[Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL
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THE BRITISH NAVY,
AS IT WAS.
The return of the Arctic Expedition to this country after many months'
sojourn amid the ice-floes of the mysterious Polar Sea, has once more
directed public attention to that gallant service which has been the
glory and safeguard of these islands.
Though unsuccessful in its main object, the voyage to the North has
again brought out in high relief those admirable qualities which
are the characteristic of British sailors; for if devotion to duty,
courage, skill, and endurance could have enabled Captain Nares and his
brave companions to plant the glorious old meteor flag of Britain upon
that Ultima Thule of geographers, the summit of the earth, it would
have been braving there the fierce arctic gales at this moment. As it
is, however, they have written a brilliant page for our island story
that will not soon be forgotten, by carrying forward, in the face of
almost insurmountable difficulties, to the most northerly point yet
touched by the foot of man, the Union-jack of Old England.
Whether the royal navy--for we are mainly speaking of the service under
the crown--will maintain its ancient reputation in new circumstances,
is a matter of serious concern. The glory of the service was achieved
when ships were of wood, and propelled only by the winds. And it is
perfectly marvellous what was done under these conditions by all the
great commanders. Things are now greatly changed. Steam-power is
relied upon, along with huge batteries moved only by machinery. Ships
have become a kind of floating factories, depending on the skill of
engineers, and involving such an immense attention to minutiæ as to be
almost beyond human nature. The pluck of the English sailor remains, as
is observable from the Arctic Expedition; but it is a serious question
how far pluck and the most brilliant seamanship in a commander will be
able to perform deeds like those recorded in our naval annals. Before,
however, entering on speculations regarding the future (which we shall
do in a subsequent paper), we propose at present to recall to the
memory of our readers a few of the naval deeds performed in past times.
The British navy may be said to date the commencement of its fame from
the days of Elizabeth, when, under the command and guidance of such
eminent sailors and navigators as Lord Howard of Effingham, Drake,
Frobisher, and Hawkins, it accomplished the destruction of Spain's
mighty but over-ambitious fleet. Up to this period, however, very
little information can be gleaned as to the kind of men who manned
our ships, but the principal nurseries of the navy were the towns and
villages that lined the coasts. This was but natural, seeing that
these places were constantly exposed to the fierce attacks of pirates
and marauders of every description. Many of the common sailors were
natives of Devon and Cornwall, two counties that have always possessed
a race of men as renowned for their strength and courage as they are
remarkable for their nautical skill.
In former days deeds of daring were of frequent occurrence amongst
the English seamen, and may be found duly noted in the chronicles of
the period, though no reward or incentive to courage, except (in rare
instances) a small sum of money, was ever bestowed upon the humble
heroes. It is recorded, for instance, in an old tome which gives the
details of the various encounters that took place between the English
fleet and the Spanish Armada, how a common sailor named Hampton leaped
from the English admiral's ship on to the deck of a Spanish galleon
which had run alongside, and although he was immediately surrounded
by her fierce-looking crew, gallantly maintained his ground until the
grappling-irons were thrown and the Spaniard was held fast in the
death-grip of the Briton. In the struggle he had succeeded in killing
three men and wounding two officers, and the moment assistance reached
him he dashed forward to the mast and hauled down the Spanish ensign.
For this heroic act the brave fellow received the sum of 'three pounds!'
In the year 1642 we find the officers and men of the English navy
declaring that they were ready with their lives and fortunes to
defend and maintain 'the glory of God; the purity of that religion
which is most agreeable to the Word of God; the honour, freedom, and
preservation of his Majesty; the privileges of parliament, and the
liberty of the subject.' This oath did not, however, prevent them from
espousing the Parliamentary cause in that great struggle which ended
in the death of the sovereign they had sworn to preserve, and the
establishment of the Commonwealth. At this period many sons of noble
families served as common soldiers and sailors, and even the great Monk
(afterwards Duke of Albemarle, an admiral and general too) once served
as a private soldier in the fleet.
Many signal instances of the courage and devotion of the English sailor
occurred during the later wars with the Dutch; but as we have no space
to record them here, we must pass on to that more glorious period of
our naval history when the greatest sailor the world has ever seen,
first breathed the air of heaven within our sea-girt isle. During the
century which intervened between Monk and Nelson the navy was subjected
to varying fortunes, but was ever engaged in doing good service for
England in all parts of the world.
Compared with the monstrous armaments of these days, the fleet which
existed in the year when Nelson was born (1758) was astonishingly small
and weak, for it numbered no more than two hundred and nine vessels,
manned by about forty thousand seamen--the annual cost of the whole not
exceeding five millions. To recruit these ships, however, all kinds
of tyrannical measures were resorted to, the worst of which was the
abominable system of the press-gang, by which the unwary citizen was
liable to be entrapped and sent to sea against his will. This nefarious
business was carried on to a very great extent, each ship, when below
its complement, having the power to send out its own press-gang; and
numerous were the deeds of cruelty and oppression to which such a
wretched system gave rise. The spread of enlightenment during the
present century has naturally put an end to this state of things; and
at this moment England possesses a fleet manned by between eighty and
ninety thousand sailors, who have _voluntarily_ chosen a seafaring life
as their profession.
