A NEW ORDER.
Margaret Miller and Tom Whitwell read together an account of some
meetings at which Arthur Knight had been speaking, and they confided to
each other their own ideas on the subject. As the reader knows, each had
her own reason for anxiety and trouble; but each felt that this was a
time for laying all personal affairs and feelings on one side, and doing
her part in the New Crusade which was being fought.
“We ought to do so, Margaret,” said Tom, “because I believe that for the
existing state of things women must bear much of the blame. We have left
off sending our knights to battle for God and the right, and we
encourage them instead to take to money-grubbing in the city.”
“A good deal of heroism of a certain kind is practised, though, even
thus,” replied Margaret. “Many a man who raises himself from a lowly
position to a lofty one does it much more for the sake of his wife and
children than for his own.”
“Oh, yes! And dies on the field, content to have won a carriage for his
widow, and funds for the gambling purposes of his sons. What astonishes
me is that women can accept such heroic sacrifices for such small ends.
But I am afraid that we are all becoming about as mean as mice; at
least, if we are to be measured by the topics of our talk at afternoon
tea.”
“Ah! but we are not. We are so foolishly and wickedly afraid of
revealing our best to one another that we pretend to be as frivolous and
heartless as we possibly can. It is a great fraud, and some of us have
eyes keen enough to see through it. I always find it difficult to keep
from laughing when you, Tom, make believe to be interested in the
edifying tales that are told about your neighbours.”
“It is abominable, Margaret, and I hate it. Fine companions for true men
are we, if we are to be judged by our own representations of ourselves!
And we might do so much; for we really have a good deal of power over
men.”
Margaret smiled significantly.
“‘Ah! wasteful woman,’” she quoted. “And yet, you know, there is nothing
a woman really cares so much about as the good opinion of her male
friends.”
“Oh, I know it is the men’s fault in the first place; but we are to be
their helpers, not their slaves.”
“I will tell you where I think our help might come in. You remember when
we were in London last we saw quite a crowd of girls coming out of a
low-looking public-house, some of them half-tipsy?”
“I should think I do remember it. Who that had once seen such a sight
could ever forget it?”
“But the girls would never have gone in of themselves. It was because of
the young men who were there. The girls would be easily dealt with if
once they could understand that that sort of thing disgusts men.”
“Ah! but it doesn’t.”
“I am not quite sure of that. I believe it does—for every man has a
better and a worse self, and everything depends upon which part of the
man’s nature is influenced by the woman whom he loves.”
At this point of the conversation Tom asked a very peculiar and personal
question, which brought the colour to her friend’s face.
“Margaret, have you any money?”
“I have a little, enough for my needs.”
“What I have been wondering is whether you and I together could spare
some for the rent of a drawing-room in London near that particular
public-house, where we could try our Darentdale plan with those
creatures who are neither boys nor men. People say that almost any lad,
even the roughest, will treat a gentlewoman with courtesy. We could
invite them, before they go into that place, to come into ours, and
there you might talk to them in your own way, and perhaps I in mine. We
might give two evenings in a week. Our people would not mind if we were
together, and we could get home easily, though a little late, for the
trains are so good. If we can only succeed in a small way it is worth
while to try.”
“Oh, Tom, how brave you are! Something of the kind has been floating in
my own mind, but I should never have had the courage to try without
you.”
When the true history of the world comes to be written it will be seen
how much in this remarkably formative period in England was commenced in
just such a simple manner as this talk between our two friends.
It was on a cold, drizzling night, when the London streets were as
uncomfortable as only London streets can be, that two well-dressed young
ladies went up to a group of boys, all somewhere in their teens, and
invited them to come in and have a cup of hot coffee and some buttered
toast. The fair, smiling faces of the girls and their friendly and
gracious manners forced the boys to courtesy, and eight of them—about
half the number—consented. They looked at their dirty hands and boots
when they were taken into the drawing-room with comical seriousness.
“Oh, never mind!” said Tom. “Look at my boots; you cannot keep clean on
such a night as this. Have the coffee while it is hot. And here are some
potted beef sandwiches. Perhaps you have not yet had your teas?”
The boys laughed. “We have had our teas,” said one. “A hextra meal don’t
make no difference to the likes of us.”
And so, indeed, it seemed; for the coffee and eatables disappeared in
almost no time.
The boys were not as much surprised as boys would have been twenty years
before, at the invitation.
