would no doubt call and have a talk with him about spiritual and other
matters. Burnside was not long in discovering that many of the
villagers were quite illiterate, and but little above the standard of
heathen. He resolved to throw his soul into the work of evangelizing
them at all costs. The first visit Mr Humbert paid him left no doubt as
to that gentleman's wishes. He spoke of the disturbing influence lay
Methodist preachers were having all over the country, and said that he
had decided no such sensational work should be permitted on his estate.
Burnside did not deem it prudent to enter into controversy, but
determined that nothing should deter him from carrying out the work
that God had sent him to do. The circumstances were so discouraging
that no ordinary man would have persisted in going on with it. He was
scoffed at, hooted, and at times both men and women were so enraged
that they threatened a personal attack; but there was something about
his physical appearance and his firm though gentle manner that cowed
even the most violent of those who were opposed to his religious
teaching. They felt he would stand no nonsense of that kind. He had not
been long in the locality before a spirit of strong revival came over
the place. Some of the worst men and women in the countryside were
converted, and ardently tried to influence others for good. They were
raw, crude, and uneducated, but there was a power behind them that made
their influence irresistible. People came from far and near to hear
this strange gospel of pity preached and to witness such an unexpected
revolution. Strong men and women were smitten with its force, until any
one of them who had shown ill-natured and violent dislike to even
listening to the simple message of the lay preacher, eagerly threw
their doors open to him in order that he might hold services in their
homes. He urged them to attend the parish church in the mornings, as
there was only one service on the Sundays, and none during the week.
Most of his own family did this, while the others went with him to the
chapels he was appointed to preach at. He knew the squire and the
parson were feeling full of wrath, and that they believed him to be a
mistaken instrument for evil, and that the whole parish was thrown into
revolt by his wild advocacy of a sacrilegious creed, and that it must
be put a stop to or he would have to leave the village.
When Burnside was having a stroll one morning with a little fellow of
four years old, who was chattering to him about his services, Squire
Humbert came upon them, stopped, and snappishly asked what he meant by
disturbing the whole district with such ranting nonsense.
"I tell you," said he, "it must cease, or I will ask you to leave the
place."
Burnside withered him with a gaze that betrayed his feelings, and
began:
"Sir, you may ask me to leave the village, but you may not ask me to
cease serving my God in the way I choose. Now, sir, listen. You have
been accustomed to talk to your village servants in a way that is
insufferable. I am not one of them, and if I were I should resent your
doing so to me. I must ask you to carry out your threat, and when I get
your communication I shall give you my definite answer. Meanwhile never
you attempt to insult me or make an attack upon my religion again. And
bear in mind that I refuse to allow you to be the controller of it.
Good morning."
The dignified "Lord God the Squire" gasped with suppressed fury, but
that which he wished to utter was unutterable, and he rode off in the
direction of his hall. Burnside told his wife what had transpired. She
commended him for the manner in which he had treated it, though both
she and the family were filled with concern lest the threat of turning
them out of their home should be carried out. It made an everlasting
impression on all the family, but especially so on the little fellow
who heard all that was said. _He_ never got over the cruel, senseless
stab, and I have reason to believe it lives with him still. Burnside
regarded the whole thing with contempt, and continued his religious
services as though nothing had happened. Mr Logan, the parson, not long
after called to see him, and Burnside drew him into discussion on
Theology. He was a great student of Bishop Butler's "Analogy," and was
familiar with the writings of other theologians. The parson was amazed
at the plain man's strong logical instincts, the keen fluency of his
talk, and the fulness of his knowledge, and so enjoyed the conversation
that he asked if he might hope to have a further opportunity of having
another discussion. "Come any day you like except Sundays," said the
unconventional old sailor, "and I may assure you it will give me great
pleasure." They parted with feelings of growing respect for each other.
The parson evidently made some weighty communication to Mr Humbert, as
that gentleman's attitude towards Burnside soon underwent a marked
change, and this was shown by his commencing to chat whenever they met.