In those days of press-gangs it was not to be wondered at that a cruel
tyranny should have been practised by most of the officers upon those
who were subordinate to them, and the consequences were the mutinies
at Spithead and the Nore. The British sailor began to feel that it was
time his splendid services to his country were rewarded with something
better than the 'cat-o'-nine-tails,' and the blows and kicks of those
whose lives were daily, nay hourly at his mercy, and he resented the
ill-treatment in his own manner when it grew too bad to be borne any
longer. But even in this sad hour of his history Jack's heart was
in the right place, and in the midst of revenge, he exhibited a
chivalrous love of justice and fair-play which redounded highly to his
credit.
At Spithead the crew of the _London_ mutinied, and Admiral Colpoys gave
the order to the marines to fire down the hatchways. The death of some
of their comrades so enraged the mutineers that they rushed upon deck,
and would have made short work of the officers (indeed the rope was
already round the neck of one), when the admiral, stepping forward,
told the men that it was he who gave the orders to fire, and that those
orders came from the Lords of the Admiralty. The rope was taken off
the officer's neck instantly, and the admiral was requested to produce
his orders. After a little delay he did so, and handed them to the
leading mutineers, who instantly retired to deliberate on the question.
They decided that the admiral _only obeyed his orders_ in doing what
he had done, and permitted him and the other officers to leave the
ship unharmed. The mutineers, however, although they permitted their
officers to escape with their lives, forfeited their own, as they were
afterwards condemned to be hanged at the mast-head.
A sketch of the British navy, however brief we may make it, would
be incomplete without some mention of the life and services of that
incomparable commander and matchless sailor, Horatio Viscount Nelson,
together with a few instances of deeds of daring performed by the brave
seamen that served under him.
Brought up in a rough manner upon that element which was the cradle
of his fame, and in the midst of wars and rumours of wars, Nelson's
boyhood was passed in sheer hard work, which nought but an enthusiastic
love of his profession could have enabled his weak and emaciated
frame to bear. Yet to him is due England's proud place as mistress of
the seas. His life stands out clear and bright upon her annals as a
noble example of self-sacrifice and unremitting devotion to duty--an
example which cannot be too often placed before the youth of Britain. A
stranger to fear and a strict disciplinarian, he was yet generous to a
fault, and as sensitive as a woman.
His form was of the manliest beauty;
His words were kind and soft;
Faithful below he did his duty.
It is related of him that he never allowed corporal punishment to be
inflicted upon a seaman, except when it was made clear to him that it
could not possibly be avoided, and immediately on signing the sentence
he would bury his face in his hands and weep like a child.
Perfect sailor and brave man, he was ever the high-minded hero, and was
beloved by his officers and idolised by his men, inasmuch that they
were ever willing and ready at any moment to die for his sake. As an
instance of this, it may be mentioned that when the _Theseus_, a vessel
which had been in the mutiny at the Nore, joined his fleet abroad,
Nelson, who had just been appointed admiral, shifted his flag to her,
in order that nothing should be done to tamper with the dangerous
temper of the men. One morning, very shortly after he had done so, a
piece of paper, signed on behalf of all the ship's company, was dropped
on the quarter-deck, bearing the following words: 'Success attend
Admiral Nelson! God bless Captain Miller! We will shed every drop of
blood in our veins to support them, and the name of the _Theseus_ shall
be immortalised as high as her captain's!'
One of the crew of this ship, a sailor named John Sykes, was appointed
coxswain to the admiral's boat; and when Nelson, with a boat's crew of
only ten men, made a night attack on some Spanish gun-boats in Cadiz
harbour, this man actually saved the life of his great commander twice
by warding off with his cutlass blows aimed at the admiral, and at last
interposed his own head to receive a deadly blow directed at Nelson's
life. Had Sykes lived, Nelson had determined to make him a lieutenant,
for he declared that the man's manner and conduct was such that nature
must have intended him to be an officer and a gentleman.
The honour of the British flag is so dear to an English sailor, that he
has in many instances risked life itself to prevent the grand old piece
of bunting from becoming the 'property' of the enemy. In one notable
instance an attack was made on some shore batteries, and a force of
marines and sailors had been landed for the purpose. Having found,
however, that it was useless to sacrifice a number of valuable lives in
an attempt which had no apparent chance of success, orders were given
for a retreat to the boats. At the last moment it was observed that a
boat's flag, which had been planted on a garden-wall, as a signal to
the ships, had been left behind. A volunteer was instantly called for
to fetch the flag (which was waving defiantly on the breeze right in
front of the enemy's works), and a hero presented himself in the person
of a boatswain named M'Donald. This intrepid fellow went coolly back in
the midst of a heavy fire, seized the flag, waved it above his head,
and then carried it safely down to the boats, where he was received
with three hearty rounds of cheering by his comrades; and on the boats
reaching the ships the rigging of each vessel was manned in his honour.
