Colonel Warren, to whom the direction of the search-expedition was
entrusted[108], had discovered who they were, and had found some
scattered remains of their unfortunate victims in the gulf which they
hoped would conceal them for ever. In January 1883 he read the solemn
burial service of the Church at the spot in the presence of the brother
and sister of Lieutenant Charrington; after which, according to military
custom, the officers present fired three volleys across the torrent. On
the hill above they raised a huge cairn, 17 feet in diameter, and 13
feet in height, surmounted by a cross, which the Bedouin were charged,
at their peril, to preserve intact. Of the actual murderers three were
executed, as also were two headmen for having incited them to the crime.
Others were imprisoned for various terms of years, and the Governor of
Nakhl, who was proved to have been privy to the murder, and near the
place at the time, was imprisoned for a year and dismissed the service.
The end of Meter ibn Sofieh was strangely retributive. He had led the
party out of their way into an ambuscade[109], probably for the paltry
gain of £3000, for we have seem that his nephew escaped with the gold,
and £1000 was afterwards found in the place where he knew it was hid; he
had betrayed the man with whom he had solemnly eaten bread and salt in
Misleh’s camp only a month before; he hid himself in the Desert for
awhile, then he gave himself up, and told as much of the story as he
probably dared to tell; then he fell ill—his manner had been strange
ever since the murder, it was said—he was taken to the hospital at Suez,
and there he died. These, however, were only instruments in the hands of
others. The influence which Sheikh Abdullah was exercising in the Desert
was soon known at Cairo, and the Governor of El Arish was sent out to
bring him in dead or alive; the Bedouin swore that Arabi had promised
£20 for every Christian head; the murder itself was planned at Cairo, by
men high in place, for Colonel Warren complains over and over again that
the Shedides thwarted his proceedings, and let guilty men escape. And
after the guilt of Egypt comes the guilt of Turkey: Hussein Effendi, a
Turkish notable at Gaza—a man who might have been of the greatest
service—was not allowed by the Porte to help in bringing the guilty to
justice; and there were other indications that further inquiry was not
desired. The murder in the Wady Sudr is one more count in the long
indictment against the Turk which the Western Powers will one day be
compelled to hear; and, after hearing, to pronounce sentence.
The remains discovered by Colonel Warren were reverently gathered
together and sent home to England, and in April, 1883, they were
interred in the crypt of S. Paul’s Cathedral. A single tablet, placed
near the grave, records the names of the three Englishmen and their
faithful attendants who died for their country in the Wady Sudr, and now
find a fitting resting-place among those whose deeds have won for them a
world-wide reputation.
Not once or twice in our rough island-story
The path of duty was the way to glory.
FRANCIS MAITLAND BALFOUR.
On Sunday evening last the news reached Cambridge that Professor Balfour
had met with a fatal accident in the Alps near Courmayeur[110]. It was
only in November of last year that we drew attention to the
extraordinary merits of his _Treatise on Comparative Embryology_, then
just completed[111]. We felt that a ‘bright particular star’ had risen
on the scientific horizon; and we expected, from what we knew of the
great abilities and unremitting energy of the author, that year by year
his reputation would be increased by fresh discoveries. But
Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,
And burned is Apollo’s laurel bough;
the pride which the University took in one of her most popular and
distinguished members is changed to an outburst of passionate regret;
and all that his friends can do is to attempt a brief record of a
singularly brilliant career, a tribute of affection to be laid upon his
grave.
Mr Balfour was a younger son of the late Mr J. M. Balfour of
Whittinghame, near Prestonkirk, and of the late Lady Blanche Balfour, a
sister of Lord Salisbury. He entered at Trinity College, Cambridge, from
Harrow, in October 1870. He brought from school the reputation of being
a clever boy, whom the masters liked and respected, but of not
sufficient ability to distinguish himself remarkably at Cambridge. Those
who expressed this opinion overlooked the fact that he had already
evinced a decided bent for Natural Science, and had published a brief
memoir on the geology of his native county, Haddingtonshire. In his very
first term he was fortunately induced to attend the biological lectures
of the Trinity Prælector in Physiology, Mr Michael Foster; he made rapid
progress, and at Easter 1871 he obtained the Natural Science Scholarship
at Trinity College. He at once commenced original research in the
direction in which he was afterwards to be so distinguished; and after
two years’ work published a paper on _The Development of the Chick_ in
the _Microscopical Journal_ for July, 1873. Indeed, we believe that the
time spent on this and kindred investigations diminished somewhat the
brilliancy of his degree, for he was placed second instead of first, as
had been expected, in the Natural Sciences Tripos of 1873.