“They are trying another dodge on us, that’s all,” whispered one to his
mates; but they looked with a little curiosity when the plates and cups
had been collected; and when, for a moment or two, the ladies had left
the room, a brisk bit of betting went on.
“Ten to one on Music!” “Thirteen to one on Sign the Pledge!” “Twenty to
one agin Gambling—look out!”
“We cannot tell how glad we are to see you,” said Tom, rather nervously,
as she took her seat. “You can spare time to stop a little while, cannot
you?”
“That depends,” said one. “I’ve got a pressing engagement—very pressing,
indeed; but I’m always ready to oblige a lady, specially such a stunner
as you, miss.”
“Thank you; much obliged for the compliment. Well, we are going to tell
you a story. You like tales, don’t you?”
“Yes; but not true ones, mind.”
“Very well. Miss Miller will tell the first and I the second.”
No one guessed the trouble to which the narrators had gone to prepare
these stories, nor the numbers of dreadful boys’ books through which
they had waded in order to get some idea of the style which would be
acceptable. Some hair-breadth escapes there were, and a few things to
laugh at, especially in Margaret’s, which she told so effectively that
her audience was spell-bound. It was the story of a poor boy, dreadfully
tried and tempted, who, by his self-control, and because, though he
sometimes did the wrong, he loved the right, made his way in the world,
and won the gratitude and respect of all who knew him. It was a good
story, well told, and the boys applauded it vigorously.
“That is a story of up, up, up,” said one.
“It is,” replied Tom. “That is a clever title for it, and mine is a
story of down, down, down!”
“Of course, the fellow was a religious cove.”
“Certainly; he would not have done as he did if he had not had _Some
One_ to help him.”
“Ah, but we ain’t religious—not much!”
“No? Ah! that accounts for some things,” said Tom, glancing at the rags
and the dirt and the unkempt hair of the speaker—a glance so eloquent
that every one understood it.
“Now let’s have yourn, miss; my engagements is a-pressing me like
anythink.”
Tom was not herself prepared for the effect upon the boys which her
recital had, and Margaret listened in amazement. She made the boy in the
story live before her listeners, so that they seemed to know him, and
were entirely in sympathy with him. They knew all about his
uncomfortable home, and his tobacco money, and his bets. He was a nice
fellow, too, and good-natured to his “pals” at first; but just because
he was selfish and weak, and could not say No at the right time, and
because he never called upon God except to blaspheme Him, and because he
wouldn’t be a teetotaller, and was so altogether mistaken in his ideas
about manliness and honour, his end was full of misery. Tom’s eyes
filled with tears, and her voice trembled as she described the downward
progress of this boy and his death; and when she finished with a little
prayer, “O Lord! for Jesus Christ’s sake, save these boys from all
that!” she could not repress a sob, which awoke an answer in the hearts
of almost all the boys.
The boys were subdued as they went away, and two or three, at least,
resolved to make their lives from that night a story of “Up, up, up.”
Most of them came on the next appointed evening, and brought others with
them. Of course, all meetings were not successes; nor did the boys
invariably continue to be interested. All workers have some
disappointments, and Margaret and Tom had many. The habits already
formed by the boys were not suddenly broken, nor was the evil in them
readily subdued. But the effort was yet a remarkably prosperous one;
and, though small in its beginning, it was the commencement of a very
great thing indeed. It was not quite at first evangelistic, in the usual
sense of the word, but it soon became so in the largest and fullest
sense. Our friends would not easily forget the first devotional ten
minutes they spent with the boys, nor did they.
“They was the realest prayers I ever heered, and they fairly knocked me
down,” said one of the boys.
“But we mustn’t have the ladies knocked down, and some of the chaps, and
the gals, too, are mad about this thing; so we’ll conduct them to the
station.”
And when that evening was over Tom said, admiringly, “What gentlemen
they are!”
After a time they saw that the thing would be too big for them to cope
with alone. They needed some one older, who resided in London, to help
and advise them. And at this juncture Tom remembered that she had heard
her cousin speak of a lady who would probably be interested in this
movement.
“Margaret,” she said, “My cousin John has told me of a Miss Wentworth,
whom he met on board-ship, who is very kind and philanthropic. I will
get a letter of introduction from him, and we will call and see her
to-morrow.”
