peripatetic Protestants
under the Hamlyn banner to visit churches and make notes of the
ornaments therein, afterwards lecturing on them in their own inimitable
and humorous manner to crowds in back streets.
Mr. Moffatt, indeed--the young gentleman who had forsaken the plumbing
and gas-fitting industry to become incandescent and watery on the
Protestant war-path--had more than once broken a small crucifix with an
umbrella. The lecturers found, however, that, as if by some concerted
action, church doors were locked wherever they might go. The poor
fellows' hunger for the sight of candlesticks and sanctuary lamps was
hardly ever gratified now, and they were compelled to the somewhat
ignominious expedient of nailing the bulls of Mr. Hamlyn to the doors of
sacred buildings and going gloomily away.
On one occasion, Mr. Moffatt, who was a young fellow of considerable
hardihood, arrived at a well-known sink of ritual during the week, where
the incense used in church cost, it was reported, as much as _eight
shillings a pound_! Failing in every effort to penetrate the building,
one Sunday morning he mingled with a group of worshippers and made an
attempt to enter the church. Being a somewhat tubby youth of no great
height, he followed closely on the footsteps of a ponderous gentleman
quite six feet high, and congratulated himself he was escaping
observation, just as one has seen a small dog slink nearer and nearer to
the tempting joint upon the dinner-table. His hopes were doomed to
failure. He was almost inside the porch when two stalwart church wardens
barred the way and read him a paper, which stated that, as he was a
known brawler who had been convicted of other illegal disturbances in
God's house, entry was refused him.
At the moment, in his chagrin and surprise, Mr. Moffatt could think of
no better retort than an injunction to the reader of the document to
"keep his hair on." Then, gathering his faculties together, he commenced
a vigorous protest as to his rights as a "baptized, confirmed
communicant member of the Church of England" to make one of the
congregation. No answer whatever was vouchsafed him, and he was
compelled to stand meekly by while the usual members of the congregation
were admitted.
He bethought himself of an appeal to the majesty of the law! "Very well,
then," he said, "I shall go and fetch a policeman. That's all."
One of the church wardens opened the inner door of the church and
beckoned to some one. A sergeant of police, in his uniform, emerged
quietly. Mr. Moffatt started, muttered something about "writing to the
Bishop," and left the vicinity of the church without further ado.
And it was thus all over the country. Hamlyn and his son realised that a
strong and powerful organisation was arrayed against them. Their tactics
were counter-checked at every turn.
As a natural consequence of all this, the subscriptions to the League
fell away at a most alarming rate. The street and public hall
collections of the lecturers dwindled until they could hardly pay
themselves their own modest emoluments. The general subscriptions and
special donations to the head office were in a no less unsatisfactory
condition.
A very great number of people, with an honest dislike and distrust of
practices which seemed to them against the law of the Church of England
(as they understood it), had hitherto sent Hamlyn considerable sums of
money. His campaign seemed to them a real and efficacious method of
dealing with the question, and his methods had not been very clear to
them in their actual detail.
But when the most influential part of the press began to speak with no
uncertain voice, these people began to hurriedly repudiate any
connection with the Luther League and to tie their purse-strings in a
very tight knot indeed. Then, again, there was a second not
inconsiderable class of people whose support was withdrawn. These were
more or less of the Miss Pritchett order. They had some real or fancied
grievance against the vicar of the parish in which they lived, and the
machinery of Hamlyn's League was found to be at their service for the
purposes of revenge. Under the cover of religious truth they were able
to gratify a private spite--a method of campaign as old as history
itself. The aims of these people had been achieved. That is to say, Mr.
Hamlyn or his friends had made themselves more or less a thorn in the
sides of the local clergy, had "banged the field-piece, twanged the
lyre," and departed with as much money as they were able to collect in
the cause of Protestant Truth.
And those people who had first moved in the matter saw that, after all,
the _status ante quo_ had not been altered in the least, that nothing
had happened at all! One or two people of no importance whatever might
have left the Church, but the general result was, as a rule, an
increase of the attacked congregation and, inevitably, an enormous
increase of personal popularity of the priest and of loyalty to him and
his teachings.
So this second class of worthies also became hard-hearted to the
perfervid advertisements of the League, buttoned up their pockets, and
tried to behave as though the names of those twin greatnesses, Martin
Luther and Samuel Hamlyn, had never crossed their lips.
