Transcribed from the 1912 John Murray edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
[Picture: George Borrow from the picture in the possession of John
Murray]
THE LIFE OF
GEORGE BORROW
COMPILED FROM UNPUBLISHED
OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS, HIS
WORKS, CORRESPONDENCE, ETC.
BY HERBERT JENKINS
WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN PHOTOGRAVURE, AND
TWELVE OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS
* * * * *
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1912
* * * * *
TO
JOHN MURRARY THE FOURTH
IN GRATEFUL RECOLLECTION OF THE KEEN INTEREST
HE HAS SHOWN IN THE WRITING OF THE LIFE OF
A MAN WHOM HE WELL REMEMBERS AND MUCH ADMIRES
THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED
BY THE AUTHOR
* * * * *
PREFACE
DURING the whole of Borrow’s manhood there was probably only one period
when he was unquestionably happy in his work and content with his
surroundings. He may almost be said to have concentrated into the seven
years (1833–1840) that he was employed by the British and Foreign Bible
Society in Russia, Portugal and Spain, a lifetime’s energy and resource.
From an unknown hack-writer, who hawked about unsaleable translations of
Welsh and Danish bards, a travelling tinker and a vagabond Ulysses, he
became a person of considerable importance. His name was acclaimed with
praise and enthusiasm at Bible meetings from one end of the country to
the other. He developed an astonishing aptitude for affairs, a tireless
energy, and a diplomatic resourcefulness that aroused silent wonder in
those who had hitherto regarded him as a failure. His illegal
imprisonment in Madrid nearly brought about a diplomatic rupture between
Great Britain and Spain, and later his missionary work in the Peninsula
was referred to by Sir Robert Peel in the House of Commons as an instance
of what could be achieved by courage and determination in the face of
great difficulties.
Those seven rich and productive years realised to the full the strange
talents and unsuspected abilities of George Borrow’s unique character.
He himself referred to the period spent in Spain as the “five happiest
years” of his life. When, however, his life came to be written by Dr
Knapp, than whom no biographer has approved himself more loyal or
enthusiastic, it was found that the records of that period were not
accessible. The letters that he had addressed to the Bible Society had
been mislaid. These came to light shortly after the publication of Dr
Knapp’s work, and type-written copies were placed at my disposal by the
General Committee long before they were given to the public in volume
form.
A systematic search at the Public Record Office has revealed a wealth of
unpublished documents, including a lengthy letter from Borrow relating to
his imprisonment at Seville in 1839. From other sources much valuable
information and many interesting anecdotes have been obtained, and
through the courtesy of their possessor a number of unpublished Borrow
letters are either printed in their entirety or are quoted from in this
volume.
My thanks are due in particular to the Committee of British and Foreign
Bible Society for placing at my disposal the copies of the Borrow
Letters, and also for permission to reproduce the interesting silhouette
of the Rev. Andrew Brandram, and to the Rev. T. H. Darlow, M.A. (Literary
Superintendent), whose uniform kindness and desire to assist me I find it
impossible adequately to acknowledge. My thanks are also due to the Rt.
Hon. Sir Edward Grey, M.P., for permission to examine the despatches from
the British Embassy at Madrid at the Record Office, and the Registers of
Passports at the Foreign Office, and to Mr F. H. Bowring (son of Sir John
Bowring), Mr Wilfrid J. Bowring (who has placed at my disposal a number
of letters from Borrow to his grandfather), Mr R. W. Brant, Mr Ernest H.
Caddie, Mr William Canton, Mr S. D. Charles, an ardent Borrovian from
whom I have received much kindness and many valuable suggestions, Mr A.
I. Dasent, the editors of _The Athenæum_ and _The Bookman_, Mr Thomas
Hake, Mr D. B. Hill of Mattishall, Norfolk, Mr James Hooper, Mr W. F. T.
Jarrold (for permission to reproduce the hitherto unpublished portrait of
Borrow painted by his brother), Dr F. G. Kenyon, C.B., Mr F. A. Mumby, Mr
George Porter of Denbigh (for interesting particulars about Borrow’s
first visit to Wales), Mr Theodore Rossi, Mr Theodore Watts-Dunton, Mr
Thomas Vade-Walpole, who have all responded to my appeal for help with
great willingness.
