Chapter XV: In a Conning-Tower (4)

"But it was not by this sort of work that Mr Steevens was to win
his wide popularity. Few writers, when one comes to think of it, do
win wide popularity by means of classical _jeux d'esprit_. At the
time when he was throwing them off, he was also throwing off 'Occ.
Notes' for the 'Pall Mall Gazette.' He was reckoned the humorist
_par excellence_ of that journal in the years when, under the
editorship of Mr Cust, it was almost entirely written by humorists.
He was one of the seceders on the occasion of Mr Cust's retirement,
and occupied the leisure that then presented itself in writing his
book on 'Naval Policy.' His real chance in life came when he was
sent to America for the 'Daily Mail.' It was a better chance than
it might have been, because that newspaper did not publish his
letters at irregular intervals, as usually happens, but in an
unbroken daily sequence. Other excursions followed--to Egypt, to
India, to Turkey, to Germany, to Rennes, to the Soudan--and the
letters, in almost every case, quickly reappeared as a book.

"A rare combination of gifts contributed to Mr Steevens's success.
To begin with, he had a wonderful power of finding his way quickly
through a tangle of complicated detail: this he owed, no doubt, in
large measure to his Oxford training. He also was one of the few
writers who have brought to journalism the talents, and sympathies,
and touch hitherto regarded as belonging more properly to the
writer of fiction. It was the dream of Mr T.P. O'Connor, when he
started the 'Sun,' to have the happenings of the passing day
described in the style of the short-story writer. The experiment
failed, because it was tried on an evening paper with printers
clamouring for copy, and the beginning of the story generally had
to be written before the end of the story was in sight or the place
of the incidents could be determined. Mr Steevens tried the same
experiment under more favourable conditions, and succeeded. There
never were newspaper articles that read more like short stories
than his, and at the same time there never were newspaper articles
that gave a more convincing impression that the thing happened as
the writer described it."

A more personal note was struck perhaps by a writer in the 'Morning Post':--

"Few of the reading public can fail to be acquainted with the
merits of his purely journalistic work. He had carefully developed
a great natural gift of observation until it seemed wellnigh an
impossibility that he should miss any important detail, however
small, in a scene which he was watching. Moreover, he had a
marvellous power of vivid expression, and used it with such a skill
that even the dullest of readers could hardly fail to see what he
wished them to see. It is given to some journalists to wield great
influence, and few have done more to spread the imperial idea than
has been done by Mr Steevens during the last four or five years of
his brief life. Still it must be remembered that, in order to
follow journalism successfully, he had to make sacrifices which he
undoubtedly felt to be heavy. His little book, 'Monologues of the
Dead,' can never become popular, since it needs for its
appreciation an amount of scholarship which comparatively few
possess. Yet it proves none the less conclusively that, had he
lived and had leisure, he would have accomplished great things in
literature. Those who had the privilege of knowing him, however,
and above all those who at one period or another in his career
worked side by side with him, will think but little now of his
success as journalist and author. The people who may have tried, as
they read his almost aggressively brilliant articles, to divine
something of the personality behind them, can scarcely have
contrived to picture him accurately. They will not imagine the
silent, undemonstrative person, invariably kind and ready unasked
to do a colleague's work in addition to his own, who dwells in the
memory of the friends of Mr Steevens. They will not understand how
entirely natural it seemed to these friends that when the long
day's work was ended in Ladysmith he should have gone habitually,
until this illness struck him down, to labour among the sick and
wounded for their amusement, and in order to give them the courage
which is as necessary to the soldier facing disease as it is to
his colleague who has to storm a difficult position. Those who
loved him will presently find some consolation in considering the
greatness of his achievement, but nothing that can now be said will
mitigate their grief at his untimely loss."