In the offices in the Strand, all these causes were thoroughly
appreciated and understood. The prosperity, or rather the consciousness
of it, which had seemed to ooze from Mr. Hamlyn's features, was no more
to be seen. The countenance of the Protestant Pope wore an anxious and
harassed expression when he was alone with his son, and their talks
together were frequent and of long duration.
One disastrous morning the post brought nothing in the way of fuel for
the Protestant fire except a single miserable little post-office order
for seven shillings and sixpence, a donation from "A Baptist Friend."
Protestant Truth was in a bad way. Both the Hamlyns thought so as they
sat down gloomily for a private conference in the inner room.
"There's a good balance in the bank, of course," Hamlyn said. "We've got
staying power for some time yet, and the salaries are safe. But it's the
future we've got to look to. The righteous cause can't go on nothing."
"Don't you worry, Father," said Sam, "that Exeter Hall speaking has
pulled you down a bit. You're not your real self. I haven't a doubt that
you'll think of something to wake things up in a day or two."
"Hope so, I'm sure, though I can't think of anything at present. But
seven and six! It's the first day Protestantism's dropped below a matter
of two pound odd."
"There's plenty of other posts during the day, Pa."
"That's true. One day or three days don't matter. But it shows how
things are going. The Romans have been too cunning for us, Sam. The
wiles of the Scarlet Woman are prevailing; honest, straightforward
Protestants are being undermined."
"But think of the letters of sympathy we've 'ad since the great
Ritualistic conspiracy has come up. The real hearty Protestants are as
faithful as they ever were."
"Yes, they are," said Mr. Hamlyn reflectively; "we can always fall back
on them, and we've got some thousands of names and addresses on the
books. The League'll _go on_ safe enough, there'll always be labourers
in the vineyard and them as will pay the overseer his just dues. But
it's 'ard, after the splendid success we've had, to sink down into a
small commonplace affair with just a bare living. The real red-hot
Protestants, who are really _afraid_ of Rome and that, are so few! These
disgusting newspapers been showing up everything and the lukewarm people
have been falling away. All the real money is flowing back into Roman
channels. If there were more really earnest Protestants we might keep on
as good as ever. But there's not. We haven't sold a gross of _Bloody
Marys_ during the month. It's a pity we had to suppress the
_Confessional_; that was a real seller--and did a lot of good," Mr.
Hamlyn added as an afterthought.
"We couldn't well do no other after the 'int we got from the _Vigilance_
people," said Sam.
"I suppose not. But it was a great pity."
"You're due at Malakoff House to-night, aren't you, Pa?"
"Yes, at seven. I'm very uneasy in my mind about Miss P., Sam."
"Gussie says she's worse than she knows herself. She hasn't been out of
bed for a fortnight now."
"She's not long for this world, I'm afraid," Hamlyn answered. "While
she's alive we are fairly safe. But when she's in Glory where shall we
be?"
"That's the question, Father. Gussie knows nothing and can't find out
anything, neither. A really handsome legacy invested in some good stock
would put us right again whatever might happen."
"It would. But just at present the old lady's awful to deal with. You
see, I'm in an awkward position, Sam. I'm not such a fool as to tell her
how we've been bested lately--that's to say, I can't bring myself to
wound a faithful Protestant heart by stories of persecution of them as
is doing the Lord's work against Rome. Miss P. don't know anything about
the checks we've received of late. Well, then, she's always bothering me
to know why we aren't keeping it up in Hornham, why we aren't going for
Blantyre and that lot. She hears everything that goes on in the parish,
though Gussie Davies does her best to stop it. But she don't seem to
trust Gussie as she did, which is a pity. Miss P. quite sees that, for
some reason or other, things have gone quiet in the parish, and she's
getting restive. Something must be done soon, that's quite evident. Some
big thing to wake her up--and everyone else, too."
"It doesn't matter much how far we go now."
"Not a bit. The further the better, as a matter of fact. The lecturers'
hands are so tied now, what with all these cunning moves of the
Romanists, that _they_ can't do anything. It seems we've alienated all
the moderate people and we've only the extreme ones to rely on. Well,
then, we must wake _them_ up, that's all. The papers can't well say
worse of us than they do already, so it really is the best policy to
give the whole country a regular startler. I can't think of anything new
at present, but I shall. I expect a bit of inspiration'll come before
long. Anyway, I shall tell Miss Pritchett to-night to wait and have
patience a little longer, as there's something in the wind that will do
all she wants. It's her illness. She _must_ have continual bits of
excitement to keep her going, it's a regular disease with her now. If I
can think of a good scheme to liven up things generally, in the first
flush of it she'll be so pleased that we might venture a word or two
upon her testamentary dispositions. I should feel so much happier about
the Cause if I knew the League was down in her will for a thumping sum.