To one friend, who elects to be nameless, I am deeply grateful for many
valuable suggestions and much help; but above all for the keen interest
he has taken in a work which he first encouraged me to write. To her who
gave so plentifully of her leisure in transcribing documents at the
Record Office and in research work at the British Museum and elsewhere, I
am indebted beyond all possibility of acknowledgment. To no one more
than to Mr John Murray are my acknowledgments due for his unfailing
kindness, patience and assistance. It is no exaggeration to state that
but for his aid and encouragement this book could not have been written.
HERBERT JENKINS.
_January_, 1912.
CHAPTER I:
1678–MAY 1816
ON 28th July 1783 was held the annual fair at Menheniot, and for miles
round the country folk flocked into the little Cornish village to join in
the festivities. Among the throng was a strong contingent of young men
from Liskeard, a town three miles distant, between whom and the youth of
Menheniot an ancient feud existed. In days when the bruisers of England
were national heroes, and a fight was a fitting incident of a day’s
revelry, the very presence of their rivals was a sufficient challenge to
the chivalry of Menheniot, and a contest became inevitable. Some
unrecorded incident was accepted by both parties as a sufficient cause
for battle, and the two factions were soon fighting furiously midst
collapsing stalls and tumbled merchandise. Women shrieked and fainted,
men shouted and struck out grimly, whilst the stall-holders, in a frenzy
of grief and despair, wrung their hands helplessly as they saw their
goods being trampled to ruin beneath the feet of the contestants.
Slowly the men of Liskeard were borne back by their more numerous
opponents. They wavered, and just as defeat seemed inevitable, there
arrived upon the scene a young man who, on seeing his townsmen in danger
of being beaten, placed himself at their head and charged down upon the
enemy, forcing them back by the impetuosity of his attack.
The new arrival was a man of fine physique, above the medium height and a
magnificent fighter, who, later in life, was to achieve something of
which a Mendoza or a Belcher might have been proud. He fought strongly
and silently, inspiring his fellow townsmen by his example. The new
leader had entirely turned the tide of battle, but just as the defeat of
the men of Menheniot seemed certain, a diversion was created by the
arrival of the local constables. Now that their own villagers were on
the verge of disaster, there was no longer any reason why they should
remain in the background. They made a determined effort to arrest the
leader of the Liskeard contingent, and were promptly knocked down by him.
At that moment Mr Edmund Hambley, a much-respected maltster and the
headborough of Liskeard, was attracted to the spot. Seeing in the person
of the outrageous leader of the battle one of his own apprentices, he
stepped forward and threatened him with arrest. Goaded to desperation by
the scornful attitude of the young man, the master-maltster laid hands
upon him, and instantly shared the fate of the constables. With great
courage and determination the headborough rose to his feet and again
attempted to enforce his authority, but with no better result. When he
picked himself up for a second time, it was to pass from the scene of his
humiliation and, incidentally, out of the life of the young man who had
defied his authority.
The young apprentice was Thomas Borrow (born December 1758), eighth and
posthumous child of John Borrow and of Mary his wife, of Trethinnick (the
House on the Hill), in the neighbouring parish of St Cleer, two and a
half miles north of Liskeard. At the age of fifteen, Thomas had begun to
work upon his father’s farm. At nineteen he was apprenticed to Edmund
Hambley, maltster, of Liskeard, who five years later, in his official
capacity as Constable of the Hundred of Liskeard, was to be publicly
defied and twice knocked down by his insubordinate apprentice.
A trifling affair in itself, this village fracas was to have a lasting
effect upon the career of Thomas Borrow. He was given to understand by
his kinsmen that he need not look to them for sympathy or assistance in
his wrongdoing. The Borrows of Trethinnick could trace back further than
the parish registers record (1678). They were godly and law-abiding
people, who had stood for the king and lost blood and harvests in his
cause. If a son of the house disgrace himself, the responsibility must
be his, not theirs. In the opinion of his family, Thomas Borrow had, by
his vigorous conduct towards the headborough, who was also his master,
placed himself outside the radius of their sympathy. At this period
Trethinnick, a farm of some fifty acres in extent, was in the hands of
Henry, Thomas’ eldest brother, who since his mother’s death, ten years
before, had assumed the responsibility of launching his youngest brother
upon the world.
Fearful of the result of his assault on the headborough, Thomas Borrow
left St Cleer with great suddenness, and for five months disappeared
entirely. On 29th December he presented himself as a recruit before
Captain Morshead, {3} in command of a detachment of the Coldstream
Guards, at that time stationed in the duchy.