In November of that year he was nominated by the Board of Natural
Science Studies to work at the Zoological Station at Naples, then lately
established by Dr Anton Dohrn. His object in going there was to continue
his investigations on Development, and before starting he had determined
to study the Elasmobranch Fishes (Sharks and Rays), as it seemed likely,
from their pristine characters, that their development would throw great
light on the early history of vertebrate animals. The result showed how
wisely he had made his selection. He made discoveries of the highest
value in reference to the development of certain organs, and the origin
of the nerves from the spinal cord—points which had baffled the most
acute previous observers. These were not merely valuable for the history
of the special group from which they were derived, but threw a flood of
light upon the connexion between vertebrates and invertebrates, and
their derivation from a common ancestry; views which he expanded
afterwards in his work on Embryology. The results of his Neapolitan
researches were embodied in the dissertation upon which he rested his
candidature for a Fellowship at Trinity College; and were afterwards
printed in the _Philosophical Transactions_ for 1875. Fortunately for
him, a Natural Science Fellowship was vacant in 1874, to which he was
elected, in consequence of the value of this dissertation. It is what is
called an open secret that its great merits were at once recognized by
Professor Huxley, to whom it had been referred.
From that time forward Balfour devoted himself unremittingly to
continuous research in preparation for his systematic treatise on
Embryology, the plan of which he had already sketched out, and which was
finally completed and published in 1881. Before this appeared, however,
he had published numerous papers of great value, covering nearly the
whole range of his subject. Many of these will be found in the
_Quarterly Journal of Microscopical Science_, of which he was one of the
editors. As an original investigator he had no equal. He was skilful in
manipulation, and observed rapidly and exactly, so that no point escaped
his notice. His mind was calm and wholly free from prejudice, with a
singularly broad and original grasp, which enabled him to seize, with
readiness and sureness, the principle which lay under a number of
apparently discordant facts. At the same time, like every true genius,
he was singularly modest and retiring, always ready to depreciate the
value of his own work, and to put forward that of others, especially of
men younger than himself. We know of many students, now rising to
distinction, who owe their first success to his generous encouragement,
and, we may add, in some cases to his bountiful assistance, given with a
delicacy which doubled the value of the gift. It was this strong desire
to encourage others to work at Natural Science that induced him, in
1875, to undertake a class in Animal Morphology, or, as it used to be
called, Comparative Anatomy. At first only a few students presented
themselves, and one small room at the New Museums was sufficient for
their accommodation. The class, however, grew with surprising rapidity;
and, after Mr Balfour’s appointment as Natural Science Lecturer to
Trinity College, it became necessary to build new rooms for his use.
During the year 1881 the numbers had reached an average of nearly sixty
in each term; and just before he left England for the excursion which
has ended so fatally he had superintended the plans for a yet further
extension of the Museum Buildings.
His reputation as a successful teacher soon became known far and wide;
students came from a distance to work under his direction; and he
received tempting offers to go elsewhere. It need no longer be a secret
that, after the death of Professor Wyville Thompson, the Chair of
Natural History at Edinburgh was offered to him; or that, after the
death of Professor Rolleston, he was strongly urged by the leading men
in Natural Science at Oxford to accept the Linacre Professorship of
Anatomy and Physiology. But he was devoted to Cambridge, and nothing
would induce him to leave it. His refusal of posts so honourable induced
the University, somewhat tardily perhaps, to recognize his merits, and a
new Professorship was established in the course of last term for that
especial purpose. We extract a few sentences from the Report in which
the Council of the Senate recommended this step[112]:
The successful and rapid development of biological teaching in
Cambridge, so honourable to the reputation of the University, has been
formally brought to the notice of the Council. It appears that the
classes are now so large that the accommodation provided but a few years
ago has already become insufficient, and that plans for extending it are
now occupying the attention of the Museums and Lecture-Rooms Syndicate.
It is well known that one branch of this teaching, viz. that of Animal
Morphology, has been created in Cambridge by the efforts of Mr F. M.
Balfour, and that it has grown to its present importance through his
ability as a teacher and his scientific reputation.
The service to the interests of Natural Science thus rendered by Mr
Balfour having been so far generously given without any adequate
Academical recognition, the benefit of its continuance is at present
entirely unsecured to the University, and the progress of the department
under his direction remains liable to sudden check.
