Chapter THE FOURTH (1)

Rascally Conduct of the Prince of Nimbus.

The Prince of Nimbus, whose goodnature we have celebrated, was not good for nothing. Having graciously permitted all the suitors of the Princess Cirrha to go down to earth and labour for her hand, he took advantage of their absence, and, having the coast clear, importuned the daughter of King Cumulus with his own addresses. Cirrha was not disposed to listen to them, but the rogue her father was ambitious. He desired to make a good alliance, and that object was better gained by intermarriage with a prince than with a subject. “There will be an uproar,” said the old man, “when those fellows down below come back. They will look black and no doubt storm a little, but we’ll have our royal marriage notwithstanding.” So the Prince of Nimbus married Cirrha, and Nephelo arrived at the court of King Cumulus one evening during the celebration of the bridal feast. His wrath was seen on earth in many parts of England in the shape of a great thunderstorm on the 16th of July. The adventures of the other suitors, they being thus cheated of their object, need not be detailed. As each returns he will be made acquainted with the scandalous fraud practised by the Prince of Nimbus, and this being the state of politics in Cloud-Land at the moment when we go to press, we may fairly expect to witness five or six more thunderstorms before next winter. Each suitor, as he returns and finds how shamefully he has been cheated, will create a great disturbance; and no wonder. Conduct so rascally as that of the Prince of Nimbus is enough to fill the clouds with uproar.

A CHRISTIAN BROTHERHOOD.

There is an establishment in Paris, for providing instruction for artisans of all ages and others employed during the day, which is well worthy of imitation in this country. It has occasioned the establishment, in all parts of France, of a number of evening schools, at which instruction is given without charge to the pupil. We are by no means clear that in this respect a sound principle is observed; holding it to be important that those who _can_ pay anything for the great advantages of education should pay something, however little. But into this question we do not now propose to enter.

The institution was originated in 1680, by Dr. J. Baptiste de la Lulli, Canon of Rheims, lingered on till 1804, but was revived and brought to its present condition of efficacy in 1830. It consists of a parent or training establishment in Paris (Rue Plumet, 33) from which teachers are provided for any locality, in any part of France, or even Italy, for which an evening school may be petitioned by the residents. There are connected with it at present no fewer than five thousand teachers, who call themselves “Brothers of the Christian Schools” (_Frères des Ecoles Chrétiennes_). Four thousand are employed in France, and one thousand in Italy. They are not a Church, but a Lay Community (_Religieux laïques_). A certain number remain ready at the central establishment to obey any call that may be made for their services.

Before such a requisition is made, the municipal authorities, or any number of benevolent individuals who may choose to subscribe, must have provided a house and school-room, with all proper accommodations, and must certify that a certain number of pupils are willing to enrol themselves. On application to the central establishment three qualified Christian Brothers are sent down, at salaries not exceeding six hundred francs, or twenty-four pounds per annum in the provinces, or thirty pounds a year in Paris. Fewer than three Frères are not allowed to superintend each school; two for the classes, and a probationer to perform the household duties; but, when the schools outgrow the management of that number a fourth is added, to take the management of the whole, and is called a _Frère-directeur_. The classes are limited to sixty for writing, and one hundred for other branches of education. This limitation is necessary, because the monitorial system is not followed, and the whole weight of the duties falls on the masters.

The schools thus established in the various quarters of Paris are very numerous; six thousand apprentices and artisans attend them after their hours of work—young boys, youths, and adults—the numbers having declined since the revolution of 1848. “I have,” says Mr. Seymour Tremenheere, in a note to his Report on the state of the mining population, “at different times visited some of those evening schools in the Fauxbourgs St. Antoine and St. Martin, containing from four hundred to six hundred, in separate class-rooms of sixty to a hundred each, all well lighted, warmed, and ventilated. The gentle and affectionate manner of the Frères, and their skill in teaching, were very conspicuous, and sufficiently explained their success. The instruction consists, in addition to the doctrines of Christianity, which are the basis of the whole, of reading, writing, arithmetic, a little history, drawing (linear and perspective), and vocal music. In all the classes, many adults who had been at work all day were to be seen mixed with young men and boys, patiently learning to read, or to write and cypher. In the drawing-classes, some were copying ornamental designs, or heads, for their own amusement; others, to improve themselves as cabinetmakers, or workers in bronze, or in other trades for which some cultivation of taste is requisite.”

