There is a sadness attached to the task of describing Henty's
capabilities as a war correspondent, from the fact that so many of his
colleagues and brothers of the pen who knew him well and went to the
front have passed away. Some who shared the lot of the brave officers
and men, ran the same risks, and died the same deaths. Cameron was shot
soon after being at a farewell dinner at his club, where he sat next to
the writer of these lines; Pearce, though he lived through the horrors
and starvation of the siege of Ladysmith--to see by the strange working
of fate his own son ride up in the train of Lord Dundonald with the
gallant relief party, as one of the volunteers--came back a mere shadow
of his former self and died soon after, weakened by the privations
connected with his duties; Archibald Forbes, possibly the hardest worker
and most energetic of all, shortened his life in the cause of duty; and
the same may be said of Henry Stanley; while of those who might have
supplied many recollections or anecdotes, and who knew Henty well, death
has claimed a long roll of brothers of the pen and correspondents,
including Charles Williams, Godfrey Turner, Walter Wood, and Robert
Brown.
One good old friend, active as ever, William Senior, now editor of _The
Field_, gives a genial tribute to Henty's memory from personal knowledge
when he says, that as a special correspondent his readiness to help, and
the practical manner in which he set about his work, combined with the
thoroughness with which he took care of every small detail, were at once
an encouragement and a stimulus to his colleagues.
Fortunately one has at command Henty's own description of what he
considers a special correspondent should be. To begin with, he says
that he should be a man capable of supporting hardships and fatigues;
that he should possess a certain amount of pluck, a good seat in the
saddle such as would enable him to manage any mount whose services he
could command; and lastly, that he should have the manners of a
gentleman and the knack of getting on well with all sorts and conditions
of men. This is a good deal to expect from one man, but without being
eulogistic it may rightly be said that Henty possessed all these
qualifications.
To a certain extent he was gifted with these qualities by nature, and
where he felt himself to be wanting in any one point, his energy urged
him to strengthen that weakness and strain every nerve until he had
mastered the failing.
Accident has had much to do with the making of war correspondents, as in
his own case; but Dr Russell and Wood of the _Morning Post_ had both
been connected with the press before being sent to the Crimea.
Sometimes, however, military men with a ready gift of writing have
offered their services to report on the wars in which their regiments
were engaged, as in the case of Captains Hozier and Brackenbury, who
made excellent correspondents and still continued in the army.
Archibald Forbes, when quite a young man, served in a cavalry regiment,
and after leaving the army did a little reporting before going out with
a sort of roving commission to the Franco-German War. Thence he sent
divers reports to a London newspaper, with the unpleasant result of
being recalled, and this, too, at a time when he was primed with news of
the most important nature. So special was his information, and of such
extreme value, that, without writing a line, as he told the writer, he
hurried over to England with all the speed possible, presented himself
at the _Times_ office, and asked to see the editor. In most newspaper
offices, when the application is made by a perfect stranger, this is a
privilege that the busy head of an important paper is rather loath to
grant, and a messenger was sent out to Forbes asking his business.
Forbes's reply was that he had come straight from the front with most
important news, and he was told, after sending in that message, that if
he would write an article containing what he had to communicate, the
editor would consider his manuscript, and, if it were approved, use and
pay for it. Forbes told me in his sharp military way that he was not
going to write and be treated like that, knowing how important was his
information; and he said, "I went out from the _Times_ office, walked
into Fleet Street, and stood at the edge of the pavement half-way
between, hesitating as to whether I should go to the _Telegraph_ office,
or down Bouverie Street to the _Daily News_."
His hesitation did not last long. He went down the latter street and
asked to see the manager. He was shown in at once to the office of my
old friend, the late Sir John Robinson (Mr Robinson in those days), who
listened to what he had to say, and like the keen man of business that
he was, he grasped the value of Forbes's information, and told him to go
into a room which he pointed out and write a column. This he did, and
it was put into type as fast as it was written. Soon after it was done
he asked to see the manager again, and being shown in once more, Sir
John Robinson said, "Have you got any more?"
"Yes," said Forbes; "plenty."
"Then go and write another column."