Of course, anything of the sort would have to be said most careful.
She'd get up and be healthy again in a week if she thought we thought
she was going to peg out!"
Mr. Hamlyn concluded his remarks with a somewhat resentful sigh, and,
whistling down the speaking-tube for the correspondence clerk, began to
dictate his morning's letters.
It was about seven o'clock when the secretary arrived at Malakoff House,
tired and dispirited. The whole day had gone unsatisfactorily. An
evening paper had come out with a leaded column about the League which
was far from complimentary. The various callers at the office were all
more or less disagreeable, and even the volatile Samuel had been plunged
into a state of furtive gloom that radiated mis-ease upon all who came
near him.
Mr. Hamlyn was shown into the drawing-room and in a minute or two,
Gussie Davies came to him. The girl was white and tired of feature.
Dark semicircles were under her eyes, but her manner had a nervous
excitement that was infectious.
Both of them spoke in that agitated whisper that some people affect in
the neighbourhood of those who are seriously ill and whom they think
like to die. It is a whisper in which there is a not unpleasurable note,
a self-congratulation at being near to the Great Mystery, as spectators
merely.
"How is she?" whispered Hamlyn.
"Bad," answered Gussie. "Dr. Hibbert's been and I had a chat with him
afterwards. He daren't speak as plain as he'd like, for fear of
frightening her. But he says she must _not_ keep on exciting herself. It
will be fatal if she does. Another two months of this St. Elwyn's
excitement will kill her, Mr. Hamlyn. I'm sure of that."
"What's she been saying?"
"Oh, the same old thing: Why doesn't Mr. Hamlyn do something decisive?
Why doesn't he strike these proud priests some crushing blow? You know
she's heard that Miss Blantyre has come to live at the vicarage, and
that makes her keener than ever."
"Well, I must think of something, that's all," said the secretary in a
decisive whisper. "I'll promise her a new move almost at once. I
suppose you've had no chance to get in a word about the will?"
"Not a chance. I can't find out anything either. All I know is that her
solicitor hasn't been here since she joined the League. So that looks as
if there isn't anything done _yet_."
"I don't suppose there is, my dear. But if I can keep her quiet _now_,
and do something big in the parish in a few days, then I suppose we
might broach it?"
"Certainly, Mr. Hamlyn, I should say so."
"Good. One more question, Gussie, before I go up. Do you think it wise
to mention a contribution to the working fund just now? One can never be
too zealous in the cause of Protestant Truth, but I want to deal wisely
with her."
"Oh, I think you'll be safe enough for a hundred or two," Gussie said,
"as long as you promise her a good rumpus soon! She ain't mean, I will
say that for her."
Mr. Hamlyn nodded in a brisk, business-like way, rang for the maid, and
was shown up to the sick-room.
Gussie remained in the drawing-room. She wondered how successful her
friend and lover's father would be. She had immense faith in his
abilities and already looked forward to the time when, released for ever
from her duties at Malakoff House, she would, as Mrs. Hamlyn, Junior,
become a leading lady of True Protestantism. Not that the girl hated her
employer. She had no affection for Miss Pritchett--and it would have
been wonderful if she had--but her feeling was not stronger than that.
As for the money question, the money that the rich old lady was giving
to the Luther League, Gussie saw no harm in that. The money was for a
good cause, so she believed, and the Hamlyns, _père et fils_, had much
better have the handling of it than any one else!
Mr. Hamlyn was a considerable time. The girl wandered about the room,
agog to hear his news, thinking with a certain terror of the grim old
woman up-stairs. For what had been tartness and acerbity had become
grimness now, in the pompous old-fashioned bed-chamber, where she lay
waiting the beating of those great black wings which all, save she, knew
were drawing near.
Although Gussie Davis knew all the foibles of her mistress and could
play upon them with adroitness and success, she felt, nevertheless, a
fear of the old woman. Miss Pritchett, with all her absurdities, her
petty jealousies, her greed for flattery, was a woman with a
personality. She was very rich, and she had chosen to remain among the
surroundings of her youth and be great among the small. Yet even a petty
supremacy awes the petty, and the sly Welsh girl was indubitably awed.
