CONCLUSION
The news of Gordon's death startled not England only, but the whole of
the civilised world. Every eye had been watching the relief column
slowly wending its way up the Nile, and over the desert route. One war
correspondent had actually used the words in his telegram, "To-morrow
the lonely and weary hero will joyfully grasp the hand of an
Englishman." People would not at first believe the sad reality, and for
a time every one hoped against hope. The news reached the War Office on
February 4th, and was communicated to the public during the following
day. No better proof exists of the tenacity with which many clung to
the hope that Gordon might possibly have survived, than the fact that
the Queen, whose womanly heart always prompted her to be one of the
first to send expressions of sympathy to the relatives of those who
fall at the post of duty, did not date her letter to Miss Gordon till
February 17th, and even then used the sentence, "I fear there cannot be
much doubt of it," in alluding to the hero's death. The Queen's letter,
which did but give expression to the feelings of the country on the
subject, was as follows:--
"OSBORNE, _17th February 1885._
"DEAR MISS GORDON,--_How_ shall I write to you, or how shall I
attempt to express _what I feel_! To _think_ of your dear, noble,
heroic Brother, who served his Country and his Queen so truly, so
heroically, with a self-sacrifice so edifying to the World, not
having been rescued. That the promises of support were not
fulfilled--which I so frequently and constantly pressed on those
who asked him to go--is to me _grief inexpressible_! indeed, it has
made me ill! My heart bleeds for you, his Sister, who have gone
through so many anxieties on his account, and who loved the dear
Brother as he deserved to be. You are all so good and trustful, and
have such strong faith, that you will be sustained even now, when
_real_ absolute evidence of your dear Brother's death does not
exist--but I fear there cannot be much doubt of it. Some day I hope
to see you again, to tell you all I cannot express. My daughter
Beatrice, who has felt quite as I do, wishes me to express her
deepest sympathy with you. I hear so many expressions of sorrow and
sympathy from _abroad_: from my eldest daughter, the Crown
Princess, and from my Cousin, the King of the Belgians,--the very
warmest. Would you express to your other Sisters and your elder
Brother my true sympathy, and what I do so keenly feel, the _stain_
left upon England for your dear Brother's cruel, though heroic
fate?--Ever, dear Miss Gordon, yours sincerely and sympathisingly,
"V. R. I."
Parliament at once voted L20,000, the sum usually given to a successful
general on the completion of a campaign, to be set apart for the
sisters, nephew, and nieces of General Gordon, and an _In Memoriam_
service was conducted in every cathedral, and in nearly all the large
churches of England. A statue was in course of time erected in
Trafalgar Square,[16] and another has recently been unveiled at
Chatham. A monument was erected in St. Paul's Cathedral, and it was
decided to place another in Westminster Abbey, the national mausoleum
of England. But better still, we know that his memory is enshrined in
the hearts of many left behind, and that the record of his noble
saintly life is still teaching many of our countrymen valuable lessons.
[16] It is from this monument that the picture on the cover is
taken. It represents Gordon in the undress uniform of the Royal
Engineers, with a Bible under one arm, and the "magic wand of
victory" under the other.
Few men have done more than General Gordon to elevate the tone of the
soldier. The old-fashioned notion still survives that soldiers love war
for its own sake, and for the honours it brings to those who take part
in it; but Gordon showed us a higher ideal, that the true soldier
should study his profession with the idea of mastering it, so as the
better to enable him to maintain peace. If good men were all to abstain
from studying the science of war, evildoers would very soon have a
monopoly of it, and would become aggressors. There are plenty of
bullies, who, like Napoleon, would soon upset the peace of Europe were
it not that they fear to do so. Such men can only be kept in order by
brute force, and brute force is absolutely of no avail, unless it is
organised and directed by a brain that has studied the art and science
of directing and controlling physical force. It need hardly be said
that a knowledge of this kind is not acquired in a day, and although
there have been some splendid soldiers of the type of Cromwell, Warren
Hastings, and Washington, who have never had a military training, it is
unquestionable that a knowledge of the science of war gives a general a
very great advantage over one who has not had such training. Exceptions
there are to every rule, and the names mentioned must be placed amongst
them. It is doubtful if some of the generals named would have ever
attained celebrity had their opponents been well trained. Gordon loved
his profession, but he took a high view of it. Soldiering with him was
not a mere profession for slaughtering his fellow-creatures, but for
the prevention of that bullying and bloodshed which would be ever going
on in this world, were it not for those who train themselves in order
to be able to stop it. The Taiping rebellion, which caused the death of
millions of innocent creatures, is but a specimen of what might go on
throughout the world did not skilful, well-trained soldiers throw in
their lot with the side of law and order. Had the Chinese Government
only possessed an able general, and a proper army, that rebellion would
never have made such headway as it did. And had they not received the
services of such an able soldier as Gordon proved to be, the rebellion
might have been indefinitely prolonged, and might have broken up the
Empire of China.