In these glorious days it was more a question of men than ships; yet
had England possessed one-half of her present fleet, she might have
been the sole arbiter of the world's destinies. Nelson was the type
of a true British sailor; and no finer tableau can be imagined, or
one more gratifying to the pride of an ancient maritime race, than
that scene on board of the Spanish ship _San Josef_, when the great
Englishman, having captured the vessel after exclaiming, 'Westminster
Abbey or victory,' received on the quarter-deck of the Spanish
admiral's ship the swords of its officers. Behind him stood an old
sailor of the _Agamemnon_, whom Nelson knew, and this man received the
Spaniards' swords from the admiral and coolly bundled them up under his
arm like so many sticks of wood, and within gunshot of twenty-two sail
of the enemy's line.
Nelson's generosity and indomitable courage were contagious, and made a
hero of every man and boy in his fleet. At Aboukir he received what was
thought to be a mortal wound over the only eye which he had left; and
when he was removed to the cockpit, the surgeon immediately left the
poor sailor he was attending, to wait on his distinguished commander;
but Nelson, though _himself_ still in the hour of supreme pain, waved
the doctor away: 'No,' said he calmly; 'I will take my turn with my
brave fellows.' Nor would he suffer the wound to be touched until all
who had been previously wounded were attended to.
On the blowing up of the French ship _Orient_ at the same battle, the
British sailors dragged all the drowning Frenchmen within reach into
the port-holes of the English ships. In this act of humanity in the
midst of the carnage caused by war, they had been preceded, however, by
their great captain, who, notwithstanding his wound, on hearing that
the French admiral's vessel was on fire, rushed from the cockpit to the
deck, astonishing everybody by his sudden appearance, and ordered the
boats to the 'assistance of the enemy.'
A sailor standing near Nelson suddenly recognised in the sea, just
beneath the bulwarks of the ship, the face of a Frenchman who had
treated him kindly while a prisoner of war in France, and without the
slightest hesitation, he leaped into the water and seized hold of the
drowning man. The lives of both would have been sacrificed, had not
Nelson, who had witnessed the brave act (without knowing the motive
which prompted it), directed one of the boats to the spot.
Acts of bravery and devotion to duty were of course not wanting on the
side of the enemy. Captain Casabianca had been wounded by a splinter,
and when the fire broke out, his son, a boy of ten years, refused to
enter the boats into which the men were crowding, but stayed beside
his wounded father, and with the help of one of the officers, when the
fire advanced, the father and the boy got on to a floating mast. They
were seen there just before the _Orient_ blew up, but must have sunk
immediately afterwards.
At Copenhagen, Nelson, wishing, to communicate with one of the ships
which had grounded in the shallow water, asked for a volunteer who was
willing to undertake the task. A dozen sailors stepped forward to do
his bidding. One was chosen; and this man, named Troubridge, swam the
distance between the two vessels notwithstanding the storm of shot and
shell which fell into the sea on all sides of him. He was rewarded for
his brave act by the personal thanks of his great commander, who shook
hands with him, and made him a handsome present.
When Sidon was captured by Sir Charles Napier, an incident took place
which was specially mentioned in his despatches. A party of sailors
were landed to act against the town in conjunction with an Austrian
force, and the English flag was intrusted for a few moments to the
care of a sailor named Hunt. It could not have been given into better
hands, for the man was a hero, and directly the order to advance was
made, Hunt, jealous of his country's honour, and seeing the Austrian
flag-bearer hastening forward, ran a race with the latter, and
succeeded, after a desperate struggle, and in the midst of a terrible
storm of shot, in planting the Union-jack _first_ upon the ramparts
of the city. He afterwards received a commission for his brave and
patriotic act.
When that splendid victory at Trafalgar was gained, and paid for at
such a terrible price, Britain may be said to have been in the zenith
of her glory. Neither before nor since has England held such a high
place in the councils of the world. Trafalgar was indeed all her own;
there were no allies, no assistance of any kind, but simply her own
beloved 'wooden walls' and her _invincible_ sailors. The celebrated
signal which Nelson ran up to his mast-head at the commencement of the
action has become a household phrase wherever the English language is
spoken; and wherever, in any part of the globe, danger is to be met
or honour won for Britain, the greatest incentive to courage and duty
in the breast of an Englishman is the knowledge that 'England expects
every man to do his duty.'
At this battle a sailor named Berryman, anxious to be the first on
board the enemy's ship _Santissima Trinidad_, instead of boarding her
in the usual manner, leaped through the quarter-gallery window, and
found himself face to face with the Spanish officers in council. They
fired point-blank at him, but he was not hit, and he dashed right
through their midst, and rushing to the deck instantly began hauling
down the Spaniards' flag. He succeeded in his brave though rash deed,
but it cost him his life.
Owing to the fact that the French and Spanish fleets were completely
crushed at Trafalgar, no foreign country has ever since been enabled
to defy the power of England upon the sea, and the principal duty of
the British navy has now, for more than half a century past, been the
protection of English commerce on the great ocean highway, and the
suppression of the slave-trade.