It was not long before they were on the most cordial terms. The squire
found that Burnside was not only a powerful religionist but a strong
personality. His reading was very wide, and his knowledge and
conversational gifts made him an attractive man to come in contact
with. Humbert had evidently seen it to be unwise to meddle with his
religion any more, and his friendship for him soon became apparent, for
instead of carrying out the threat of putting him off his estate, he
offered him a better house to live in, with a large plot of ground
attached to it. The offer was gratefully accepted, but this did not in
any way interfere with the steady progress of the propaganda, and in a
few years the character of the men and women who would have thrown him
into the sea when he first came amongst them changed from hatred into
affection. Gambling, drunkenness, wife-beating, profanity, all had
disappeared.
As soon as his sons were old enough they left the district, and ere
long some of them were heard of in the metropolis of England, and had
succeeded in carving out distinguished careers for themselves. Two of
them gladdened the old man's heart by choosing the sea as a profession,
but no discrimination in point of affection was ever shown, though when
he heard the hoarse moaning of the wind on troubled nights, he never
failed to put in a supplementary prayer for his two seafarers. He had
passed through the dangers himself, and had a steadfast belief that
close communion with God was a strong safeguard against disaster. The
homecoming of these sailor lads, who frequently brought friends with
them, was a great joy to the Burnsides, and also to those of the
villagers with whom they associated. Both lads were very sailorly, and
it was well known that they never failed to make things hum with mirth
and mischief, as soon as they had taken their bearings and found the
coast clear of "squires" and "parsons." It was a pretty sight to see
their two sisters rush out of the house as soon as their brothers were
seen in the distance crossing the long stretch of moor and run to meet
and fondly greet them. This had been one of the fundamental points in
their training, that they were to be affectionate to each other, and
lengthened separation did not diminish the well instilled habit. But
the joy of the young people's meeting was only second to that of seeing
their reunion with their parents, and great were Mrs Burnside's
bewildering exploits of cookery. The first night was generally spent in
telling queer stories of their skippers, mates and shipmates, whilst
the father sat smiling placidly and obviously living over again his
youthful days when he also was a sailor lad relating the same kind of
stories in the same old way. The girls asked all sorts of questions,
and the merry babble was kept up until Mrs Burnside reminded her
husband that it was long past the usual time for prayers, and that they
had better postpone the narrative until the morrow. A chapter suitable
for the occasion was given out, and they read verse and verse about
until they reached the end of the lesson. Then they knelt round the
table and listened to the tremulous tones of their father's prayer.
When he had finished they all repeated after him the Lord's Prayer and
then rose. At one of these reunited gatherings one of the brothers had
been restless, and persisted in nudging his sisters and winking at them
when his parent had reached his most impressive periods and was
oblivious of everything but his communion with God. The scamp was taken
aside by the younger sister, who was a strong-minded little damsel with
fixed ideas, and she sharply reproved him for his irreverence; and the
elder sister, who had a keen sense of humour as well as fixed opinions,
was so thankful that the boys had been brought safely back to them, she
commenced to make the most comical excuses for their erring brother's
buoyant indiscretion. The young man's contrition was signified by his
taking hold of his sisters, waltzing them round the room, and then
proceeding to stand on his head and dangling his legs in the air. This
threw them into fits of laughter, and though it was against the rules
of the home, the joyous chatter was resumed and continued until long
past the regulated time for going to bed. When I hear people ridiculing
religion and its forms, I think of those simple days of village
methodism with a throbbing of the heart.