Thomas Borrow was no stranger to military training. For five years he
had been in the Yeomanry Militia, which involved a short annual training.
In the regimental records he is credited with five years “former
service.” He remained for eight years with the Coldstream Guards, most
of the time being passed in London barracks. He had no money with which
to purchase a commission, and his rise was slow and deliberate. At the
end of nine months he was promoted to the rank of corporal, and five
years later he became a sergeant. In 1792 he was transferred as
Sergeant-Major to the First, or West Norfolk Regiment of Militia, whose
headquarters were at East Dereham in Norfolk.
It was just previous to this transfer that Sergeant Borrow had his famous
encounter in Hyde Park with Big Ben Bryan, the champion of England; he
“whose skin was brown and dusky as that of a toad.” It was a combat in
which “even Wellington or Napoleon would have been heartily glad to cry
for quarter ere the lapse of five minutes, and even the Blacksmith Tartar
would, perhaps, have shrunk from the opponent with whom, after having had
a dispute with him,” Sergeant Borrow “engaged in single combat for one
hour, at the end of which time the champions shook hands and retired,
each having experienced quite enough of the other’s prowess.” {4a}
At East Dereham Thomas Borrow met Ann {4b} Perfrement, {4c} a strikingly
handsome girl of twenty, whose dark eyes first flashed upon him from over
the footlights. It was, and still is, the custom for small touring
companies to engage their supernumeraries in the towns in which they were
playing. The pretty daughter of Farmer Perfrement, whose farm lay about
one and a half miles out of East Dereham, was one of those who took
occasion to earn a few shillings for pin-money. The Perfrements were of
Huguenot stock. On the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, their
ancestors had fled from their native town of Caen and taken refuge in
East Anglia, there to enjoy the liberty of conscience denied them in
their beloved Normandy. Thomas Borrow made the acquaintance of the young
probationer, and promptly settled any aspirations that she may have had
towards the stage by marrying her. The wedding took place on 11th
February 1793 at East Dereham church, best known as the resting-place of
the poet Cowper, Ann being twenty-one and Thomas thirty-four years of
age.
For the next seven years Thomas and Ann Borrow moved about with the West
Norfolk Militia, which now marched off into Essex, a few months later
doubling back again into Norfolk. Then it dived into Kent and for a time
hovered about the Cinque Ports, Thomas Borrow in the meantime being
promoted to the rank of quarter-master (27th May 1795). It was not until
he had completed fourteen years of service that he received a commission.
On 27th February 1798 he became Adjutant in the same regiment, a
promotion that carried with it a captain’s rank.
Whilst at Sandgate Mrs Borrow became acquainted with John Murray, the son
of the founder of the publishing house from which, forty-four years
later, were to be published the books of her second son, then unborn.
The widow of John Murray the First had married in 1795 Lieutenant Henry
Paget of the West Norfolk Militia. Years later (27th March 1843) George
Borrow wrote to John Murray, Junr., third of the line:
“I am at present in Norwich with my mother, who has been ill, but is
now, thank God, recovering fast. She begs leave to send her kind
remembrances to Mr Murray. She knew him at Sandgate in Kent
_forty-six_ years ago, when he came to see his mother, Mrs P[aget].
She was also acquainted with his sister, Miss Jane Murray, {5} who
used to ride on horseback with her on the Downs. She says Captain
[_sic_] Paget once cooked a dinner for Mrs P. and herself; and sat
down to table with his cook’s apron on. Is not this funny? Does it
not ‘beat the Union,’ as the Yankees say?”
The first child of the marriage was born in 1800, it is not known exactly
when or where. This was John, “the brother some three years older than
myself,” whose beauty in infancy was so great “that people, especially
those of the poorer classes, would follow the nurse who carried him about
in order to look at and bless his lovely face,” {6a} with its rosy cheeks
and smiling, blue-eyed innocence. On one occasion even, an attempt was
made to snatch him from the arms of his nurse as she was about to enter a
coach. The parents became a prey to anxiety; for the child seems to have
possessed many endearing qualities as well as good looks. He was quick
and clever, and when the time came for instruction, “he mastered his
letters in a few hours, and in a day or two could decipher the names of
people on the doors of houses and over the shop windows.” {6b} His
cleverness increased as he grew up, and later he seems to have become, in
the mind of Captain Borrow at least, a standard by which to measure the
shortcomings of his younger son George, whom he never was able to
understand.