This peaceable duty was, however, broken during the Crimean War, when
England's sailors once more exhibited the old spirit, but failed to
gain the opportunities for distinguishing themselves which fell to
the lot of their predecessors. The Russian fleet was always prudent
enough to keep beneath the cover of stone walls, and when these failed
at length to protect it, sooner than risk the loss of a battle, its
commanders sunk it beneath the waters of the Black Sea. What the
sailors could not do at sea, however, they did on land; for instance,
one gallant fellow, Ferguson, gained that noblest of all distinctions,
the Victoria Cross, for seizing a live-shell in his hands and flinging
it over the parapet of the battery occupied by the Naval Brigade; thus
saving many lives at the risk of his own.
In the face of all obstacles, the navy rendered excellent service on
several occasions, notably at the bombardment of Sevastopol, which
it soon made too warm to hold the Russian army. The old _Agamemnon_
went right in beneath the Muscovite batteries, without, however,
effecting the desired result. She was led into position by an English
merchantman, whose captain volunteered to take the soundings of
the harbour as the two vessels advanced; and this he succeeded in
accomplishing under a heavy fire, which struck down all his crew but
one--he being wounded himself--and crippled the gallant little ship.
The officers and crew of the _Agamemnon_ exhibited the same noble
spirit and stern devotedness to duty which impelled Nelson at
Copenhagen, when told that the admiral was signalling a retreat, to
place his glass to his blind eye, and give orders to nail his colours
to the mast. 'Thank God, I have done my duty!' exclaimed England's
darling hero, as he lay bleeding to death for her sake in the hour of
his greatest triumph; and we may thank God too that England may ever
rest assured, when the hour of danger comes and the war-clouds break
over her shores, that her sons will be found at their posts, true and
steadfast as of yore, guarding from dishonour, as Nelson and his brave
seamen did, the flag that has 'braved a thousand years the battle and
the breeze,' and shewing to an astonished and admiring world that 'the
path of duty is the way to glory.'
THE LAST OF THE HADDONS.
CHAPTER XIV.--A REVELATION.
I was saying a few words to the housekeeper, when one of the maids
came running in to tell me that Miss Farrar wanted me in the green
room immediately. 'I am afraid Miss Farrar is taken suddenly ill, or
something serious has happened, Miss; for she could hardly speak, and
told me to beg you not to delay a moment.'
Lilian ill! I hastened up-stairs as fast as my feet would carry me. It
was the room in which her father had died, and it had been shut up ever
since. I had advised her to have it opened and the furniture changed,
in order to destroy painful associations; and she had at length yielded
to my persuasions. But we decided that she and I were first to give
a last look through the cabinet before it was removed, she having
resolved to keep that one memento of her father in her own room. She
had gone on, and I was only waiting to give some instructions to the
housekeeper before following her.
I found her standing near the cabinet, which was open, with her eyes
fixed upon a paper she held in her hand, and looking as though she had
been suddenly turned to stone. Quietly and quickly closing the door,
and turning the key in the lock, I went towards her.
'What is it, Lilian?'
Without a word, she put the paper into my hands, then knelt down before
her father's chair, burying her face in her hands. I knelt down beside
her, and passing my arm round her waist, turned my eyes upon the paper.
I was in a measure prepared for some kind of calamity. But this! I read
the lines slowly through a second time:
I, JACOB FARRAR, take LUCY REED as my lawful wife, on
this twelfth day of January 1839, at this place, Dunkeld,
Perthshire, in the presence of the undersigned witnesses.
DONALD GREY, _Shepherd_
PETER FORBES, _Hostler_.
The date I knew to be three years previous to Mr Farrar's marriage with
Lilian's mother; and with that knowledge, something else broke upon me.
I myself had left that paper in the recess of the cabinet from which I
had taken the letters and little packet. I could even recollect having
had a moment's hesitation as to whether I should take it or not, when
I lifted the papers which lay upon it; but it looked so insignificant,
merely like a piece of blank paper folded together, that I let it
remain. From the moment my eyes fell upon its contents I recognised
that it was of vital importance to Lilian. Not a moment's doubt as to
its genuineness entered my head. Mr Farrar's anxiety to have those
papers destroyed was too vividly impressed upon my mind.
But my fear of what that paper might import, and my love for Lilian
notwithstanding, I strongly resented his having endeavoured to make me
an instrument to destroy it.
'Help me, Mary!'
Imagining that she was speaking in grief, instead of joy, I offered up
a mental prayer for strength to help her in the right way, then drew
her head on to my shoulder. 'I will, Lilian.'
'You think it is true?' she whispered, clinging to me.
As it happened, we had been lately reading about a much-talked-of will
case, in which a great deal depended upon the claimant being able to
prove a Scotch marriage; and both Lilian and I had taken sufficient
interest in the question to read up the evidence. We were therefore the
more startled by the discovery of the paper, and more ready to believe
in its genuineness than we might otherwise have been.
'I think there may be some possibility that it is genuine, Lilian,' I
hesitatingly replied; grieved as I was to say it, giving her my real
opinion.