There were coteries in this small out-of-the-way place as there are in
large towns and cities, and perhaps the exclusiveness was even more
pronounced there than in the larger centres. The fisher people were a
class by themselves, with whom the squire's employes thought it beneath
their dignity to be on regular visiting terms. They married and
intermarried amongst themselves, while Mr Humbert's servants were a
mixed class. Some had intellectual ambitions and rare musical talents,
and others had not; and it was amongst the former that the Burnsides
found something in common. Their home gathered up all the more cultured
part of the population. But apart from that, every young and old person
in the village was known to the others. The well was situated a good
distance from the cottages, and the girls of the village generally had
to carry the water to their homes either because there were no sons or
because they were employed elsewhere; but if any of them were about,
the lassie with the burden was always offered help, and rarely refused
it. When the two young sailors came home they made a point of insisting
on carrying water for any young girl they by chance saw at the
fountain, hence they increased their popularity and were sought after
for that reason as well as for the fact of their being rollicking
sailors. In fact, it seemed as though the little circle were of one
family. The day following the home-coming from any given voyage was
spent in formally calling upon their friends, and in the evening all
the young people gathered up at their home to have tea, and afterwards
dancing, singing, talking, and all kinds of games. Of course the
sailors were called upon to do some step-dancing, and so the happy days
and evenings sped on until the time came to prepare to set off on a
long voyage. Then for several days previous to their departure the
house was full each afternoon of voluntary helpers, washing, making
shirts, knitting stockings, and making all kinds of underclothing.
Things were kept moving in such a lively way when these young seafarers
were about, that a feeling of desolation depressed the whole village
for many days after they had left it.
Yet amid all the simple charm of the people and the natural beauty of
the place there came a period of sorrowing and grief. The motherless
daughter of an official of the Lord of the Manor, a beautiful girl who
was the idol of her family and loved by everybody, fell a victim to the
villainy of her father's assistant to whom she was engaged to be
married; he betrayed her and then left the village, and no one could
trace his whereabouts. When her condition became apparent, her father
alone failed to realize her true state until he received a note from
his master to have her removed from his estate, and with brutal
severity the squire insisted that she should never be allowed to stain
the purity of his grounds by her presence again, nor could he permit
any intercourse whatever between her and any of his servants either
male or female, direct or indirect. The father was brokenhearted, and
indeed the whole community were stricken with grief for her and for
him. She was removed to a town a few miles away and then gave birth to
a male child. The father in his thoughtless anger left her to the
callous mercy of an inexperienced person, and through want of proper
care consumption set in, and the shadow of doom swiftly encompassed
her. A burning remorse was charring her to pieces. She craved the
forgiveness of her parent, and longed to see the home she had been
ruthlessly turned away from. This desire was intensified by a passion
to feel the thrilling of the sea winds that came from the moaning
ocean. What insufferable cruelty to refuse the appeal of a sweet girl
who had been wronged, and who was passing from earth and would soon be
put to rest in a grave within easy reach of the springy links and
glossy sands where so many days of her joyous girlhood had been spent
in innocent and jovial scenes! A last appeal was made to the hard old
squire, who, to do him justice, believed he was an instrument in the
hands of divine Providence to enforce the cultivation and carrying out
of high ideals. Human fallibility was not sanctioned on his demesne
outside his own personality or household. The poor, grief-stricken girl
wrote to him hoping that her wishes might become known to his wife and
touch her to have compassion, and her plan succeeded, for on receipt of
her letter permission was given to have her brought home. Here is the
simple, pleading request:
"SIR,--I ask you for pity's sake to forgive me and allow a poor
girl who is humbly and bitterly penitent, wrecked in body and soul,
to be taken from here to her father's home so that she may seek
forgiveness of him before she is called to appear before her God. I
have only a few weeks at the most left to me, and then I shall pass
from the scene of conflict and grief into that long sleep which
never endeth.
"I am, yours obediently,
"MARY ROUTLEDGE."