This was done, and the older worker welcomed the young ones with great
cordiality, and listened full of sympathy to the tale they had to tell.
“The thought has been given to you by God,” she said. “All our hopes for
the future are in the young, and especially in the boys. I have myself
thought how well it would pay for Christian women to give up all other
work, and devote themselves to mothers and the children alone. My house
is entirely at your service; I shall consider it most honoured to be
used in any way for the promotion of this enterprise. As for myself, I
am an old woman, and cannot do much; but anything and everything which I
can do will be most gladly done. Do not scruple to ask me for money, or
service, or room. If only for Mr. Dallington’s sake, I should like to
prove myself your friend.”
The girls were fortunate in having found so able a helper, and they
promised that Miss Wentworth should at once be taken into their complete
confidence.
The first result of this was that that lady invited by letter all the
gentlemen’s boys whom she knew, and Margaret and Tom had a drawing-room
meeting of a different kind. They were boys such as Arnold would have
loved and Thring believed in—sons, for the most part, of Christian
parents, fine specimens of young England, the statesmen and merchants
and professional men of the future. And these boys, full of fun and
ready for mischief, but generous and manly, hating lies and cowardice as
only English boys can, became the nucleus of a grand army destined to
save the nation and lift it into a glory such as it had never known
before.
Margaret’s gentle voice and beautiful face won their way immediately to
the boys’ hearts. She told the same story as before, but in different
words and with a different significance, leaving them to see how they
might help those who were down to rise; and that their education and
position put upon them the responsibility of doing so. Next, in glowing
terms she reminded them of the old Crusaders, and the Knights of
Chivalry, and besought these modern boys of England to enter upon the
new crusade, and drive out from their native land the drunkenness and
gambling, the impurity and misery which were crowding round its holy
places. She reminded them that _they_ must bring about the great
reformation; that _they_ must acknowledge Christ, and for His sake the
brotherhood of man; it would be _their_ sin and shame if poor women were
still to work for starvation wages, and wretched men lose their
manliness because they had lost their hope. She took it for granted, she
said, that they were Christian boys, and that they would be true to the
faith of their fathers, which faith was not simply a belief in Christ as
a Saviour, though it was that first of all, but an obedience to Christ
as a law-giver, and that the command to love one another, to care for
the poor, to acknowledge the equality of man, to be strictly fair and
honourable, were simple everyday duties incumbent upon all who bore the
name of Christ. She spoke of the waste of God-given power in war, and
urged them in glowing words to pledge themselves never to uphold those
who pressed a national quarrel to murder; and she asked them, now in
their youth, and afterwards in their manhood, to suspend for a while
even the strife of political parties until the wrongs of the poor and
the ignorant were righted; and to accomplish a grand mastery of self
that they might become the masters of the world. And then she bade them
win the love and reverence of women by being such brave, high-minded,
clean-souled men as they dreamed all Englishmen should be.
After this Tom told her story, showing at every step how if the boy who
went down into the lowest depths of degradation had had a strong man—a
gentleman—to help him, it would have been different. “But the young
gentlemen,” said Tom, “were smoking and drinking, and so busy in robbing
themselves of their own strength and manhood that they took no notice of
the poor wretches who were dying by their side, and _Noblesse oblige_
had no meaning for them.”
“But it has for us,” said a boyish voice, its owner rising in the middle
of the room; and Margaret was delighted as she looked at him; a tall,
straight, good-looking boy with his brown curls tossed back from his
forehead, and his blue eyes flashing with fearless determination. “Let
me tell the ladies who have spoken that there are hosts of us quite
ready to form a new army of Volunteer Crusaders. But we want a little
help and encouragement; we are so cowardly, afraid and ashamed of
appearing as good as we are. Could not another word for good be
invented? We would rather face a lion than the stigma of being called
goody-goody; but let nobody on that account suppose that our hatred of
wrong, and our indignation against the wrong-doer, is any less hot in us
than in our fathers. We have been born with consciences, and we have
energy enough to battle with anything. You fellows, what do you say?
Shall we, here in London, and to-night, form a regiment of Soldiers of
Peace? I believe the idea would be taken up all over England; for the
boys I know—most of them, at all events—do not want to disgrace their
names. If we could really believe that we are called to be heroes there
is that in us which would help us to rise to the name. Yes, and let us
wear a rosette of the red, white, and blue of Old England, which no boy
shall wear except worthily; the blue for temperance, the white for
purity, and the red for battle or endeavour. These colours have won
renown in the past; they shall win higher renown still in the new days
for our country, for—” and the young voice rang out like a bugle
call—“we swear to God that we will do our part to make our nation
exalted by its righteousness.”