In less civilised days the percentage of persons who loved fighting for
its own sake was undoubtedly larger than it is now. The more civilised
we become, the more we learn to value peace and to dislike war. But
even in a civilised nation like the English, there is a certain
percentage who really love fighting for its own sake; and besides
these, there are many who do not actually love it, but think they ought
to do so, as they are in the army, and so they cultivate a style of
talking as if they really liked it, and thus they mislead others. In
the case of Gordon there was an entire absence of either the one or the
other spirit. He did not love fighting for its own sake, and he would
probably have looked upon a person who did as a survival of a former
age. As for the latter class he had an utter abhorrence of all shams,
and he took every opportunity of speaking out of the honesty of his
heart. "People have little idea how far from 'glorious' war is. It is
organised murder, pillage, and cruelty, and it is seldom that the
weight falls on the fighting men--it is on the women, children, and old
people. Consider it how we may, war is a brutal, cruel affair."
Speaking of some of his men killed and wounded in a skirmish, he says,
"I wish people could see what the suffering of human creatures is--I
mean those who wish for war. I am a fool, I daresay, but I cannot see
the sufferings of any of these people without tears in my eyes."
It is worthy of note that some of the ablest generals who have lived
and died in the latter half of this century have held similar views.
The great Duke of Wellington remarked, as he crossed the field of
Waterloo, the evening after the battle, that "nothing exceeds the
horror of victory except a defeat;" and such men as Sir Henry Havelock,
Sir Hope Grant, Sir Henry Lawrence, and the heroic General Lee of
America, used expressions of similar purport. Gordon was a living
illustration of the saying that "the gentlest men are ever the bravest
when enlightened consciousness tells them that they have a just cause
to support."
Gordon's courage was unquestioned, but, though he possessed more
natural courage than most men, he never made a wanton display of it
merely with a view of impressing others. In China he exposed himself
almost recklessly, in order to encourage his officers and men; but in
the Soudan, where he felt so much depended on his life, he carefully
refrained from exposing himself, though it must at times have been a
great trial to him to see his men so badly handled by their leaders.
It is not unnatural that, in the case of the death of a man like
General Gordon, people should like to know his views on that event
which must in due course happen to all of us, unless our Lord Himself
shall come to terminate this dispensation. Apparently he sometimes
wished for this, though he did not appear to think the Second Advent
near at hand. In one of his letters he says:--
"I wish, I wish the King would come again and put things right on
earth; but His coming is far off, for the whole world must long for
Him ere He comes, and I really believe that there are but very,
very few who would wish Him to appear, for to do so is to desire
death, and how few do this! Not that we really ever die: we only
change our sheaths."
But though he longed for the return of the Heavenly Bridegroom during
his life, he also looked upon death as a welcome release from the
trials and troubles of life. He frequently alluded to this subject, and
dozens of extracts might be made from his letters, all more or less
similar to the two following, which were written at different dates:--
"I would that all could look on death as a cheerful friend, who
takes us from a world of trial to our true home. All our sorrows
come from a forgetfulness of this great truth. I desire to look on
the departure of my friends as a promotion to another and a higher
sphere, as I do believe that to be the case with _all_.
"Any one, to whom God gives to be much with Him, cannot even suffer
a pang at death. For what is death to a believer? It is a closer
approach to Him, whom, even through the veil, he is ever with."
There is one point on which we ought specially to dwell in considering
the lessons to be learnt from the life of General Gordon, and that is
the _moral_ courage he always exhibited. His physical courage has
already been touched on, but great as it was, his moral courage was far
greater. There are plenty of men possessing physical courage who fail
to exhibit moral courage when put to the test. Man being a gregarious
animal, and accustomed to go in flocks, is led by his fellows to evil
as well as to good. No man can be a true leader of men who is not
prepared to stand alone, if need be, against overwhelming majorities.
