Looking at this face, one can scarcely conceive how the man succeeded
as he did in deluding people--some of them of good social position. For
example, in 1870 Benson personated the Mayor of Châteaudun in France,
and nearly swindled the Lord Mayor of London out of charitable
contributions for the benefit of sufferers from the Franco-German war.
Benson was well educated, very clever, and inveterately wicked--he
looks it. Notice the great bulge at the "hinge" of the lower jaw, and
the cynically bad mouth; surely, this face plainly shows the absolute
unscrupulousness of the man, backed up by plenty of resolute energy to
make that unscrupulousness effectively dangerous.
[Illustration: 21. TROPPMANN, WHO DECOYED AND MURDERED A FAMILY OF
SIX.]
There are many men now going about whose entire want of scruple is as
plainly shown in their faces as it is in the face of Benson, but a
passable exterior, a plausible manner, seems in many cases to put
people quite off their guard. We are, I suppose, so accustomed to
regard as sufficient a due attention to social conventions, that we
have lost the more primitive sense of self-protection that, in more
primitive conditions of society than our own, would be actively used by
us for our own protection. Moreover, we have become accustomed to look
to the law for protection, and this is, perhaps, another reason why our
instinctive recognition of Nature's danger-signals has become dulled,
and is now so much less effective than the instinct for danger which
some of the lower animals possess in a high degree.
[Illustration: 22. DR. NEILL (CREAM), THE LAMBETH POISONER.]
As I have already suggested, one or more bad signs may often be seen in
the faces of persons who are good rather than bad, kind rather than
brutal, honourable rather than treacherous. In such instances, the bad
point is dominated by the good ones, and it may indeed be converted
into a useful quality. For example, the animal brutality of a murderer
may become in a good face the resolute energy of the man of action.
[Illustration: 23. HENRY BENSON, SWINDLER AND FORGER.]
But where you see many bad signs collected in one face, and when you
feel a certain instinctive aversion for a face, even though your reason
or your supposed self-interest gives you no warning, then I say let
your instinct have its way, and take the warning that Nature is holding
up to you as a danger-signal.
This reliance upon instinct works both ways, moreover. It is equally
foolish to distrust all men, as the cynics do, as it is to trust all
men, as the imprudent do. In giving these necessarily scanty notes upon
faces which contain some of Nature's most obvious danger-signals, my
purpose is to warn people off the bad faces, and at the same time to
encourage a belief in good faces; but in both instances, I suggest, let
instinct be your guide, for in this matter instinct is often a far
surer guide than reason.
_Note._--These photographs have been specially taken from
the models in Madame Tussaud's Exhibition. In expressing my
thanks to Mr. John Tussaud for the facilities thus given, I
must also express admiration of the art which produces these
life-like models.--J. H. S.
[Illustration: IN PRAISE OF BABY.]
The sun rose up in the morning
Through his door in the Eastern sky;
And he flung back his curtains of purple and red
To look out on the world, and he laughed as he said
"There's nothing so bright as I!"
But he never had seen my baby's smile,
That is brighter than sunshine all the while.
The moon stole out in the evening
From the clouds; and up, up she rolled
Through the wonderful blue of the Autumn night,
And she said, "Ah, the sun may be never so bright,
Still there's nothing to match my gold!"
Well, the moon, she's golden, and soft and fair,
But she couldn't have seen my baby's hair.
The stars peeped after the twilight;
And, when they were sure it was gone,
They all flocked forth in a glittering show,
Singing, "No one can dance like this below,
Though we've nothing to dance upon!"
So they twinkled in mazes light and fleet;
But they never had watched my baby's feet.
Barrington McGregor
"MAN OVERBOARD!"
AN EPISODE OF THE RED SEA.
BY WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL.[A]
_Illustrated by Henry Austin._
It was a little after half-past nine when the man fell overboard. The
mail steamer was hurrying through the Red Sea in the hope of making up
the time which the currents of the Indian Ocean had stolen. The night
was clear, though the moon was hidden behind clouds. The warm air was
laden with moisture. The still surface of the waters was only broken by
the movement of the great ship, from whose quarter the long, slanting
undulations struck out, like the feathers from an arrow shaft, and in
whose wake the froth and air bubbles churned up by the propeller
trailed in a narrowing line to the darkness of the horizon.
[Illustration: "THE RAILING GAVE WAY, AND HE FELL BACKWARDS INTO THE
SEA WITH A SPLASH."]
There was a concert on board. All the passengers were glad to break the
monotony of the voyage, and gathered around the piano in the
companion-house. The decks were deserted. The man had been listening to
the music and joining in the songs. But the room was hot, and he came
out to smoke a cigarette and enjoy a breath of the wind which the
speedy passage of the liner created. It was the only wind in the Red
Sea that night.
The accommodation-ladder had not been unshipped since leaving Aden, and
the man walked out on to the platform, as on to a balcony. He leaned
his back against the rail and blew a puff of smoke into the air
reflectively. The piano struck up a lively tune, and a voice began to
sing the first verse of "The Rowdy Dowdy Boys." The measured pulsations
of the screw were a subdued but additional accompaniment. The man knew
the song. It had been the rage at all the music halls, when he had
started for India seven years before. It reminded him of the brilliant
and busy streets he had not seen for so long, but was soon to see
again. He was just going to join in the chorus, when the railing, which
had been insecurely fastened, gave way suddenly with a snap, and he
fell backwards into the warm water of the sea amid a great splash.
[Illustration: "THE LIGHT OF THE SHIP GOT SMALLER AND SMALLER AS HE
THREW UP HIS HANDS AND SANK."]