'Ah, Mary, be glad with me!' she ejaculated, to my intense surprise;
for I still did not perceive what was in her mind. 'How could his child
have doubted him!' She rose exultant, adding with glowing cheeks and
brilliant eyes: 'Can I ever be thankful enough for his sake! No more
shame for me! Be glad with me, Mary.'
'I will, dear,' I returned, still a little bewildered at her joy,
'when--when I am quite sure there are good grounds for being glad.'
'Grounds? Do not you think it is genuine?' she asked eagerly. 'Look at
the dates--and names too.'
'Yes; I think--perhaps it may prove so. The signatures are in different
handwritings: it certainly looks like a genuine document,' I said
stupidly; 'but'----
'There must be no "buts!" Don't you see, dear slow darling that you
are, this proves Papa to have been an honourable gentleman, and takes
the shame of his wrong-doing from his child? Was not my shame greater
than hers, if he had wronged her mother?'
I saw now. But I saw too that another thing of terrible import to
herself had not occurred to her. After a few moments' reflection, I
said: 'Will you wait here five minutes for me, Lilian? I must send off
a letter I have written, to save the next post; but I will be back in
five minutes.' I really had a letter to send--an order to a London
tradesman, which the housekeeper wished to be attended to; but I should
not have thought of it at that moment, had I not been seeking about in
my mind for an excuse for leaving her a short time.
She looked not a little surprised; but replied: 'Of course I will wait,
if you wish it, Mary.'
'Promise me, Lilian--promise me that you will not leave this room until
I return?'
She gravely promised; and I hastened from the room and down-stairs,
my pulse beating tumultuously. Hurriedly throwing the letter on to
the hall table, I turned into the morning-room, where Marian Reed was
practising a new song. I was so far fortunate as to find her too much
occupied to notice my agitation, which must, I think, have been very
evident in my face. I found it difficult enough to command my thoughts,
much more the expression of my face. She did not notice my entrance
into the room, and that gave me a few moments to gather courage and
decide how I could best lead up to the subject I wanted to introduce.
I could think of no better way than putting a direct question. Catching
up a piece of Lilian's dainty embroidery, which lay in her work-basket,
and putting in a few random stitches, in the hope that it might appear
as if the idea had suddenly occurred to me whilst I sat working, I
asked: 'I suppose you have no recollection of your mother, Miss Reed?
Had she dark hair and eyes like your own--have you heard?'
'Ma? O yes; I recollect Ma perfectly well, Miss Haddon. Her eyes were
just a shade lighter than'----
'Some people have such wonderful memories. I have heard of people
recollecting things which occurred when they were quite babies,' I
put in; trying to speak lightly, as I dragged the needle through and
through, to the utter destruction of Lilian's delicate work.
'But I wasn't a baby when Ma died, you know.'
'About two years old, I suppose?'
'No; I was over five when Ma died, Miss Haddon.'
'You must be mistaken, I think. I recollect your aunt saying that you
were quite young--almost a baby,' I returned, bringing the words out
slowly and heavily.
'Well, five is almost a baby, isn't it?'--turning on the music-stool to
look at me.
'But I think you must be mistaken in fancying you were as old as
five. You could not have been much over two years and a half, or
three--perhaps three,' I pleaded. If what I feared was true, was I not
pleading for the good name of Lilian's mother?
'Well, I do think I ought to be allowed to know best about that, Miss
Haddon. I am over twenty, and Ma has been dead fifteen years.' Then
she added, with what was meant for satire: 'But if I can't be believed
about it, there's the register of my birth and Ma's death to be found,
I suppose; and it may not be _all_ stories on her tombstone, which
I must say Pa spared no expense about. It's in the churchyard at
Highgate, where Ma was staying for change of air when she died, if you
would like to go and see it.'
I folded the spoiled work carefully together, methodically replacing
it in the basket, first square, then corner-wise, as I tried to gather
up my scattered wits and prepare my face for Lilian's eyes again.
Fortunately, Marian Reed flattered herself that she had for once
succeeded in putting Mary Haddon down, and was in spirits accordingly,
singing away at the top of her voice again.
I quitted the room, and slowly made my way to the green chamber, where
Lilian was waiting for me.
'Well, Mary!' she ejaculated, turning a smiling happy face towards me
as I entered; 'have you come to set your prisoner free, madam?'
'Yes,' I replied, stupidly gazing at her.
'What makes you look at me like that, Mary?'
'How do I look?' I replied, with an attempt at a smile.
But her fears were aroused. 'Is it anything about this?' she anxiously
asked, looking down at the paper in her hand, and then into my face.
'I--I have been thinking the matter over, Lilian, and--I should like to
ask some one's advice.'
'Some one's advice?--About this, dear?' turning it over in her hand,
and then giving a wondering look at me.
'I mean as to its genuineness, Lilian.'
'I do not understand. These names are plain enough, and you thought
just now'----
'Oh, any one might have written these names without the document being
a binding one,' I said, catching at any hope. 'To be legal, it must
have been signed _in_ Scotland, you know; and there is no proof that it
was.'
