Charlie Evson alone, of the little band who have been amongst the number
of our friends at Saint Winifred's--alone, though the youngest of them
all--is now dead. He died a violent death. Filled with a missionary
spirit, and desirous, like Edward Irving, of "something more high and
heroical in religion than this age affecteth," he joined a mission to
one of the great groups of Pacific Islands. And there, many a time, in
the evening, after a day spent in teaching the natives how to plant
their fields and build their houses, he would gather them round him in
the twilight, and, while the cool wind wandered over his hair and brow,
and shook overhead the graceful plumes of the cocoa-palm, he would talk
to them in low sweet tones, until the fireflies were twinkling in the
thicket and the stars stole out one after another in their silent
myriads, of One Who came from the highest Heaven to redeem them from
savagery and degradation, and to make them holy as He was holy, and pure
as He was pure. He was eminently successful; but when he had planted in
some islands the first seeds of a fruitful Christianity, he sailed to
other reefs, still carrying the everlasting gospel in his hands. One
evening as the little missionary ship, which Charlie himself had built,
drew near the land, they saw that the natives were drawn up in a
threatening attitude on the beach. Trusting to conciliate them by
kindness and by presents, the young missionary, taking with him a few
glittering trifles to attract their notice, proceeded with a small band
of followers towards the shore. At first the natives seemed inclined to
receive them well, but suddenly, by the wild impulse to which barbarians
are so liable, one of the savages pierced a sailor with his spear.
Evson, by an effort of strength, wrenched the weapon out of his hand and
told his men to take up the wounded sailor and retreat. This they
effected in safety, for the islanders were struck and awed by the young
Englishman's high bearing and firm attitude; and his eye fixed quietly
upon them kept them back. He was himself the last to step into the
boat, and, as he turned to do so, one of the wretches struck him on the
head with his accursed club. He fell stunned and bleeding upon the
beach, and in an instant was dispatched by the spears and clubs of a
hundred savages, while the boat's crew barely escaped with their lives,
and the little mission vessel, spreading all her sails, could with
difficulty elude the pursuit of the canoes, which swarmed out of the
creeks to give her chase. The corpse lay bleeding upon a nameless
strand, and the soft fair hair that a mother's hand had fondled and a
mother's lips had kissed, dangled as a trophy at the girdle of a
cannibal. Thus it was that Charlie died; and a marble tablet in Semlyn
Church, ornamented with the most delicate and exquisite sculpture,
records his tragic fate, and stands as a monument of his parents' tender
love. As a boy he had shown a martyr's dauntless spirit; as a man he
was suffered to win the rare and high glory of a martyr's crown.
Of Walter, and Henderson, and Sir Reginald Power--for Power has
succeeded only too early to his father's title and estates--I need say
no more. Their days from youth to maturity were linked together by a
natural progress in all things charitable, and great, and good. They
did not belie their early promise. The breeze of a happy life bore them
gently onward, and they cast no anchor in its widening stream. They
were brave and manly and honourable boys, and they grew up into
high-minded and honourable men.
I do not wish you to suppose that they had not their own bitter trials
to suffer, or that they were exempt in any degree from our common
sorrows. In that turbulent and restless period of life when the
passions are strong and the heart wild and wilful and full of pride,
while, at the same time, the judgment is often weak and the thoughts are
immature and crude, they had (as we all have) to purchase wholesome
experience at the price of suffering; to remember with shame some
follies, and mourn over some mistakes. In saying this, I only say that
they were not faultless; which of us is? But, at the same time, I may
fairly say that we do not often meet with nobler or manlier boys and
youths than these; that the errors which they committed they humbly
endeavoured by patience and carefulness to amend; that they used their
talents well and wisely, striving to live in love and charity with all
around them; that above all they kept the fear of God before their eyes
and never lost the freshness and geniality of early years, but kept "The
young lamb's heart amid the fall grown flocks;"--kept the heart of
boyhood taken up and purified in the powers of manhood. And this is the
reason why the eye that sees them loves them, and the tongue that speaks
of them blesses them. And when the end comes to them which comes to
all; when--as though a child should trample out the sparks from a piece
of paper--death comes upon them and tramples out for ever their joys and
sorrows, their hopes and fears--then, sure I am, that those who mourn
for them, that those who cherish their memory and regret their loss,
will neither be insincere nor few, and that they themselves will meet
calmly and gladly that Great Shadow, waiting and looking with sure
though humble hope to a better and less transient life; to a sinless and
unstained world; to the meeting with long lost friends; to the rest
which remaineth for the People of God.
And here, gentle reader, let us bid them all farewell.