It has been urgently represented to the Council that the welfare of
biological studies at Cambridge demands that Mr Balfour’s department
should be placed on a recognized and less precarious footing, and in
this view the Council concur. They are of opinion that all the
requirements of the case will be best met by the immediate establishment
of a ‘Professorship of Animal Morphology’ terminable with the tenure of
the first Professor.
It is a melancholy satisfaction, when we think how short his life
was—for he would not have been thirty-one years of age until November
next—that so many honours had been showered upon him. He became a Fellow
of the Royal Society in 1878; in the autumn of 1881 he received the
Royal Medal; and in 1882 he was elected a member of the Council. He was
President of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, and became General
Secretary of the British Association at the York Meeting in August 1881.
But it is not merely as a man of science that Mr Balfour will be
remembered. He was not one of those enthusiasts who can see nothing
beyond the limits of their own particular studies. He was a man of wide
sympathies and interests. He devoted much time and attention to College
and University affairs; and was an active member of numerous Syndicates,
to whose special business he applied himself with infinite energy. He
was also a keen politician on the Liberal side, and an ardent University
reformer. His complete mastery of facts, his retentive memory, and his
admirable powers of reasoning, made him a formidable antagonist in
argument; but, though he rarely let an opportunity for vindicating his
own opinions go by without taking full advantage of it, we never heard
that he either lost a friend or made an enemy. He was so thoroughly a
man “who bore without abuse the grand old name of gentleman,” that he
could never be a mere disputant. He approached every subject with the
earnestness of sincere conviction, and he invariably gave his opponents
credit for a sincerity equal to his own. It was only when he found
himself opposed to presumption, shallowness, or ignorance, that the
natural playfulness of his manner ceased, his mild and delicate features
darkened to an unwonted sternness, and his habitually gentle voice grew
cold and severe. We have heard it said that he was too uniformly
earnest, that he took life too seriously, and that he lacked the saving
grace of humour. But his earnestness was perfectly genuine, and he would
have joined hands with the Philistines in scorning the follies of the
“intense.” With the undergraduates he was immensely popular. Besides his
great success as a teacher, he had the inestimable gift of sympathy;
they felt that they had in him a friend who thoroughly understood them,
and they trusted him implicitly; while the members of his own special
class regarded him with a veneration which it has been the lot of few
teachers to inspire. Nor was his influence upon men older than himself
less remarkable. They were fascinated by his exquisite courtesy; his
quiet, high-bred dignity; his respect for the opinions and feelings of
others. No one of late years has exerted so strong a personal influence
in the University. It was the vigour of this personality which enabled
Natural Science to take the place it now occupies in Cambridge life. He
began to teach at a time when the rising popularity of science was
regarded with dislike and suspicion by not a few persons. He left it
accepted as one of the studies of the place. What will happen now that
he has been taken away it is hard to foresee. We hope and believe that
Natural Science is too deeply rooted at Cambridge to be permanently
affected by even his loss. We trust that the strong efforts which will
be made to keep together the school which he had created may be
successful; but we fear that it will soon be evident that the members of
the University have lost not merely a very dear friend, but also a
master.
_29 July, 1882._
HENRY BRADSHAW.
The past twelve months have been singularly fatal to Cambridge; but no
loss has caused grief so widespread and so sincere as that of the
distinguished scholar and man of letters who passed quietly away while
sitting at his library-table on the night of last Wednesday week[113].
If proof were needed of the respect in which he was held, we have only
to point to the vast assemblage of past and present members of the
University which filled the chapel of King’s College on Monday last to
do honour to his funeral. Nor will the grief be confined to Cambridge.
Though Mr Bradshaw rarely quitted his own University, and took no
trouble to bring himself into notice, few men were more highly
appreciated, both at home and abroad. It is hardly necessary to observe
that this recognition of his merits was of no sudden growth. We can
recall the time when he was working silently and unknown, and when even
a small circle of devoted friends had not realised the extent and
thoroughness of those studies which he carefully kept in the background.