'But you hope--Mary, do not you _hope_ that it is genuine?'
'I do not quite know what to hope, dearie,' I replied, with a would-be
careless air.
In her utter unconsciousness of the cause of my uneasiness, she could
not account for my want of sympathy, looking at me in some surprise.
Then, after a few moments' silence, she said in a low grave voice: 'I
know what to hope, Mary. I heartily hope that Marian's mother may have
been righted.'
Not once did it occur to her that it might be at the expense of her own
mother. How she would act when the whole truth broke upon her, remained
to be seen. I could not tell her whilst there seemed a thread of hope
to cling to; and I tried to persuade myself that my fears as to the
genuineness of that paper might yet prove to have been groundless.
'I think the best plan will be for me to write to Mr Wentworth, and
ask him to advise and assist us, Lilian. He will be able to ascertain
whether this is a _bonâ fide_ document, and represents a real marriage
or not. And until that is done, I strongly advise you to say nothing
about having found the paper.'
'Dear Mary, do you think there is so much necessity for secrecy about
it?'
'I do indeed, Lilian.' Then, seeing that she still demurred (it
seemed to her only natural and right at once to make known the
discovery of the paper, be the consequences what they might), I added,
diplomatically: 'I think it would be wiser not to raise Marian's hopes
until you are quite sure they will not be disappointed. It is a case in
which disappointment might be very terrible for her.'
'Yes; of course it would: I did not think of that. You are quite right,
dear cautious old darling that you are; and I will obey you, though I
do not myself fear disappointment.'
'Then it is understood that for the present it is to go no further; and
I will at once write to Mr Wentworth, inclosing him a copy of this;'
taking the paper from her reluctant fingers.
'You will be very careful of it, Mary? Recollect how much depends'----
'O yes; it will be safe enough,' I hurriedly replied, only anxious to
make my escape before she could change her mind.
Once in my room, with that paper in my own possession, I very quickly
had my nerves under command, and was ready for business, sitting down
to write my letter with a clear head and firm hand:
'MY DEAR MR WENTWORTH--In looking through a cabinet of her
father's, Lilian just now found the original of the paper which I
have copied, and inclose. _She_ sees in it only the vindication of
Marian's mother, and rejoices accordingly. Unknown to Lilian, I have
questioned Marian as to her age when her mother died. She insists
that she was over five years old, and that her mother has been dead
only fifteen years. If this be so, and this document is genuine, it
is not _Marian's_ mother who has been wronged; and the former will be
righted at the expense of our Lilian. You and I know that right will
be done, be the cost what it may to her. I need not say on which side
my sympathies are. I have not much hope; but hasten to send the paper
for your consideration, and beg you to act for her. Please go first to
Marian's aunt, Mrs Pratt, Green Street, Islington; and make sure about
the dates of Marian's birth and her mother's death before you take
measures to prove the validity of the marriage. I do not apologise for
asking this of you. To do our best for Lilian is a real privilege to
you and me, and I know that it is not necessary to beg you to lose no
time.'
A telegram was handed to me that night at tea-time--'_ROBERT WENTWORTH
to MISS HADDON--Letter received, and I am at work._' I shewed it to
Lilian, who returned it to me with a nod and smile.
Dear old Mrs Tipper looked somewhat surprised and Marian curious; but
surprised and curious they had to remain. Meantime the suspense was
terrible to me; I was so restless and unlike my ordinary self, that I
could do nothing, even in the way of occupying only my fingers. In my
discomfort I was impolitic enough to offend Marian Reed as I had not
yet done. The very sight of her irritated me, and her imperfections
seemed more glaring than ever. I think I should have grudged allowing
her credit for having a single good quality. A very slight event
brought my indignation to a climax.
'That is Lilian's box,' I sharply exclaimed, as she turned the key in
a little Indian box on one of the tables, and was turning over the
contents.
'I want some more of that purse-silk she gave me yesterday to finish
this chain with,' she carelessly replied, as she continued her search
roughly, or it seemed roughly to me in the frame of mind I was just
then, turning over Lilian's dainty little belongings. I was rude enough
to take the box from beneath her hands and lock it and take the key
out. I am ashamed to say that I was even conscious of feeling some
little gratification at arousing her anger.
'Well, I never! that's a polite thing to do!' she angrily ejaculated.
It was a very foolish thing to do; and on reflection, I knew that it
was; but for a moment it was very pleasant, and I persuaded myself that
it was almost necessary as a safety-valve to my spleen--to prevent a
more decided exhibition of my feelings.
When presently Lilian entered the room, Marian inquired in an injured
tone why she was not permitted to take a little more of the silk which
had been so freely given yesterday.
Lilian looked surprised. 'There is not the slightest reason why you
should not,' she replied, unconsciously taking the box up from where I
had placed it, and begging Marian to help herself.
'Thank you, dear. I knew _you_ would not be ill-natured,' said Marian,
with a toss of the head and triumphant glance towards me, as she placed
the box upon her lap and recommenced rummaging.
