It was but a narrow strip of water that separated the old Sea King, or
Buccaneer, from his neighbours on the mainland. But narrow as the strip
was it had been and it was of the greatest service to him; for it kept
from his shores the numerous bands of robbers that infested the
mainland. Of course things had very much improved of recent years, but
still occasional robberies took place even now, and when an opportunity
offered it was not allowed to pass by. Since the world began it has been
said that honest men are few and rogues are many.
There can be very little doubt that the veneer called civilisation has
done much for the world. It would appear, however, that when people are
collected together into a nation, they cannot even now look upon the
richness of a neighbour, without having some feelings of envy, and
experiencing a slight itching sensation at the ends of the fingers.
Indeed, the study of history, and human nature generally, would lead us
to believe that man is not only a very lazy fellow by nature, never
working unless necessity compels him to; but that he is also a thief,
and is only honest by compulsion, or by learning that it is to his
personal advantage to be so. This much we may have hinted before. For
mankind in general we have the highest admiration and consideration; but
we cannot hide from ourselves the fact that it has with many virtues,
also very many faults, and love of other people's property seems to be
one.
Man we will not run down or decry. Look you at the savage! There is a
great nobility about him, and in some things he compares most favourably
with his highly cultivated and civilised brother. The latter is perhaps
the proud possessor of a great intellect, of rank, of high position,
having a long line of ancestors to decorate the walls of his ancestral
hall. He may be the proud possessor of vast wealth, in fact, of
everything that leads to human greatness, and yet see how he sneaks into
a room as if he were some mean thing and thoroughly well ashamed of
himself. Contrast with this man the noble bearing of the savage, every
movement is as full of dignity, as, in all probability, his only blanket
is of insects. This man feels himself a lord of creation. His mantle
above alluded to he throws over his shoulders with an easy grace. His
only possession perhaps is his spear or tomahawk which he is ever ready
to bury in the stomach of an enemy or in the friendly earth. Then the
savage is silent, and when he does speak, he does not prove himself a
wind bag, but he speaks in measured tones, and with dignity and very
much to the point. There is none of that senseless gabbling which is
such a mark of Western civilisation, and which at times is so extremely
confusing and even distressing. He does not wash, you say? Good people
all, here the peculiar and special prejudice of civilisation presents
itself. Yes, the tub crowns your Western edifice; but did your Saint
James ever use the bath? The platter is well washed without, but within?
The savage is a noble being, though perhaps the rain that falls from a
generous heaven is the only washing he ever gets.
The imagination loves to dwell upon the ideal. It peoples the garden of
Eden with beautiful and naked innocence. It loves to sing of the gentle
shepherd, who, decked in ribbons and becoming fancy pastoral garments,
pipes and dances to his flocks all day long, and in other ways wastes
his employer's time. Strip the gentle shepherd of the clothing
generously given him by the imagination and you find him a very rough
fellow indeed, not given to singing so much as to cursing, and instead
of dancing, is more ready to knock anyone on the head who interferes
with his sheep-stealing propensities. We speak, good people all, of
early pastoral times, of what we may call the ancient shepherd period.
Heaven forbid! that we should say one word against civilisation. Do we
wish to live in a state of society which was so easily excited that if a
man but sneezed some fiery fellow would fancy himself insulted and out
with his bodkin and put it through one? Heaven forbid! we say again.
But, good people all, the struggle for existence is great. The weakest
at all times go to the wall. The noble savage allows his weakly and
sickly offspring to die; perhaps even at times he assists nature,
occasionally knocking an aged parent on the head, saving thereby much
pain and suffering on the one side, and trouble and anxiety on the
other. But see what your civilisation does. See how far superior it is;
how supremely human. It calls in that eminent physician Dr. Science, and
with his help your sickly human weeds are nourished and reared until
they are old enough and strong enough to marry and multiply. Weeds
produce weeds and quickly. A sickly body can only sustain a sickly mind,
and so the world wags and whole peoples become undermined. What would we
do? Nothing. We sit and watch things taking their course, and note the
many advantages that civilisation has over barbarism.
It is an old, old tale, yet in the telling of it nature alone is not
prosy. She has such a way of telling the same story over and over again
and ever varying it some little in the telling. What wonderful powers of
variation has our mother! Take a million faces and by some subtle
combination of the same features she gives an individuality to each. But
to return to our noble savage. In a rough and ready fashion he surmounts
the difficulty of his useless members of society. By an extensive and
well-organised system, civilisation finds out the exact amount of
sustenance it takes to keep the body and soul together in an aged
broken-down pauper. Then separating an aged couple, who perhaps have
borne the brunt of many a misfortune together, it allows them to drain
to the last drop the dregs of life, holding up to them as a consolation
the plenty that lies in paradise. Civilisation justly condemns the
inhuman custom of the otherwise noble savage; but does not deny itself
the inward satisfaction of a sigh of relief when some person who, having
lingered perhaps a trifle too long over his or her exit, eventually
goes. "Poor soul," they say, "it is a happy release. Gone to a better
and a happier world, no doubt." A pauper's funeral brightens a district
and carries, if not joy, at least no sorrow to the hearts of the
guardians of the poor.
We never said that civilisation was a gigantic workshop where hypocrites
and humbugs are turned out by the thousands every day, whilst its
religion occupies itself in manufacturing Pharisees. We have pointed
out, if we have not demonstrated, the admirable laws by which
civilisation works as regards the welfare of the poor, and we have shown
the care that it takes of its sickly weeds, given to them such eminent
advantages and allowing them to contaminate a whole community with their
sickliness. We have acknowledged how in all respects, with the sole
exception of grace and bearing, civilisation is superior to the savage
state. But this much we will say, many savages we have seen who are very
much more gentle in their manners; very much more honourable and even
refined in their feelings, and very much more humane, than the roughs of
civilisation. No doubt every civilised family has its extremely black
sheep. The Buccaneer certainly had his, and compared with them, the
gentle savage is a well-bred gentleman.
Then look at your pale-faced drudge of civilisation. With bent back and
emaciated face and smarting eyes, her thin but nimble fingers stitch on
from early morning, till after the weary sun has sunk to rest. On, on,
she works with scanty food, and in an impure atmosphere. Poor soul, has
civilisation done much for her? Has it buttered her bread more thickly
or sweetened more her tea? Is her lot any better than that of her sister
who toils and slaves out in the open, while her brave lies and basks in
the sun of idleness?
But we have wandered far from that narrow strip of water that divided
the Buccaneer from his neighbours on the mainland. It had been to him as
a magic belt, and worth more than thousands of men. His neighbours had
to look on and long and wonder perhaps how it was that such a man had
been allowed to prosper. But all have heard of the row in the kitchen,
between the pot and the kettle. His neighbours, however, repudiated with
scorn any evil intentions and they only kept themselves armed to the
teeth to keep wicked robbers and cut-throats away; but it was a wonder
to many people where they could be, because, if asked, all declared that
all they wished for was to be allowed to live in peace, and quietude, so
that they might enjoy the reward of their honest, industrious, and
highly respectable lives, and fit themselves for heaven.