The day following the receipt of this letter Mary was brought home, and
the good Mrs Humbert engaged a nurse to look after her. Mr Logan, the
parson, was sent for, and he administered what he regarded as a
passport into heaven. He pronounced a stern reproof, and then impressed
on her the idea of the great sin she had committed, and in the good old
ecclesiastical style admonished her to say her prayers and read her
Bible night and morning, and if she did that there might yet be hope
for pardon. The girl did not think the prescription comforting enough,
so after a few days' misery she asked for Mr Burnside. She had heard
him both pray and preach in days gone by, and the impressions made then
came back to her vividly. On entering the little home he chatted with
her in his accustomed cheery way, never even hinting at her great
sorrow, and then he asked if she would like him to pray with her before
he went. She said: "Oh, yes, that is one of the reasons I sent for you;
and if you could make it convenient I would like you to come often." Mr
Burnside acquiesced, and before leaving his little friend he joked with
her judiciously until she laughed so heartily that a casual looker-on
would have thought she had neither mental nor physical trouble, but as
she said to him: "You make me forget all my affliction." "That is
exactly what I should like to do," said her bright companion, "and I
think we are making some progress."
His visits were always a joy to both of them, and after paying several
she called out to him one day when he entered her room, "I have found
God. I know now the plan of salvation that you have been so anxious for
me to see, and though I deeply regret to leave you and all those who
have been so considerately kind to me, I am anxious that my Master
should claim me soon and take me to dwell amid the silent glory of a
last long dream. I am now prepared to meet Him. My last dying request
is very sacred. It touches me so keenly I feel some doubt as to whether
I can approach it without giving you a mistaken thought of what I
really do mean. It is this: may I ask you to give an eye to my child
when I am gone, and should you detect that he is not being cared for,
or trained properly, will you use your influence in having this done?
Perhaps one of the lads (meaning his sons) when they get on will take
an interest in him for the sake of his mother to whom they were so kind
and gentle in other days. Ah, what memories of sweetness I have
gathered up since I was laid aside; and these lines, which I committed
to memory long ago, have sometimes come to me:
But 'tis done--all words are idle;
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will."
She then assured Mr Burnside that she was quite resigned. He listened
to her gentle musings, only interjecting a word now and then in order
that the current of thought should not be stranded. But his heart was
full of grief, and when he stooped to kiss her brow and say
"good-night" the tears were dropping from his eyes.
"Ah," said she, "I know the sorrow you have for me, and your distress
pains me, but after all I am only passing to the shadows a few years
before you, and when you come I shall see you." And then she whispered
softly, "I should like, if it be possible and my boy lives, that his
mother's shame be kept from him. You, I'm sure, will try to prevent
this."
He promised that her dying injunction, so far as he could arrange it,
would be strictly observed, and then he went out into the mystic night.
They did not commune together again, for the Omnipotent had willed that
she should pass through the valley before the long beams of light had
been drawn from the dawn. The little colony was cast into gloom, and
neither the chilly, puritanic doctrine of the Lord of the Manor, nor
the mechanical piety of his adjutant, the rector, could stay the anger
that permeated even the dullest of the inhabitants, who believed that a
crime had been committed in the name of righteousness. The indignation
of the female portion of the Burnside family was well subdued, not
because of any cantish false delicacy, but in order that their own lads
might not be encouraged to say or do anything rash. They left the
father to communicate the news of Mary Routledge's illness to them. He
had prayed for her on the first night they were at home; this gave them
the first intimation of the tragedy, but the ghastly character of it
was learnt from outside, and they never either forgave or forgot the
wicked perpetrators.
The hearts of the two sailors were sorely touched by the tale of
suffering and treatment of the poor girl whom they were accustomed to
regard in the light of a sister when they were boys at school, and
though a few years of rough sea life had rubbed the finer edges off
their early training, they still retained a strong affection for the
girls who were their favourites, and as she was one of them, their
affection and their grief for her was never concealed. The fulness of
their pleasures had been marred by this great affliction, but as they
would have made any sacrifice in order that their sympathy might be
known to her, they steadfastly observed an attitude of conduct that
well-nigh approached piety; and after she had been "put away" and their
father told them of her last dying message, they resolved that if
spared to reach a position, and her boy was alive, and those who had
charge of him were agreeable that he should become a sailor, either one
or the other would undertake his training. Meanwhile the child was left
as a legacy to the grandfather, but incredible though it may appear, he
was not allowed to bring it to the estate during the sanctified
lifetime of Mr Humbert.