I was rightly punished for my little display of temper; although I was
aware that Marian would not consider my punishment sufficient. It was
an offence to be looked over for the time, but not forgotten as a thing
forgiven. However, as Robert Wentworth affirms, it may be just as well
that I should be occasionally taken down a little; and my lesson did me
some service in the way of making me more careful for the future.
THE GOOD TEMPLARS.
Who has not heard of the Good Templars, and the wonderful success of an
Order which bids fair to rival Freemasonry, and is already established
as an Institution in the country? The history of an organisation which,
within a few years, has enrolled within its ranks some two hundred
thousand persons in England alone, can scarcely be without interest,
even to those who may sympathise but slightly with its object or its
method of operation.
The almost universal desire to see some more efficient means adopted to
check our national curse, intemperance, and to promote true sobriety
among the people, must be our excuse for believing that every reader of
this _Journal_ will care to know something about the rise and progress
of this remarkable movement. We propose, therefore, to give our readers
a brief sketch of the history and principles of the Independent Order
of Good Templars, the members of which are all pledged to personal
abstinence from all intoxicating drink, and who are also associated
together with the avowed object of promoting the ultimate and universal
suppression of the liquor traffic, on the ground that its continuance
is incompatible with the social and moral well-being of the community.
Good Templary took its rise in the state of New York as long ago as
the year 1851; and its ramifications spread far and wide throughout
the Canadian Dominion, where our troops founded a branch called the
'Templar Sons of Mars.' But it was comparatively unheard of in this
country until 1868. A year or two earlier, a young man named Joseph
Malins had left Birmingham to settle in Philadelphia, where he became
connected with the Order. For domestic reasons, Mr Malins was compelled
to return to England; and having, soon after his return, conceived the
idea that Good Templary was capable of being made exceedingly useful in
his native country, he resolved to do his best to establish a 'lodge'
in Birmingham; which was accomplished with considerable difficulty
on the 8th September 1868. It was uphill work, for so slow were the
teetotalers of England to welcome the American importation, that twelve
months of hard work saw only four 'lodges' formed, the total membership
not exceeding a hundred persons.
The second year of the new society was also one of slow progress;
but Mr Malins, who had now become the Grand Worthy Chief Templar of
England, and to which post of honour he is annually re-elected, never
despaired of ultimate success, and with the usual characteristic
perseverance of an Englishman, 'kept pegging away' until his end was
attained.
At the last annual meeting of the supreme governing body in England, it
was reported that on the 1st May 1875 there were three thousand five
hundred and seventy 'lodges,' containing one hundred and six thousand
eight hundred and twenty-five male; and sixty-one thousand six hundred
female members; or a total of one hundred and sixty-eight thousand
four hundred and twenty-five; which has now increased to more than two
hundred thousand members. These statistics, however, do not include
Scotland, Ireland, and Wales.
Having thus stated the numerical strength of the Order, we will
furnish a brief outline of the principles which form the basis of its
government.
Every candidate for membership must give a solemn pledge of total
abstinence from all intoxicating drink, together with a promise to do
all in his power to promote the cause of temperance; another clause in
the obligation being, that he will not only take no part in knowingly
injuring a fellow-member, but will, if he is in distress, grant him
such assistance as will enable him to tide over his difficulties. In
this respect the Order is identical with the principles of freemasonry,
which seek to bind man to his fellow-man with ties of love and
gratitude.
The title of 'Good Templars' was chosen by the founders of the Order
as analogous to that of the 'Knights Templar' of the Crusades; thereby
indicating the stern and unrelenting nature of the moral war which was
to be carried on against the supporters of the liquor traffic.
Among the few preliminary tests to which candidates have to submit is
an inquiry as to whether they believe in the existence and power of
Almighty God as the Supreme Ruler and Governor of all. A committee
of inquiry having reported on the eligibility of a candidate, and
the ballot on his admission being favourable--four black balls being
sufficient to reject him--he is initiated with an impressive ceremonial
of some twenty minutes' duration, and thus becomes invested with the
rights and privileges of membership.
Singing and prayer form a principal part of the initiatory ceremonial,
the additional exercises being extempore, at the discretion of the
chaplain of the lodge, or else according to certain prescribed forms
contained in a book of ceremonies known as the 'ritual' of the order.
A password is framed quarterly, which enables a member to pass the
door-keepers, whose business it is to prevent the admission of
non-members at the weekly session of the lodge; and while the lodge is
sitting, each member wears the insignia of the order, the use of which
in public demonstrations is compulsory upon no one. A probationary
term of three months qualifies the new member for the second degree of
the Order, and a further term of three months to the third; certain
privileges, such as eligibility to sit in district or grand lodges,
being contingent upon the attainment of the higher degrees.
A subordinate lodge may be formed of any number of members not less
than ten, and each office is equally available to the male and female
members. Within certain prescribed limits, each lodge can, by its
by-laws, fix its own rate of subscription, minimum age of candidates,
&c.; while it has absolute control over its funds, using them for the
promotion of temperance principles in whatever way seems best to the
majority. Each lodge reports its numerical strength and other details
once a quarter to the district lodge with which it is connected,
and at the same time pays a tax of about twopence per member to the
district lodge, to the sessions of which it has the right of choosing
representatives in proportion to the number of members for whom the
tax is paid. Those who have worthily filled certain offices in a
subordinate lodge, are also deemed qualified to sit in the district
lodge, but not with the power to vote as representatives.