For the next three years, 1800–3, the regiment continued to hover about
the home counties. The Peace of Amiens released many of the untried
warriors, who had enlisted “until the peace,” their adjutant having to
find new recruits to fill up the gaps. War broke out again the following
year (18th May 1803), and the Great Terror assumed a phase so critical as
to subdue almost entirely all thought of party strife. On 5th July Ann
Borrow gave birth to a second son, in the house of her father. At the
time Captain Borrow was hunting for recruits in other parts of Norfolk,
in order to send them to Colchester, where the regiment was stationed.
In due course the child was christened George Henry {7a} at the church of
East Dereham, and, within a few weeks of his birth, he received his first
experience of the vicissitudes of a soldier’s life, by accompanying his
father, mother, and brother to Colchester to rejoin the regiment. The
whole infancy of George Borrow was spent in the same trailing
restlessness. Napoleon was alive and at large, and the West Norfolks
seemed doomed eternally to march and countermarch in the threatened area,
Sussex, Kent, Essex.
No efforts appear to have been made to steal the younger brother,
although “people were in the habit of standing still to look at me, ay,
more than at my brother.” {7b} Unlike John in about everything that one
child could be unlike another, George was a gloomy, introspective
creature who considerably puzzled his parents. He compares himself to “a
deep, dark lagoon, shaded by black pines, cypresses and yews,” {7c}
beside which he once paused to contemplate “a beautiful stream . . .
sparkling in the sunshine, and . . . tumbling merrily into cascades,”
{7d} which he likened to his brother.
Slow of comprehension, almost dull-witted, shy of society, sometimes
bursting into tears when spoken to, George became “a lover of nooks and
retired corners,” {7e} where he would sit for hours at a time a prey to
“a peculiar heaviness . . . and at times . . . a strange sensation of
fear, which occasionally amounted to horror,” {7f} for which there was no
apparent cause. In time he grew to be as much disliked as his brother
was admired. On one occasion an old Jew pedlar, attracted by the latent
intelligence in the smouldering eyes of the silent child, who ignored his
questions and continued tracing in the dust with his fingers curious
lines, pronounced him “a prophet’s child.” This carried to the mother’s
heart a quiet comfort; and reawakened in her hope for the future of her
second son.
[Picture: The birthplace of George Borrow, East Dereham. Photo. H. T.
Cave, East Dereham]
The early childhood of George Borrow was spent in stirring times.
Without, there was the menace of Napoleon’s invasion; within, every
effort was being made to meet and repel it. Dumouriez was preparing his
great scheme of defence; Captain Thomas Borrow was doing his utmost to
collect and drill men to help in carrying it into effect. Sometimes the
family were in lodgings; but more frequently in barracks, for reasons of
economy. Once, at least, they lived under canvas.
The strange and puzzling child continued to impress his parents in a
manner well-calculated to alarm them. One day, with a cry of delight, he
seized a viper that, “like a line of golden light,” was moving across the
lane in which he was playing. Whilst making no effort to harm the child,
who held and regarded it with awe and admiration, the reptile showed its
displeasure towards John, his brother, by hissing and raising its head as
if to strike. This happened when George was between two and three years
of age. At about the same period he ate largely of some poisonous
berries, which resulted in “strong convulsions,” lasting for several
hours. He seems to have been a source of constant anxiety to his
parents, who were utterly unable to understand the strange and gloomy
child who had been vouchsafed to them by the inscrutable decree of
providence.
In the middle of the year 1809 the regiment returned from Essex to
Norfolk, marching first to Norwich and thence to other towns in the
county. Captain Borrow and his family took up their quarters once more
at Dereham. George was now six years old, acutely observant of the
things that interested him, but reluctant to proceed with studies which,
in his eyes, seemed to have nothing to recommend them. Books possessed
no attraction for him, although he knew his alphabet and could even read
imperfectly. The acquirement of book-learning he found a dull and
dolorous business, to which he was driven only by the threats or
entreaties of his parents, who showed some concern lest he should become
an “arrant dunce.”