She was not wholly bad, not unfeeling in her way, but she was weak. In
the hands of the Hamlyns, she had been as putty from the very first.
They were strong men. There was no doubt about that. With all the
temperamental vulgarity and greed of both father and son, there was
indubitable strength--and, in the case of the elder, considerable
magnetic power.
They had been kind to her also. She was genuinely fond of Sam, and he
was fond of her. The accident of her position, that she was able to help
and forward their plans, made no difference as to that. Hamlyn, Senior,
liked her. He would, she knew, be kind and fatherly to her when she was
married to Sam. He was that now.
For, if Hamlyn had been able to employ his cleverness to good advantage
in the exploitation of any other thing save of religion, he would have
been counted as a shrewd business man and nothing more. Nothing worse
than that at any rate. He had no personal vices. He did not in the least
realise that he was living a life that was shameful. Religion meant no
more to him than any other way of making money would have meant. That
was all. And, oddly enough, Blantyre himself shrewdly suspected this,
while Carr looked upon the agitator as infamous.
Hamlyn was perfectly aware that he was a humbug, but he thought that his
humbug was perfectly legitimate in the war of life.
The priest at St. Elwyn's whom he had so bitterly attacked and wounded
was a psychologist. Most priests are. Men who sit in churches and hear
the true story of men's lives learn an infinite tenderness. Men come to
them for comfort, to hear the comfortable words that our Lord has spoken
for the sinful who are penitent, to receive from them that absolution
which is nothing more than the confirmation, in a concrete and certain
way, of the promise of God. It is only the people who have never
confessed their sins, not to a priest, but to God through a priest, who
speak against the Sacrament of Penance.
They do not know they are tilting at windmills. And the bitter shame
that sometimes comes to a man as he tells another man the true story of
his life is in itself the truest evidence that he means to amend it. No
one would do that without penitence. There is a motive for every action;
the motive would be wanting if confession were made without a resolve to
lead a new life. If those who fulminate against the Church's method, and
sneer at the members of the Church who follow it, as dupes and fools,
could understand that it is discipline that purifies and exalts, they
would sneer no longer. It is all very well to be a _franc-tireur_, no
doubt. But it is better to be a member of the regular forces. It is not
so jolly for a time, perhaps, but in event of capture, the former is
shot at sight, the latter becomes a prisoner of war with all the rights
and traditions of his lot.
Simile was one of Mr. Hamlyn's pet weapons, but in his noisy syllogisms,
he left out the first two premises and confined himself to the
conclusion--generally an emphatic epithet.
Mr. Hamlyn came down-stairs at last. His face was grave, but peaceful.
Perspiration showed upon it. He had been having a hard time.
"I say, my dear," he whispered, "I wonder if you've got a cup of tea
handy. I've had a thick time!"
It is better to take the stimulant of tea than the more usual brandy and
soda. Hamlyn was a strong teetotaller, and that counted to his credit at
a moment like this. For the man had obviously been through an unnerving
experience. He was not his ready and impudent self.
The tea was brought. It revived him.
"Well!" he said in a low voice, "I don't want to go through many scenes
like that again, Gussie! She's getting worse and worse. Her brain can't
last much longer if she goes on like this! However, I managed to calm
her down. She's going off to sleep now. I told her I'd wake Hornham up
in a few days--and I'll _have_ to do it, what's more!"
"Did you get a cheque?" said the practical Gussie.
"Yes," said Mr. Hamlyn in a slightly more relieved voice. "She gave me a
couple of hundred in the end. At heart, she's devoted to the cause of
Protestant Truth. But she's getting horribly restive, my dear. I'm sorry
for her. She's a wreck of what she used to be--but she's a wreck that
wants a lot of salvage!"
The colour came back into the plump, clean-shaven face as the tea did
its work.
"I forgot, my dear," he said; "I brought you a box of chocolates. It
clean went out of my 'ead," he waved an exhausted hand towards his small
brown leather bag, which stood on the table between a plaster model of
the leaning tower of Pisa and a massive volume entitled _Every Young
Lady's Vade Mecum_.
Gussie smiled her thanks and opened the bag, while Mr. Hamlyn poured out
another cup of tea.
Gussie felt in the bag. It was full of papers, but there were two
parcels there. She took them out. They were of much the same size. Each
was neatly tied up in white paper.