This was written in turn, and after it was done Forbes, still rather
indignant about his previous ill-successes with the press, and not being
blessed with Henty's way of dealing with all sorts and conditions of
men, took offence at some words spoken by Sir John, which roused his
acerbity and resulted in his being highly offended and leaving the
manager's room in dudgeon. The _Daily News_ "chief" was taken by
surprise at the way in which the hot-blooded Scot had quitted him, and,
hurrying down the stairs out into Bouverie Street, he overtook the angry
ex-dragoon in Fleet Street. Having thus captured him and brought him
back to his own room, he explained to him laughingly that he wanted him
to go on writing until he had exhausted his information, and then he was
to go off back immediately to the front as the representative of the
_Daily News_, with full munitions, and to send over at his discretion
all information that he could collect concerning the war.
This was a strange commencement of the important career of one who in
the opinion of journalists began at once to make a brilliant name for
himself, for this, Forbes's first literary coup, placed him at one
stride in the same rank as William Howard Russell of the _Times_, the
well-known author of _My Diary in India_. The opinion of the
journalistic world was directly endorsed by the British public, who
proved it by sending up the circulation of the _Daily News_ to a
wonderful extent throughout the war; and this lasted until the day when,
passing by the _Daily News_ publishing office in Fleet Street, the
writer saw posted up Forbes's terse telegrams announcing to an
astonished world the utter defeat of the French. The rest is familiar
history.
Henty states that a good seat upon a horse is one of the valuable
qualifications for a war correspondent, for it may come to pass that
when at great risk and effort the gleaner of intelligence has obtained
his requisite information by following the vicissitudes of the campaign
wheresoever the battle rages, he may find himself perhaps thirty or
forty miles away from the nearest telegraph station. There is nothing
to be done in such a case but for the correspondent to write his
valuable despatch as crisply and as carefully as possible, and then ride
away at full speed so as to get the message at the earliest moment upon
the wires. This task accomplished, he must, after a brief rest, mount
once more and return to the front.
Later, it was in this way that, during the Zulu War, Forbes was the
first to send home an account of the Battle of Ulundi, bearing with him,
so trusted was he, some of the general's despatches as well as his own
report. Where, however, the telegraphic facilities are not within
reach, it is necessary for the correspondent to entrust the report he
has written to the official post-bag, for he dare not absent himself
long from the front, not knowing what events of importance may happen
while he is away.
In the Franco-German war another correspondent, Beattie Kingston--
polished gentleman, scholar, and able musician, who had been
representing the _Daily Telegraph_ in Vienna and elsewhere--was acting
as correspondent with the German army; and of other war correspondents
it remains to mention the familiar names of Bennett Burleigh and E.F.
Knight, the latter of whom distinguished himself by writing the
brilliant little account of _The Cruise of the "Falcon"_, which reads as
graphically as if it had come from the pen of Defoe. After Knight had
taken up the risky duties of reporting wars, and had been sent to the
Pamir to report our little frontier engagement with the restless
mountain tribes, he did something more than go to the front, for in one
of the engagements he was with a little column whose officers were all
shot down, and with the splendid energy and pluck of the fighting penman
he dashed into the fighting line, took the place of the fallen leader,
and led the men to success.
This struggle--not his own special fight, for he is too simple and
modest a man to play the part of Plautus's braggart captain--he recorded
in his work, _Where Three Empires Meet_. Later, when journalism claimed
him again to be the war correspondent and he went out to the Boer War,
news came to the little club of which he is one of the most popular
members, that he was with the advancing line of the 42nd Highlanders at
Magersfontein and had been shot down. He lay with the rest of the
unfortunates of that saddening day, trusting for first aid to one of the
sergeants of the regiment who knelt down to bandage his shattered arm,
panting with excitement to be off the while.
Another sufferer this in the great cause of gathering the freshest news,
for E.F. Knight paid dearly for his well-earned fame. He was sent down
with another wounded man picked out from about forty hopeless cases,
"just to give me a chance," and though he suffered the complete loss of
an arm, he finally recovered, thanks to Sir Frederick Treves. After
this he studied and practised the art of writing quickly and clearly
with his left hand, and from the Far East sent graphic reports of the
Russo-Japanese War. That is the kind of stuff of which George Henty's
friends and companions were made.