But gradually the world of letters became aware that there were many
points in bibliography and kindred subjects which could not be set on a
right footing unless the inquirer were willing to pay a visit to him. No
one who did so had any cause to regret his journey. He was certain to be
received with a courtesy which, we regret to say, is nowadays commonly
called old-fashioned, and to find himself before he left far richer than
when he came. Mr Bradshaw was the most unselfish of men; and the stores
of his knowledge were invariably laid open, freely and ungrudgingly, to
every inquirer, provided he was satisfied that the work proposed would
be thoroughly well done. He was modest to a fault; and we believe that
he really preferred to remain in the background, while others, at his
suggestion and with his help, worked out the subjects in which he took
special interest. It was no fault of theirs if his share in their work
remained a secret. His generous wish to help others forward made him
refuse more than once, as we well know, to allow his name to appear in
connexion with work that he had really done; and posterity will have to
tax its ingenuity to discover, from a few words in a preface or a line
in a note, how much belongs of right to him. Nor was it only in subjects
with which he was specially familiar that his help was valuable. He
seemed equally at home in all branches of knowledge. He knew so
thoroughly how materials should be used, and in what form the results
would be best presented, that, whether the subject were art, or
archeology, or history, or bibliography, or early English texts, his
clear and accurate judgment went straight to the point, and reduced the
most tangled facts to order. But, devoted student as he was, he was no
bookworm. He took the liveliest interest in all that was going on around
him. His strong common sense, his kind, charitable nature, and his habit
of going to the bottom of every question presented to him, enabled him
to sympathize with those who had arrived at conclusions widely different
from his own. As a younger man he was too reserved, too diffident of
himself, to feel at ease in the society of men of his own standing. He
thought they disliked him, and this idea increased his natural
sensitiveness and his love of retirement. The truth was that he was too
honest to be popular. Like Alceste in _Le Misanthrope_, he would rebuke
insincerity and pretentiousness with a few blunt stern words that made
the offender tremble; and, if he disliked anybody, as happened
sometimes, he took no pains to conceal it. Hence he was respected, but
he was not liked. By slow degrees, however, the natural geniality of his
disposition gained the upper hand, and the warm heart which beat under
that calm exterior was allowed to assert itself. The old severity of
denunciation, instead of being exercised on individuals, was reserved
for slovenly work, unjust criticism, or unfair treatment. He began to go
more into society, in which he took a keen pleasure, though he would
rarely allow himself to spend what he called an idle evening. At all
times he had sought the company of young people. At a period when
undergraduates hardly ventured to speak to men older than themselves,
his quiet kindness attracted them to him, and obtained their confidence.
In him they were certain of a friend whose sympathy never failed them,
and from whom, no matter what trouble or difficulty had befallen them,
they were sure of advice and help. Many a man now successful in life may
thank him for the influence which, exercised at a critical time,
determines a career for good; and not a few have been enabled by his
generosity to begin the studies in which they are now distinguished.
The events of such a life are not numerous. Mr Bradshaw was born 2
February, 1831. He was educated at Eton College, on the foundation, and
came up to King’s College, Cambridge, in February, 1850. He proceeded to
the degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1854. At that time members of King’s
College were not obliged to submit themselves to University
examinations, but he and some others availed themselves of the
permission then accorded to them to do so, and he was placed tenth in
the second class of the Classical Tripos. Soon afterwards he accepted a
mastership at S. Columba’s College, near Dublin, then under the
direction of his old friend, the late Mr George Williams; but finding
tuition, after a few months’ trial, uncongenial to his tastes, he
returned to Cambridge, and to those studies which ended only with his
life. His connexion with the University Library began two years
afterwards. In 1856 he was appointed principal assistant, a post which
he resigned in 1858. In 1859 he returned to the Library as Keeper of the
Manuscripts, an office specially created for the purpose of retaining
his services, the value of which had even then been discovered. This
office he held until 1867, when, on the resignation of Mr J. E. B.
Mayor, he was elected librarian. From a boy he had been distinguished
for a love of books; but it was not until his return to Cambridge from
Ireland that he was able to devote himself seriously and systematically
to the study of bibliography in its widest sense, with all that is
subsidiary to it. Most of us know what a dreary subject bibliography is
when treated from the ordinary point of view. In his hands, however, it
acquired a human interest. He studied specimens of early printing, not
for themselves, but for the sake of the men who produced them. In
following out this system he went far more thoroughly than an ordinary
bibliographer cares to do into every particular of the book before him.
Paper, type, signature, tailpiece, were all taken into account, so as to
settle not only who printed the volume, but in what relation he stood to
his predecessors and successors.
Bradshaw had an unerring eye for detecting small differences in style, a
memory which never failed him, and an instinct of discovery little short
of marvellous. Again and again in well-known libraries, both in England
and on the Continent, he has been able, after a brief examination, to
point out important facts which scholars who had worked there for the
best part of their lives had failed to notice.