Gordon had the courage of his convictions, and no amount of pressure,
no weight of public opinion, could deter him when once the path of duty
was clear. The time-server does not ask, What is right? What is my
duty? but, What will pay? What will public opinion think? For such an
one Gordon had a supreme contempt. It has been well said by Dr. Ryle,
the Bishop of Liverpool, "It is not overwhelming majorities that shake
and influence the world. Small minorities have ever had more influence
than large majorities. All great men have had their seasons of
loneliness. See Napoleon, Mahomet, Luther, John Wesley, and Christ
Himself." To this list we may add the name of General Gordon; few men
so often found themselves so much in opposition in fashionable circles
and in the official world.
* * *
Among the false reports that have been circulated about General Gordon
is one that he was very unsociable and morose, shunning society in
general, and ladies' society in particular. It is true that he shunned
a certain class of society; there was also a certain set of women that
he fought shy of; but it is quite untrue to say that he was unsociable.
He greatly enjoyed the society of ordinary cultivated women, who were
in sympathy with his efforts to do good, and with them he was neither
shy nor reserved. He could talk pleasantly for hours together, and as
his own mind was a very cultivated one, he was a great element of
attraction to society of a certain kind. What he did dislike intensely
was the society of that class of ladies who think of little beyond the
fashions of the day, the latest style of dress, and the newest forms of
amusement. Such persons he used to find had no minds to think, and no
hearts to feel for suffering humanity. Many of them attempted to
lionise him, while others paid him the most fulsome compliments, both
being things that he particularly disliked. The ordinary conventional
dinner-party, where a man is condemned to take in a lady with whom he
has nothing in common, and next to whom he must sit for a couple of
hours or so eating and drinking things which do not agree with him, was
to Gordon a special object of antipathy. Writing from Cairo on March
15, 1878, he says:--
"I am much bothered, but I get to bed at 8 P.M., which is a
comfort, for I do not dine out, and consequently do not drink wine.
Every one laughs at me; but I do not care."
Again, when in South Africa, he writes:--
"How I hate society; how society hates me! I never tell you the
sort of life I lead, it is not worth it; for it is simply the life
I led at home, being asked out, and refusing when it is
possible;--when I go, getting humiliated, or being foolish. This
latter is better than not being exposed--keeping one's self in
cotton wool, for that brings out no knowledge of self, such as is
brought out by being with others. At the same time, I think it is
not right to be much in society, indeed I fight against it truly,
and have only dined out about seven times since I have been here."
On October 24th, 1884, when he had made up his mind not to return to
England, even if he should get away from Khartoum, he says:--
"I dwell on the joy of never seeing Great Britain again, with its
horrid, wearisome dinner-parties and miseries. How we can put up
with those things passes my imagination! It is a perfect bondage.
At those dinner-parties we are all in masks, saying what we do not
believe, eating and drinking things we do not want, and then
abusing one another. I would sooner live like a Dervish with the
Mahdi, than go out to dinner every night in London. I hope, if any
English general comes to Khartoum, he will not ask me to dinner.
Why men cannot be friends without bringing the wretched stomachs
in, is astounding."
But though Gordon did not like the artificial conventional society one
meets at ordinary dinner-parties, it must not be supposed that he was
in any way gloomy. His friend, Prebendary Barnes, says about him: "The
seriousness of Gordon's temper did not prevent him from being a bright
and agreeable companion, especially when those with whom he talked
could join him in smoking a cigarette. He had a keen sense of humour,
and on every matter about which he cared to form an opinion he spoke
clearly and decisively." And his old brother officer, Sir Gerald
Graham, thus speaks of him:--
"Pictures have been drawn of Gordon as a gloomy ascetic, wrapped up
in mystic thoughts, retiring from all communion with the world, and
inspiring fear rather than affection. I can only describe him as he
appeared to me. Far from being a gloomy ascetic, he always seemed
to me to retain a boyish frankness, and to long to share his ideas
with others. Our intimacy began when we were thrown together in
mining the docks of Sebastopol during the winter of 1855-56--a
period Gordon always delighted in referring to whenever we met, by
calling up old scenes, and even our old jokes of that time. Like
all men of action, more especially soldiers, Gordon disliked
argument with subordinates when once he had resolved on his course
of action; otherwise he invited discussion, and I always found him
most tolerant in listening to arguments against his own views, even
on subjects in which he, of course, possessed a knowledge far
exceeding any I could pretend to. To show the impression he made
upon me at the time of my last seeing him, in 1884, I will quote
from a letter which I wrote shortly after: 'Charlie Gordon's
character is a very fascinating one; he has so much of the natural
man about him. To his friends--and he treats all as friends whom he
knows and trusts--his charm of manner is irresistible. It is
utterly unlike the charm of a polished man of the world; it is the
charm of a perfectly open mind, giving and demanding confidence,
sometimes playfully, sometimes earnestly, and sometimes with
touching humility."