For a moment he was physically too much astonished to think. Then he
realised that he must shout. He began to do this even before he rose to
the surface. He achieved a hoarse, inarticulate, half-choked scream. A
startled brain suggested the word "Help!" and he bawled this out
lustily and with frantic effort six or seven times without stopping.
Then he listened.
"Hi! hi! clear the way
For the Rowdy Dowdy Boys."
The chorus floated back to him across the smooth water, for the ship
had already passed completely by. And as he heard the music a long stab
of terror drove through his heart. The possibility that he would not be
picked up dawned for the first time on his consciousness. The chorus
started again--
"Then--I--say--boys,
Who's for a jolly spree?
Rum--tum--tiddley--um,
Who'll have a drink with me?"
"Help! help! help!" shrieked the man, in desperate fear.
"Fond of a glass now and then,
Fond of a row or noise;
Hi! hi! clear the way
For the Rowdy Dowdy Boys!"
The last words drawled out faint and fainter. The vessel was steaming
fast. The beginning of the second verse was confused and broken by the
ever-growing distance. The dark outline of the great hull was getting
blurred. The stern light dwindled.
Then he set out to swim after it with furious energy, pausing every
dozen strokes to shout long wild shouts. The disturbed waters of the
sea began to settle again to their rest. The widening undulations
became ripples. The aërated confusion of the screw fizzed itself
upwards and out. The noise of motion and the sounds of life and music
died away.
The liner was but a single fading light on the blackness of the waters
and a dark shadow against the paler sky.
At length full realisation came to the man, and he stopped swimming. He
was alone--abandoned. With the understanding his brain reeled. He began
again to swim, only now instead of shouting he prayed--mad, incoherent
prayers, the words stumbling into one another.
Suddenly a distant light seemed to flicker and brighten. A surge of joy
and hope rushed through his mind. They were going to stop--to turn the
ship and come back. And with the hope came gratitude. His prayer was
answered. Broken words of thanksgiving rose to his lips. He stopped
and stared after the light--his soul in his eyes. As he watched it, it
grew gradually but steadily smaller. Then the man knew that his fate
was certain. Despair succeeded hope. Gratitude gave place to curses.
Beating the water with his arms, he raved impotently. Foul oaths burst
from him, as broken as his prayers--and as unheeded.
The fit of passion passed, hurried by increasing fatigue. He became
silent--silent as was the sea, for even the ripples were subsiding into
the glassy smoothness of the surface. He swam on mechanically along the
track of the ship, sobbing quietly to himself, in the misery of fear.
And the stern light became a tiny speck, yellower but scarcely bigger
than some of the stars, which here and there shone between the clouds.
Nearly twenty minutes passed, and the man's fatigue began to change to
exhaustion. The overpowering sense of the inevitable pressed upon him.
With the weariness came a strange comfort. He need not swim all the
long way to Suez. There was another course. He would die. He would
resign his existence since he was thus abandoned. He threw up his hands
impulsively and sank. Down, down he went through the warm water. The
physical death took hold of him and he began to drown. The pain of that
savage grip recalled his anger. He fought with it furiously. Striking
out with arms and legs he sought to get back to the air. It was a hard
struggle, but he escaped victorious and gasping to the surface. Despair
awaited him. Feebly splashing with his hands he moaned in bitter
misery--
"I can't--I must. O God! let me die."
The moon, then in her third quarter, pushed out from behind the
concealing clouds and shed a pale, soft glitter upon the sea. Upright
in the water, fifty yards away, was a black triangular object. It was a
fin. It approached him slowly.
His last appeal had been heard.
[Illustration: "UPRIGHT IN THE WATER, FIFTY YARDS AWAY, WAS A BLACK
TRIANGULAR OBJECT--A FIN."]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: As by a very remarkable coincidence there are two Winston
Churchills, both writers, we may mention that this Mr. Churchill is the
son of the late Lord Randolph Churchill.]
_THE HARMSWORTH MAGAZINE, VOL. I._
NOW READY.
With the present January number Six Numbers of the Harmsworth Magazine
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OF BEAUTIFUL AND INTERESTING PICTURES.
[Illustration: A SPANISH PEACE COMMISSIONER.
_From the Painting by Hal Hurst._]
[Illustration: NAPOLEON'S FLIGHT AFTER WATERLOO--"SAUVE QUI PEUT!"
_From the Painting by A. C. Gow, R.A._
By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., Bond Street, W.]
[Illustration: A LITTLE DEAR.
_From a Photo by Baron A. von Meyer IV._]
[Illustration: THE GIRL OF THE PERIOD.
_From the Painting by Heywood Hardy._
_By Permission of the Berlin Photography Co., Bond Street, W._]
[Illustration: "ANDRÉE, INDEED! I WAS THERE LONG AGO!"
_From the Painting by T. C. Hepworth_.]
[Illustration: A VERY OLD, OLD STORY.
_From the Painting by L. Alma Tadema, R.A._
_By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., Bond Street, W._]
[Illustration: HAPPY AS A KING.
_Gunn and Stuart, Photo_.]
[Illustration: IN RUSSIA--THE TERROR OF THE PLAIN.
_By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., Bond Street, W._]
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes
The beginning title and Table of Contents were not part of the original
magazine. Some illustrations have been moved from their original
positions in order to avoid breaking up paragraphs of text.
Page 626: Retained "passed" although author meant "past".
(Orig.: I did not speak, but looked towards her, looked passed her)
Page 660: Corrected illustration number from 32 to 23.
(Orig.: 32. HENRY BENSON, SWINDLER AND FORGER.)