The boys shouted “Hurrah!” they could not help it; they were wonderfully
moved by the short harangue of their comrade, Ned Northcote, a favourite
of all who knew him. And Tom trembled with excitement as she put her
hand on the arm of her hostess.
“We must take this holy enthusiasm at its flow,” she said. “Miss
Wentworth, will you let your house be the rallying ground for this grand
new army?”
And the older woman replied with quivering lips, “Only too gladly! Never
before was the house so consecrated as it is to-night.”
She might well say so; for at that moment a boy’s voice, in simple
boyish language, was vowing for himself and his fellows, all of them
standing, with bowed heads and swiftly-beating hearts, that they would
live for the kingdom of Christ, and be the King’s soldiers.
“Here is a book. I think we should have a roll-call,” said Tom. “I am
not a boy; I almost wish I were to-night: but I shall belong to the
regiment. It is late now; will you enrol your names in your own
handwriting, and come again to-morrow?”
The movement became known through the Press. There were several
flourishing weekly journals and one daily devoted to the interests of
women, the columns of which were chiefly occupied with the fashions and
tit-bits of news about “Society People.” A letter was addressed to each
of these describing the meetings here referred to, and appealing to the
ladies of England to help, by drawing-room meetings and any other means
that should offer, in the formation of a national army of Volunteer Boy
Crusaders, pledged to the extirpation of evil and the uplifting of the
standard of righteousness.
Most of the editors of these papers inserted the letters (and those who
did not wished afterward they had done so), and the response to them was
marvellous. The religious papers, of course, most willingly gave their
assistance, and so it came about that in a comparatively short time
after the meeting in Miss Wentworth’s room thousands of meetings were
being held in connection with churches of all denominations in all parts
of the country; for the idea had everywhere caught the imaginations and
consciences of Christian women, and _God wills it_ was borne in upon
them.
And then it became evident what a wonderful preparation for this had
been going on during the past years. All sorts of societies were already
in existence, ready to be amalgamated. There was the “Society of
Christian Endeavour,” which numbered thousands of young people; and it
was easy and natural to show how their endeavour, which was, firstly,
for their own religious advancement, should be, secondly, definitely on
behalf of other boys and girls less favoured than they. Then there was
“The Boys’ Brigade,” which had made fine, soldierly lads of some of the
roughest street boys of the large towns, but which was regarded with
suspicion by some who feared that the organisation might be used as a
recruiting agency for military purposes. But it was found that these
boys were as ready, and even eager, to take the Pledge of Peace as the
rest; and so well disciplined were they, so used to obey the officers
under whom already they served, that they were invaluable in the new
army of young crusaders. The Bands of Hope, too, had their thousands
already engaged in negative work, but thirsting to become aggressive,
who signed the new pledge, “We will,” after the old one, “We will not.”
As to the Sunday-school, it renewed its youth. “Why, this is what we
have been trying to do all along; this is our work,” said the teachers;
and they were right, for there could have been no such abundant harvest
ready for reaping but for the patient tilling and sowing which had been
accomplished in the Sunday-school.
“Where are the headquarters of this great movement?” was a question
frequently asked. And the answer seemed a strange one: “In the houses of
a few women.”
“It is growing too much for us,” said Tom. But on the day when she said
it more than a dozen ladies asked to be allowed to do the clerical work
of the endeavour.
“What put it in your minds?” one asked, and a bright girl replied with a
smile, “You should put your question differently, and ask, ‘Who put it
into our minds?’”
But, after all, every district, town, and village had to provide its own
headquarters. Nor was this difficult; for that had happened for which
devout souls had agonised in prayer for many a weary year, and at last
the Church was awake.
And it found everything ready for the new work, which was yet not new,
but as old as Christianity. A conviction forced itself into many minds,
as it might be, simultaneously, that no new organisation, but the
old-established ones, were called to make the Great Endeavour, and that
they had all the necessary power and means, and especially they had what
was of greater importance than all else put together—_they had the
boys_.
One town after another, and villages by dozens, gathered the boys into
the new organisation; and it was officered by the finest men of the
district.