There were various reasons which made him avoid worldly society; one
was the incessant grumbling in which many indulge, who have little
cause to complain. Writing from the Soudan, he says:--
"I have not patience with the groans of half the world, and declare
there is more happiness among these miserable blacks, who have not
a meal from day to day, than among our own middle classes. The
blacks are glad of a little handful of maize, and live in the
greatest discomfort. They have not a strip to cover them; but you
do not see them grunting and groaning all day long, as you see
scores and scores in England, with their wretched dinner-parties,
and attempts at gaiety, where all is hollow and miserable."
Then there was a higher reason. He found that such society interfered
with his spiritual life. He says, in three distinct letters:--
"Getting quiet does one good; it is impossible to hear God's voice
in a whirl of visits. You must be more or less in the desert, to
use the scales of the Sanctuary, to see and weigh the true value of
things and sayings."
"We have no conception or idea of what God will show us, if we
persevere in seeking Him; and it is He who puts this wish into our
hearts. All I can say to you is: Persevere; avoid the world and its
poor wretched little talk about others; never mind being thought
stupid; look on everything with regard to the great day, and trust
Him implicitly."
"Christ must _actually die_, not come _very near_ death; and so
must we, if we would rise. I once thought it possible to bargain
with Christ; to say, I will give up half of my desire of the world,
and gain, in the gap, a corresponding measure of Christ. It was no
good: I lost the half, but did not get the measure filled. Then I
tried to give up a little more, but with the same result; now I
think God has shown me that it is not the least use trying these
subtle bargains; that the giving up little by little is more
wearisome and trying than _one_ surrender, and _that_ I trust He
will give me power to make."
Another reason, doubtless, why he shunned fashionable society was his
extreme sensitiveness to praise. His honest, straightforward nature
could not tolerate the praise that so often is showered upon great men.
He used to say:--
"If a man speaks well of me, divide it by millions and then it will
be millions of times too favourable. If a man speaks evil of me,
multiply it by millions and it will be millions of times too
favourable. Man is disguised, as far as his neighbour is concerned;
this disguise is his outward goodness. Some have it in a slight
measure torn off in this life, and are judged accordingly by those
whose disguise of goodness is more intact; the revelation of the
evil by this partial tearing off is but the manifestation of what
exists. Whether the disguise is torn or intact, the interior and
true state (known to God quite clearly) is the same corrupt thing;
the eye of the Spirit discerns through the disguise.
"Who could bear to have this disguise quite rent off, and the evil
exposed to the eyes of the world? How would the world receive me,
if they knew what I really was, and what God knows that I am at
this minute? Yet, how hardly I judge another whose disguise,
slightly rent, shows a little of the corruption I know exists in
me. Nothing evil was ever said of any man which was not true, his
worst enemies could not say a thousandth part of the evil that is
in him.
"Praise now humbles me, it does not elate me; did the world praise
Jesus? and what right have we to take this praise of men, when it
is due to Him?
"When one knows the little one does of oneself, and any one praises
you, I, at any rate, have a rising, which is a suppressed 'You
lie.' There are several nice bits in our Lord's life, when He
replied with some unpalatable truth to those men who would follow
Him, and would make much of Him, but afterwards they entirely
changed their demeanour."
At one time he used, for the same reason, to avoid reading all
newspapers, as they contained so much praise of him. Writing in 1882,
when he was Governor-General of the Soudan, he says:--
"I have come to a conclusion; may God give me strength to keep it!
_Stop all the newspapers._ It is no use mincing the matter; as the
disease is dire, so also must be the remedy.... Newspapers feed a
passion _I_ have for giving my opinion; therefore, as we have no
right to judge and have nothing to do with this world (of which we
are not), this feeding must be cut short.
"The giving up the papers may cause the starvation of my passion
for politics, and that scab may drop off. God has shown me what
the scabs are:--Evil-speaking, lying, slandering, back-biting,
scoffing, self-conceit, boasting, silly talking, and some few more.
"I wish friends would not send me papers, &c. I pass them on to
----, who is my waste-paper basket!"
Not only did he combat that part of his nature which loved the praise
of men, he also sternly resisted the temptation of ambition. For
instance, he writes:--
"I wonder if I look ambitious in your eyes. Do you think I sought
this place? You should know better than most people, for you have
all my thoughts in my letters. Judging myself, I fear it was so
when I took the work in hand; not that I cared for the money or the
honours to come from it. I think, however, my main idea was the
Quixotic one--to help the Khedive, mixed with the feeling that I
could, with God's direction, accomplish this work.