The intelligence that the old Jew pedlar had discovered still lay
dormant, as if unwilling to manifest itself. The boy loved best “to look
upon the heavens, and to bask in the rays of the sun, or to sit beneath
hedgerows and listen to the chirping of the birds, indulging the while in
musing and meditation.” {9a} Meanwhile John was earning golden opinions
for the astonishing progress he continued to make at school,
unconsciously throwing into bolder relief the apparent dullness of his
younger brother. George, however, was as active mentally as the elder.
The one was studying men, the other books. George was absorbing
impressions of the things around him: of the quaint old Norfolk town, its
“clean but narrow streets branching out from thy modest market-place,
with thine old-fashioned houses, with here and there a roof of venerable
thatch”; of that exquisite old gentlewoman Lady Fenn, {9b} as she passed
to and from her mansion upon some errand of bounty or of mercy, “leaning
on her gold-headed cane, whilst the sleek old footman walked at a
respectful distance behind.” {9c} On Sundays, from the black
leather-covered seat in the church-pew, he would contemplate with
large-eyed wonder the rector and James Philo his clerk, “as they read
their respective portions of the venerable liturgy,” sometimes being
lulled to sleep by the monotonous drone of their voices.
On fine Sundays there was the evening walk “with my mother and brother—a
quiet, sober walk, during which I would not break into a run, even to
chase a butterfly, or yet more a honey-bee, being fully convinced of the
dread importance of the day which God had hallowed. And how glad I was
when I had got over the Sabbath day without having done anything to
profane it. And how soundly I slept on the Sabbath night after the toil
of being very good throughout the day.” {10a}
During these early years there was being photographed upon the brain of
George Borrow a series of impressions which, to the end of his life,
remained as vivid as at the moment they were absorbed. What appeared to
those around him as dull-witted stupidity was, in reality, mental
surfeit. His mind was occupied with other things than books, things that
it eagerly took cognisance of, strove to understand and was never to
forget. {10b} Hitherto he had taken “no pleasure in books . . . and bade
fair to be as arrant a dunce as ever brought the blush of shame into the
cheeks of anxious and affectionate parents.” {10c} His mind was not
ready for them. When the time came there was no question of dullness: he
proved an eager and earnest student.
One day an intimate friend of Mrs Borrow’s, who was also godmother to
John, brought with her a present of a book for each of the two boys, a
history of England for the elder and for the younger _Robinson Crusoe_.
Instantly George became absorbed.
“The true chord had now been touched . . . Weeks succeeded weeks, months
followed months, and the wondrous volume was my only study and principal
source of amusement. For hours together I would sit poring over a page
till I had become acquainted with the import of every line. My progress,
slow enough at first, became by degrees more rapid, till at last, under a
‘shoulder of mutton sail,’ I found myself cantering before a steady
breeze over an ocean of enchantment, so well pleased with my voyage that
I cared not how long it might be ere it reached its termination. And it
was in this manner that I first took to the paths of knowledge.” {11a}
In the spring of 1810 the regiment was ordered to Norman Cross, in
Huntingdonshire, situated at the junction of the Peterborough and Great
North Roads. At this spot the Government had caused to be erected in
1796 an extensive prison, covering forty acres of ground, in which to
confine some of the prisoners made during the Napoleonic wars. There
were sixteen large buildings roofed with red tiles. Each group of four
was surrounded by a palisade, whilst another palisade “lofty and of
prodigious strength” surrounded the whole. At the time when the West
Norfolk Militia arrived there were some six thousand prisoners, who, with
their guards, constituted a considerable-sized township. From time to
time fresh batches of captives arrived amid a storm of cheers and cries
of “Vive L’Empereur!” These were the only incidents in the day’s
monotony, save when some prisoner strove to evade the hospitality of King
George, and was shot for his ingratitude.
Captain Borrow rejoined his regiment at Norman Cross, leaving his
family to follow a few days later. At the time the country round
Peterborough was under water owing to the recent heavy rains, and at one
portion of the journey the whole party had to embark in a species of
punt, which was towed by horses “up to the knees in water, and, on coming
to blind pools and ‘greedy depths,’ were not unfrequently swimming.”
{11b} But they were all old campaigners and accepted such adventures as
incidents of a soldier’s life.