Another writer says:--

"What Mr Kipling has done for fiction Mr Steevens did for fact. He
was a priest of the Imperialist idea, and the glory of the Empire
was ever uppermost in his writings. That alone would not have
brought him the position he held, for it was part of the age he
lived in. But he was endowed with a curious faculty, an
extraordinary gift for recording his impressions. In a scientific
age his style may be described as cinematographic. He was able to
put vividly before his readers, in a series of smooth-running
little pictures, events exactly as he saw them with his own intense
eyes. It has been said that on occasion his work contained passages
a purist would not have passed. But Mr Steevens wrote for the
people, and he knew it. Deliberately and by consummate skill he
wrote in the words of his average reader; and had he desired to
offer his work for the consideration of a more select class, there
is little doubt that he would have displayed the same felicity. His
mission was not of that order. He set himself the more difficult
task of entertaining the many; and the same thoroughness which made
him captain of the school, Balliol scholar, and the best
note-writer on the 'Pall Mall Gazette' in its brightest days,
taught him, aided by natural gifts, to write 'With Kitchener to
Khartum' and his marvellous impressions of travel."

* * * * *

This record must close. Innumerable have been the tributes to this brave youth's power for capturing the human heart and the human mind. The statesman and the working man--one of these has written very curtly and simply, "He served us best of all"--each has felt something of the intimate spirit of his work.

Lord Roberts cabled from Capetown in the following words:--

"Deeply regret death of your talented correspondent, Steevens.
ROBERTS."

And a correspondent writes:--

"To-day I called on Lord Kitchener, in compliance with his request,
having yesterday received through his aide-de-camp, Major Watson,
the following letter:--

"'I am anxious to have an opportunity of expressing to you
personally my great regret at the loss we have all sustained
in the death of Mr Steevens.'

"Lord Kitchener said to me:--

"'I was anxious to tell you how very sorry I was to hear of the
death of Mr Steevens. He was with me in the Sudan, and, of course,
I saw a great deal of him and knew him well. He was such a clever
and able man. He did his work as correspondent so brilliantly, and
he never gave the slightest trouble--I wish all correspondents were
like him. I suppose they will try to follow in his footsteps. I am
sure I hope they will.

"'He was a model correspondent, the best I have ever known, and I
should like you to say how greatly grieved I am at his death.'"

Some "In Memoriam" verses, very beautifully written, for the 'Morning Post,' may however claim a passing attention:--

"The pages of the Book quickly he turned.
He saw the languid Isis in a dream
Flow through the flowery meadows, where the ghosts
Of them whose glorious names are Greece and Rome
Walked with him. Then the dream must have an end,
For London called, and he must go to her,
To learn her secrets--why men love her so,
Loathing her also. Yet again he learned
How God, who cursed us with the need of toil,
Relenting, made the very curse a boon.
There came a call to wander through the world
And watch the ways of men. He saw them die
In fiercest fight, the thought of victory
Making them drunk like wine; he saw them die
Wounded and sick, and struggling still to live,
To fight again for England, and again
Greet those who loved them. Well indeed he knew
How good it is to live, how good to love,
How good to watch the wondrous ways of men--
How good to die, if ever there be need.
And everywhere our England in his sight
Poured out her blood and gold, to share with all
Her heritage of freedom won of old.
Thus quickly did he turn the pages o'er,
And learn the goodness of the gift of life;
And when the Book was ended, glad at heart--
The lesson learned, and every labour done--
Find at the end life's ultimate gift of rest."

There I leave him. Great-hearted, strong-souled, brave without a hesitation, tender as a child, intolerant of wrong because he was incapable of it, tolerant of every human weakness, slashing controversialist in speech, statesman-like in foresight, finely versed in the wisdom of many literatures, a man of genius scarce aware of his innumerable gifts, but playing them all with splendid skill, with full enjoyment of the crowded hours of life,--here was George Steevens. In the face of what might have been--think of it--a boy scarce thirty! And yet he did much, if his days were so few. "Being made perfect in a little while, he fulfilled long years."

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.

End of Project Gutenberg's From Capetown to Ladysmith, by G. W. Steevens