"... There is death in the seeking of high posts on this earth
for the purpose of what the world calls doing great things;
the mightiest of men are flies on a wheel; a kind word to a
crossing-sweeper delights Christ _in him_, as much as it would
delight Christ _in_ a queen."
He was conscious, too, of a natural tendency to judge his neighbours.
Like many reformers, he had a critical nature, and often found himself
led into temptation through it. He never screened this failing, and did
his utmost to fight against it. There are several extracts from his
letters on this besetting sin. Witness these two:--
"What troubles me immensely is the way in which circumstances force
me into society, for in it is the great evil of judging others,
picking them to pieces behind their backs, so entirely mean and
contrary to our Lord's will. All this tends to make a cloud between
Him and us; and yet I declare I cannot see how I can avoid it."
"This is one great reason why I never desire to enter social life,
for there is very great difficulty in knowing people and not
discussing others."
Considering how thorough Gordon himself was, and how intensely he hated
shams of every kind, it is not surprising to find that, with his
naturally critical temperament, he used most relentlessly to expose the
unreality of many who, acknowledging the truth of Christianity,
practically denied its power.
"As a rule, Christians are really more inconsistent than
'worldlings.' They talk truths, and do not act on them. They allow
that 'God is the God of the widows and orphans,' yet they look in
trouble to the gods of silver and gold: either He can help
altogether, or not at all. He will not be served in conjunction
with idols of any sort....
"How unlike in acts are most of so-called Christians to their
Founder! You see in them no resemblance to Him. Hard, proud,
'holier than thou,' is their uniform. _They have the truth_,
no one else, it is _their_ monopoly."
But though he avoided Christians of this type, he had a great yearning
for the society of those who were real, and had more sympathy with the
weaknesses of those who were true, in spite of their failings, than
most men. He was fully conscious of the natural depravity of his own
heart, and so was ever tender to those who fell. Nobody was more
willing than he to act to a fellow Christian on the principle laid down
in the lines--
"Help a poor and weary brother
Pulling hard against the stream."
He loved Christian society of the right sort, and, under its influence,
his whole nature would expand, and he would converse for hours
together. Writing from Galatz, where he went after the pleasant time
spent at Gravesend, he says, "I feel much also the want of some
religious talk," thereby adding another illustration to the truth of
that text, "They that love the Lord spake often one to another."
General Gordon's temperament was not that of the monk who shuns his
fellow-creatures, and it must therefore have been all the greater trial
for him to cut himself off from his friends for so many years at a time
as he used to do. Indeed he used to speak of it as "a living death."
But the great lesson of his life was that of self-sacrifice for the
good of others. Speaking to the editor of a journal, to which reference
has already been made, he once said, "When I was in the Soudan, I used
to pray every day, 'O Lord, let me be crushed. Lay the punishment of
their sins upon me.'" Then, as if he was afraid of being misunderstood,
he said, "It was a strange prayer, was it not? As if I had not enough
of my own sins to bear!" Few men have learned better than he the great
lesson taught from the Cross of Calvary, and few have practised that
lesson more completely.
As we so often see greatness associated with success in life, it is
well that now and then we witness greatness, which has not been
associated with what the world calls success, for the two are far from
being inseparably connected. General Gordon frequently emphasised the
distinctions between honours and honour. The former he cared very
little about, but the latter he ever valued highly, and he used to say
that often men attain the former at the expense of the latter. No
titles precede his name, nor do any decorations of importance follow
it, but his simple and yet heroic self-sacrificing life have fascinated
his countrymen, and helped to make the world better by setting before
it a higher ideal. On the monument in St. Paul's Cathedral his life is
briefly summed up in the few following words: "To Major-General Charles
George Gordon, C.B., who at all times and everywhere gave his strength
to the weak, his substance to the poor, his sympathy to the suffering,
his heart to God. He saved an empire by his warlike genius, he ruled
vast provinces with justice, wisdom, and power, and lastly, obedient to
his Sovereign's command, he died in the heroic attempt to save men,
women, and children, from imminent and deadly peril." The nation felt
that their Poet Laureate, Lord Tennyson, did but speak the simple truth
when he penned the following lines:--
"Warrior of God, man's friend, not laid below,
But somewhere dead far in the waste Soudan,
Thou livest in all hearts, for all men know
This earth has borne no simpler, nobler man."
THE END
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