At Norman Cross George made the acquaintance of an old snake-catcher and
herbalist, a circumstance which, insignificant in itself, was to exercise
a considerable influence over his whole life. Frequently this curious
pair were to be seen tramping the countryside together; a tall, quaint
figure with fur cap and gaiters carrying a leathern bag of wriggling
venom, and an eager child with eyes that now burned with interest and
intelligence—and the talk of the two was the lore of the viper. When the
snake-catcher passed out of the life of his young disciple, he left
behind him as a present a tame and fangless viper, which George often
carried with him on his walks. It was this well-meaning and inoffensive
viper that turned aside the wrath of Gypsy Smith, {12a} and awakened in
his heart a superstitious awe and veneration for the child, the
_Sap-engro_, who might be a goblin, but who certainly would make a most
admirable “clergyman and God Almighty,” who read from a book that
contained the kind of prayers particularly to his taste—perhaps the
greatest encomium ever bestowed upon the immortal _Robinson Crusoe_.
Thus it came about that George Borrow was proclaimed brother to the
gypsy’s son Ambrose, {12b} who as Jasper Petulengro figures so largely in
_Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_, and is credited with that exquisitely
phrased pagan glorification of mere existence:
“Life is sweet, brother . . . There’s night and day, brother, both
sweet things; sun, moon and stars, brother, all sweet things; there’s
likewise the wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who
would wish to die?” {13a}
The Borrows were nomads, permitted by God and the king to tarry not over
long in any one place. In the following July (1811) the West Norfolks
proceeded to Colchester _via_ Norfolk, after fifteen months of prison
duty and straw-plait destroying. {13b} Captain Borrow betook himself to
East Dereham again to seek for likely recruits. In the meantime George
made his first acquaintance with that universal specific for success in
life, for correctness of conduct, for soundness of principles—Lilly’s
Latin Grammar, which to learn by heart was to acquire a virtue that
defied evil. The good old pedagogue who advocated Lilly’s Latin Grammar
as a remedy for all ills, would have traced George Borrow’s eventual
success in life entirely to the fact that within three years of the date
that the solemn exhortation was pronounced the boy had learned Lilly by
heart, although without in the least degree comprehending him.
Early in 1812 the regiment turned its head north, and by slow degrees,
with occasional counter marchings, continued to progress towards
Edinburgh, which was reached thirteen months later (6th April 1813).
“With drums beating, colours flying, and a long train of baggage-waggons
behind,” {13c} the West Norfolk Militia wound its way up the hill to the
Castle, the adjutant’s family in a chaise forming part of the procession.
There in barracks the regiment might rest itself after long and weary
marches, and the two young sons of the adjutant be permitted to continue
their studies at the High School, without the probability that the morrow
would see them on the road to somewhere else.
Whilst at Edinburgh George met with his first experience of racial
feeling, which, under uncongenial conditions, develops into race-hatred.
He discovered that one English boy, when faced by a throng of young Scots
patriots, had best be silent as to the virtues of his own race. He
joined in and enjoyed the fights between the “Auld and the New Toon,” and
incidentally acquired a Scots accent that somewhat alarmed his loyal
father, who had named him after the Hanoverian Georges. Proving himself
a good fighter, he earned the praise of his Scots acquaintances, and a
general invitation to assist them in their “bickers” with “thae New Toon
blackguards.”
He loved to climb and clamber over the rocks, peeping into “all manner of
strange crypts, crannies, and recesses, where owls nestled and the weasel
brought forth her young.” He would go out on all-day excursions,
enjoying the thrills of clambering up to what appeared to be inaccessible
ledges, until eventually he became an expert cragsman. One day he came
upon David Haggart {14} sitting on the extreme verge of a precipice,
“thinking of Willie Wallace.”
For fifteen months the regiment remained at Edinburgh. In the spring of
1814 the waning star of Napoleon had, to all appearances, set, and he was
on his way to his miniature kingdom, the Isle of Elba (28th April).
Europe commenced to disband its huge armies, Great Britain among the
rest. On 21st June the West Norfolks received orders to proceed to
Norwich by ship _via_ Leith and Great Yarmouth. The Government, relieved
of all apprehension of an invasion, had time to think of the personal
comfort of the country’s defenders. With marked consideration, the
orders provided that those who wished might march instead of embarking on
the sea. Accordingly Captain Borrow and his family chose the land route.
Arrived at Norwich, the regiment was formally disbanded amid great
festivity. The officers, at the Maid’s Head, the queen of East Anglian
inns, and the men in the spacious market-place, drank to the king’s
health and peace. The regiment was formally mustered out on 19th July.