She pulled the string from one of them. A number of thin
semi-transparent white wafers fell out upon the table.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried, "I thought this was the box of chocolates."
Hamlyn looked up wearily. To his immeasurable surprise, he saw that the
girl's face had grown very pale. She shrunk away from the table.
"What's the matter, my dear?" he said, thoroughly alarmed.
She suddenly flushed a deep scarlet.
"What are these?" she said, pointing with a shaking finger to the things
on the table.
"Them?" said Mr. Hamlyn in cheerful surprise. "Mass wafers, my dear. I
buy them in a shop in Covent Garden. We distribute them among the Luther
Lecturers, for object lessons to the poor deluded Ritualists."
The girl had crouched to the wall of the room. Hamlyn was seriously
alarmed. Her face was almost purple, her eyes started out of her head.
"They're not con--_consecrated_?" she gasped.
Hamlyn could not understand her emotion. "No," he said; "why, Gussie,
what a superstitious little thing you are. And if they were, what then?"
Frank amazement showed on his face.
"Oh, nothing, Mr. Hamlyn," the girl said at length, becoming more normal
in her manner.
In a few minutes, Hamlyn left the house, leaving the girl in her
ordinary manner, eating the chocolates that he had brought her.
His able mind was busily at work. He knew that during Miss Pritchett's
adhesion to St. Elwyn's Gussie had, perforce, been one of the
congregation there and had been taught and trained by the clergy.
"No wonder," he thought bitterly to himself; "no wonder that they can
win along the line, when they can sow seeds like that in a girl's mind.
Why, she's a thorough little Protestant at heart. To think that those
things should have startled her so! It's a lingering prejudice, I
suppose. They _are_ a queer lot--the Romanists!"
As he communed thus with himself, a swift thought came to him. At the
moment of its arrival in his brain, he almost staggered. Then, pulling
himself together, he walked rapidly to his own house.
He thought he saw his way to a _coup_ that would make all his previous
efforts as nothing. How wonderfully simple it was! Why had he never
thought of it before--_what_ a fool he had been! Here was the solution
of all the difficulties he was in. The answer seemed to have come to his
conversation with Samuel in the morning.
He went to his study and fortunately found that Sam was already there.
Miss Maud Hamlyn sat in the room also, but when she saw her father's
face, she left the room at once. It wore the "business look" she knew
well, and, though she but dimly understood what her brother and father
were engaged in, she knew it had brought great prosperity and honour to
all of them, and was loath to intrude upon any profitable confabulation.
"Have you got it, Pa?" said Samuel, eagerly.
"Yes, I _'ave_," answered the secretary, "and very fine it is too!"
"How much?" asked Sam.
"What do you mean?"
"The cheque, Miss Pritchett's latest."
"Oh, _that_," said Hamlyn. "Two hundred, what we expected. I meant
something else. I've got the new scheme to wake things up! The best
thing we've done yet, my boy!"
Sam rubbed his hands. "What did I say this morning? I knew you'd do it,
Pa. Well, let's have it."
Mr. Hamlyn sat back in his chair, willing to dally a moment with his
triumph and enjoy the full savour of it.
"Why we never thought of it before," he said, "beats me entirely!
Something suggested it to me to-night, and I've been wondering at our
neglecting such a move."
"What _is_ it then?"
"What about one of us going to the Mass and bringing away the
consecrated wafer? Then a big public meeting's called and I _show_ the
people what we've got! The 'flour-and-water god' of the Romanists! Not
the usual plan of producing a wafer we've bought from a shop, but the
_real thing_, Sam! Then they'll all be able to see that there's no
difference between before and after! It'll explode the whole thing and
give the League an advertisement better than anything that's gone
before!"
Sam looked very grave indeed. "It's a little bit _too_ much, I'm afraid,
Father," he said.
"What do you mean, my son?" answered the secretary in extreme and real
surprise.
"Well, I don't know," Sam said doubtfully, "but I shouldn't like to
meddle with it myself."
Mr. Hamlyn leaned forward. "Sam," he said, "you're a fool. You're as bad
as Gussie Davies! Leave the matter to me. Who's awakened Protestantism
in Hengland? ME! Who knows how to work a popular cause? ME! Who's going
to boom the Luther League up to the top again? ME!"
"Have it your own way, Father," Sam said, "you generally do come out on
top."
"Ring the bell for some tea," said Mr. Hamlyn, "and let's talk out the
details. We'll 'ave to get it where we aren't known by sight."