There are about seventy district lodges in England, most of which have
for their boundaries the limits of a county electoral division, such as
East, North, and South Devon, &c. There are also many Good Templars on
board our men-of-war, or in seaports much frequented by seamen of the
royal navy; and these naval lodges are formed into a district, of which
Captain Phipps, R.N. is deputy.
Each district lodge has a presiding officer bearing the title of
District Deputy; and the control of the business of the Order in the
district is vested in an executive chosen by the lodge, subject,
of course, to the votes of the representatives at the quarterly
meeting. From the several district lodges, representatives are chosen
to sit in the chief governing assembly for England, and which is
known as the Grand Lodge. The last meeting of this body was held at
Newcastle-on-Tyne during Easter-week 1876, and was presided over by
Mr Malins, the Grand Worthy Chief Templar of England, who is the only
paid officer of the order. His salary, or rather an annual grant in
recognition of his great services (for it has to be voted every year),
is five hundred pounds. On the occasion in question the representatives
or committee men at Grand Lodge numbered between five and six hundred,
and as the sitting was public so far as the members of the Order were
concerned, the capacity of the town-hall at Newcastle was tried to its
utmost. The session occupied four days, during which a vast amount of
business was done in connection with the Order, and many suggested
improvements discussed.
In 1875, Hengler's Circus, London, was used for the meeting of Grand
Lodge, and was filled to overflowing; while in 1874, St George's Hall,
Bradford; Colston Hall, Bristol, in 1873; and the Corn Exchange at
Preston in 1872 were crowded in like manner. But the assembly of each
succeeding year surpasses that which has preceded it both in numerical
strength and interest.
The internal affairs of the Order are carried on during the year by
an executive council of eight members, aided by a weekly consultation
committee. The offices of the Grand Lodge occupy a prominent position
in the centre of Birmingham; and a considerable staff of clerks is
required to conduct the enormous correspondence continually going on
with every part of the country, and to despatch temperance literature
and other matters requisite to carry out the business of district
and subordinate lodges. To meet the cost of this establishment and
other outlay, each district lodge remits a small quarterly tax, based
upon the number of the members under its direction. Scotland and
Ireland have each Grand Lodges with subordinate machinery similar
to that of England. Wales has _two_ such organisations, one for the
English-speaking, and the other for the Welsh-speaking portion of the
community.
Each state in North America has also its Grand Lodge, as also has
Canada, Quebec, Australia, New Zealand, India, &c.; representatives
from which meet yearly under the designation of the 'Right Worthy Grand
Lodge.' The last sitting of this supreme body was held in Louisville,
Kentucky, during the month of May last year. There are about sixty
Grand Lodges in all.
Since the order was introduced into this country, Mr Malins has had
the satisfaction of seeing the organisation for which he has done so
much extended to Holland, Germany, France, Portugal, the Mediterranean,
China, Japan, Ceylon, Africa, India, Australia, New Zealand, British
Guiana, Barbadoes, British Honduras, Bermuda, the Argentine Republic,
and many other places too numerous to mention.
The statistical returns from the several districts in England are being
compiled, and it is understood that they shew satisfactory progress
so far as they have yet been examined. Some idea of the work which
is being carried on by the Independent Order of Good Templars may be
gathered from the following particulars, gleaned from one of the annual
Reports: 'Each lodge meets weekly, and over twenty thousand _public_
meetings were held during the year; an average of nearly seventy a day.'
Of the English members of the Order, about one half are estimated to
have become teetotalers on joining the order, the rest having been
abstainers previously; while careful inquiries shew from twelve to
fifteen thousand as the probable number of the Queen's subjects who
have been reclaimed from a life of intemperance. There is also a
juvenile branch, in which over fifty thousand children are enrolled as
members.
Foremost among the questions which now agitate this remarkable society
is that of the proposed admission of the negro to the rights and
privileges of a 'Good Templar.' Grand Lodge is believed to be in favour
of his admission to the Order; though it is scarcely to be wondered at,
perhaps, that many Templars should find themselves at variance with
their leaders on this subject. We think, however, that Good Templary
would be ennobled by acknowledging the rights of man all over the
world, be his colour what it may, to participate in any movement which
has for its object the moral and social improvement of mankind.
All honour and success to such a glorious movement for the benefit
of the human race! Of the incalculable good which has already been
bestowed upon thousands of families by the beneficent exertions of
these Good Templars it is impossible to speak; but its influence has
been felt throughout the land as if it were a message from Heaven
itself; while the ramifications of such a society in all parts of the
world, even though it fail to stamp out the demon of intemperance, will
surely at least mitigate the evil, and institute a beneficent medium
of charitable intercourse between man and man. Again we say, all honour
and success to such a glorious movement for the benefit of the human
race.
PORCELAIN-PAINTING.