The Borrows took up their quarters at the Crown and Angel in St Stephen’s
Street, a thoroughfare that connects the main roads from Ipswich and
Newmarket with the city. George, now eleven years old, had an
opportunity of continuing his education at the Norwich Grammar School,
whilst his brother proceeded to study drawing and painting with a “little
dark man with brown coat . . . and top-boots, whose name will one day be
considered the chief ornament of the old town,” {15a} and whose works are
to “rank among the proudest pictures of England,”—the Norwich painter,
“Old Crome.” {15b}
Whilst the two boys were thus occupied, Louis XVIII. was endeavouring to
reorder his kingdom, and on a little island in the Mediterranean,
Napoleon was preparing a bombshell that was to shatter the peace of
Europe and send Captain Borrow hurrying hither and thither in search of
the men who, a few months before, had left the colours, convinced that a
generation of peace was before them.
On 1st March Napoleon was at Cannes; eighteen days later Louis XVIII.
fled from Paris. Everywhere there were feverish preparations for war.
John Borrow threw aside pencil and brush and was gazetted ensign in his
father’s regiment (29th May). Europe united against the unexpected and
astonishing danger. By the time Captain Borrow had finished his task,
however, the crisis was past, Waterloo had been won and Napoleon was on
his way to St Helena.
By a happy inspiration it was decided to send the West Norfolks to
Ireland, where “disturbances were apprehended” and private stills
flourished. On 31st August the regiment, some eight hundred strong,
sailed in two vessels from Harwich for Cork, the passage occupying eight
days. The ship that carried the Borrows was old and crazy, constantly
missing stays and shipping seas, until it seemed that only by a miracle
she escaped “from being dashed upon the foreland.”
After a few days’ rest at Cork, the “city of contradictions,” where
wealth and filth jostled one another in the public highways and
“boisterous shouts of laughter were heard on every side,” the regiment
marched off in two divisions for Clonmel in Tipperary. Walking beside
his father, who was in command of the second division, and holding on to
his stirrup-leather, George found a new country opening out before him.
On one occasion, as they were passing through a village of low huts,
“that seemed to be inhabited solely by women and children,” he went up to
an old beldam who sat spinning at the door of one of the hovels and asked
for some water. She “appeared to consider for a moment, then tottering
into her hut, presently reappeared with a small pipkin of milk, which she
offered . . . with a trembling hand.” When the lad tendered payment she
declined the money, and patted his face, murmuring some unintelligible
words. Obviously there was nothing in the boy’s nature now that appeared
strange to simple-minded folk. Probably the intercourse with other boys
at Edinburgh and Norwich had been beneficial in its effect. Keenly
interested in everything around him, George fell to speculating as to
whether he could learn Irish and speak to the people in their own tongue.
At Clonmel the Borrows lodged with an Orangeman, who had run out of his
house as the Adjutant rode by at the head of his men, and proceeded to
welcome him with flowery volubility. On the advice of his host Captain
Borrow sent George to a Protestant school, where he met the Irish boy
Murtagh, who figures so largely in _Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_.
Murtagh settled any doubts that Borrow may have had as to his ability to
acquire Erse, by teaching it to him in exchange for a pack of cards.
On 23rd December 1815 Ensign John Thomas Borrow was promoted to the rank
of lieutenant, he being then in his sixteenth year. In the following
January, after only a few months’ stay, the West Norfolks were moved on
to Templemore. It was here that George learned to ride, and that without
a saddle, and had awakened in him that “passion for the equine race” that
never left him. {17}
The nine months spent in Ireland left an indelible mark upon Borrow’s
imagination. In later life he repeatedly referred to his knowledge of
the country, its people, and their language. In overcoming the
difficulties of Erse, he had opened up for himself a larger prospect than
was to be enjoyed by a traveller whose first word of greeting or enquiry
is uttered in a hated tongue.
On 11th May 1816 the West Norfolk Militia was back again at Norwich.
Peace was now finally restored to Europe, and every nation was far too
impoverished, both as regards men and money, to nourish any schemes of
aggression. Napoleon was safe at St Helena, under the eye of that
instinctive gaoler, Sir Hudson Lowe. The army had completed its work and
was being disbanded with all possible speed. The turn of the West
Norfolk Militia came on 17th June, when they were formally mustered out
for the second time within two years. Three years later their Adjutant
was retired upon full-pay—eight shillings a day.