“This must not be left to uneducated, unequipped men; you and I must
take it up, or prove ourselves traitors to our consciences.” Such words
as these were spoken at many a club. And the recruiting sergeants were
the boys themselves. “Father, you must come; you are clever; the boys
would obey you; and you know how to govern. Don’t leave us to any
duffers who like to take us in hand. We want real men to manage and
direct us.” So pleaded the boys; and real men responded.
And yet it was very much a woman’s movement. It was always a lady’s hand
who pinned the rosette of significance upon the boy’s breast when he
enlisted. The sweet tones of women’s voices commended the young soldiers
to God when they went forth to fight the peace-battles. They were
welcomed once every week when they came for counsel and encouragement by
motherly hands and sisterly commendation. Every boy knew that some good
woman held him in her heart and mentioned him in her prayers, and would
be glad or sorry according to whether he proved faithful or the reverse.
For at the very foundation of this movement was the principle of woman’s
influence. Every lady-member of the Christian Church with which the
Branch was connected was expected to take the oversight of some of the
boys—not less than two nor more than twenty being the number decided
upon. And these women, who, as might have been expected, entered very
heartily into the scheme, had to help and inspire the boys in their
uphill endeavour; and especially set them to work upon those other boys
who, at present, were their opponents. One or two of these ladies, whom
we know, brought the old history of the Knights Templars to bear on
these modern times. Nor could anything better for their purpose be
conceived than the oath taken by this order—“I swear to consecrate my
words, my arms, my strength, and my life to the defence of the mysteries
of faith and that of the unity of God. I also promise to be submissive
and obedient to the Grand Master of the Order. Whenever it is needful I
will cross the seas to fight; I will give help against all infidel kings
and princes, and _in the presence of three enemies I will not fly, but
fight if they are infidels_.”
It was not far from Arthur Knight’s factories that Margaret and Tom
commenced these operations. He had not seen these ladies, but he heard
of what they were doing from Dallington and Miss Wentworth, and between
him and them his idea was in a fair way of being accomplished, for
almost every young person was surrounded by an atmosphere of kindness
and good influences. By every means he was endeavouring to prepare his
people, and especially the young ones, for a better life under happier
conditions in his Land of Promise, which was being got ready for them.
It was a great satisfaction to him to find how much of the work which he
considered his was being done for him by others. He had heard of the
Basket Woman, and was curious about her. But among the helpers doing
Christian work for his people there was one of whom he thought more
frequently than of all the others, and that was the young lady who had
spoken with such vehement condemnation of the wretched houses that
belonged to him. Only once since had he seen her, and it was when,
hearing that the woman whom she visited was dying, he went to the house
to see if he could render assistance. But the young lady was before him.
As he pushed open the door he saw a sight which he would never forget.
By the side of the couch which had been provided the girl knelt in
prayer, and he heard her soft voice pleading, “Oh, take Thy servant, who
has so long borne the burden and heat of the day, into Thy Paradise
above, where they hunger no more, neither thirst any more, where the
Lamb who is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and lead them
unto living fountains of waters, and God shall wipe away all tears from
their eyes.” He closed the door softly, and passed the little window of
that room bareheaded and with a reverent heart. And he understood, as
never before, when he walked over the dusty stones, through the close
court, what such words must be to the poor, and how natural it was that
Christ should have thought of them first. “To the poor the Gospel is
preached,” and those who receive it are thereby lifted out of the
greatest depths of their misery. A wave of compassion passed over Arthur
Knight, and the resolutions he had formed grew stronger than ever within
him. He passed the house again (it was strange what an attraction it
held for him), hoping that he might meet the young lady; but, instead,
he heard her voice singing sweetly the well-known strains, “I know that
my Redeemer liveth.” He waited a moment or two, and then, realising the
impertinence of such conduct, he walked slowly away, hoping, however,
that an opportunity of making the acquaintance of the singer might be
granted him. Could she be “the Basket Woman,” of whom he heard so much?
Or were there two ladies who had taken his poor people into their
compassion, besides those who originated the Young Crusaders’ movement?
Among all his engagements Arthur Knight found time to wonder about this
mystery, for he could not help being vividly interested. “It is absurd,”
he said to himself; “but I cannot get that young lady who lectured me
out of my thoughts. Surely I am not going to fall in love. That is the
last thing I ought to do. But I must see her again, somehow.”