The young men had reached the limit of their period ashore; it was only
fourteen days, but that was all that could be spared, as the vessels
they were to sail in were nearly at the fitting-out stage. The night
before they had to depart a tea-party was given by a distinguished old
lady, who was known for her great kindness to needy people in the
district, and to wayfarers who passed by her house. She owned a large
adjoining estate, and managed it herself with consummate skill. She was
very fond of the two lads, so that they were invited to the party, and,
truth to say, it was really in their honour it was given. Nearly the
whole of the young people round about were there, but the tragic death
of their young friend prevented a full outburst of joyous revelry,
though they arranged their mode of amusement to suit the occasion. The
hostess was charming to everybody, but especially to the sailors. Her
exhortations that they should be careful not to slip when they were
climbing all over the rigging and yards, and to be sure not to get
washed off the jib-boom, as she had heard of so many others being, and
to keep ropes tied round them when the sea was coming aboard, so that
they might not be washed overboard, were absurd and laughable, but
tender. Of course the young men, in the true orthodox fashion of
sailors, on being pressed by her and the young guests, male and female,
told a few stories of their adventures that created both admiration and
sensation; then by request they sang a few sea songs that were much
appreciated. And when the regulation hour came for closing the
proceedings the time had slipped away too quickly. A request was made
to their hostess for an extension of time, and with a goodness that
always characterized her it was granted for one hour longer, part of
which was used by an appeal made by the sailor lads to be allowed to
correspond with her two granddaughters, who were young ladies of
prepossessing appearance. After some delicate negotiations and many
assurances of honourable intentions, they were told that, provided
their letters were confined to a history of their movements and their
doings, and without any foolishness, they might write twice a voyage to
the girls and to herself. "But," said she, "there must be no proposals
of marriage until you have both reached the head of your profession."
This condition was gratefully agreed to, and when the young men joined
the party again there were many inquiries and many hints as to the
nature of the conference with their hostess, but the secret was only
divulged to the two who were directly interested, and then the jovial
gathering formed themselves into a ring, sang "Auld lang syne," and
added "Will they no come back again?" which was specially intended to
apply to the sailors. These formalities having been completed, the
young mariners proceeded to say their farewells, and kissed and cuddled
with astonishing rapidity first one girl and then the others until all
had shared the ebullition of their rugged endearment. The male portion
of the assembly viewed this form of emphasizing good-bye with sheepish
amazement. They would have been stupefied with shame if any one had
seen them walking even with a girl, although the enterprising seafarers
had done their best to assure them that it was the only true style of
showing genuine goodwill.
Long before dawn the following morning the lads were tramping over a
wild expanse of common towards a seaport, and they carried on their
shoulders as fine a kit as ever went into a vessel's forecastle. All
the things that had happened during their stay, especially the
incidents of the last night, were talked of amongst the villagers for
many a long day after the sailors had left the district and travelled
to the southern hemisphere. Yes, and many an eloquent petition was sent
up from the familiar cottage homes that knew them so well for their
safe-keeping and speedy return. This phase of sailor life existed in
the country places, and to some extent in the smaller seaport towns
bordering on the country, in the middle of the last century. It is
always pleasant to think of the innocent, robust enjoyment these better
class seamen planned out for themselves, aided of course by their rural
friends. They were sought after and loved by everybody. What balderdash
has been spoken and written about poor Jack everlastingly misconducting
himself! Assuredly the Christian virtues did not take complete hold of
all of them, and no one will deny that a large percentage were wayward
and took a lot of steering. But compare them with other classes of men,
and I do not think they would take a second place.