The superiority of the system of teaching adopted by the Christian Brothers has been proved by a severe test. In Paris, as in London, it is the custom, once a year, to assemble all the parochial schools; not, however, as a mere show for the purpose of uniting in ill-executed psalmody, but with the better and more useful view of testing the improvement of the scholars, and of ascertaining the degrees of diligence and proficiency attained by the masters. The parochial scholars compete for prizes, given by the corporation of the city; not only among themselves, but with the other elementary schools—those of the Christian Brothers among the rest. At these competitions, it has happened, of late years, that the pupils of the latter have been the victors. In one year, they gained seventeen prizes out of twenty; in another, twenty-three out of thirty-one; and, last year, they carried off the highest forty-two prizes: the fortunate candidates of all the other schools only claiming the inferior rewards. In addition to these evening schools for adults and young men who are already gaining their livelihood, the Frères Chrétiens have set on foot Sunday evening sermons at different churches, and also meetings for lectures on religious and moral subjects adapted to the wants of, and calculated to influence, the same class. “I recently was present at one of these meetings in the Faubourg St. Antoine” (we quote our former authority), “where a series of eloquent and forcible addresses was delivered—one, by a Professor of History, on some of the leading points of Christian morals; another, by a gentleman of literary attainments, on Death and a future state; a third, by a gentleman of independent position, on the religious condition of some of the forçats at Toulon; a fourth, by a member of the university, on the displacement of labour by machinery, and its ultimate advantage to the labourer; all of whom had come forward to aid in the task of combating irreligion, and the various forms of error pervading the minds of so many of the working classes of Paris. These were followed by hymns, and by prayers. A deep sense of religion is, indeed, the animating spirit of all the endeavours of the Frères Chrétiens for the benefit of the lower classes, and the principle which sustains them in their self-denying and arduous career.”

The lovers of “great comprehensive systems,”—to whom we adverted in a former page—might, by copying the plan of the French Christian Brothers, carry out a scheme which would be of the utmost use in this country. It would also have the advantage of encouraging small beginnings, and combining them into one great and efficacious whole. We can hardly wait until the present adult generation of ignorance shall die out to be succeeded by another which we are, after all, only half educating. Why not offer inducements, and form plans, for the instruction of grown-up persons, many of whom, having come to a sense of their deficiencies, pine for culture and enlightenment, which they cannot obtain? A central establishment in London—on a general plan somewhat similar to the Government Normal Schools already in existence, but with less cumbrous and costly machinery—could be formed at a small expense; and we doubt not that many a knot of benevolent well-wishers would, in their various localities, be eager to provide all the scholastic _matériel_ for the less favoured artisans and day-workers around them, could they look with confidence to some central establishment for the formation of teachers, in which they could place implicit confidence.

The monitorial system, in a school consisting of all ages—in which a small boy, from his intellectual superiority, might be placed over the heads of pupils, greater, older than himself—is manifestly impracticable; and a larger number of teachers than is usual in schools for children only, would be necessary.

We will borrow from Mr. Tremenheere a comparison between the intellectual acquirements and moral conduct of French workmen and those of English workmen, in the mining districts of each country. We do not assume that the superiority of the French workmen has been occasioned solely by the evening schools of the Christian Brothers, but, after what we have already shown, we consider it reasonable to infer that, since 1830, those establishments have had a large share in the formation of their character. In a former report,[6] Mr. Tremenheere described the habits and manners of the French colliers and miners, especially those at the iron and coal-works in the coalfield near Valenciennes. He was compelled, by the force of unexceptionable evidence, to show how superior they were in every respect, except that of mere animal power, to the generality of the mining population in this country. At the large iron-works at Denain, employing about four thousand people, there were thirty Englishmen from Staffordshire. These men were earning about one-third more wages than the French labourers; but, they spent all they earned in eating and drinking; were frequently drunk; and in their manners were coarse, quarrelsome, disrespectful, and insubordinate. The English manager—who had held for many years responsible situations under some of the leading iron-masters in Staffordshire—stated with regret, that so different and so superior were the intelligence, and the civilised habits and conduct, of the French, that, if any thirty Frenchmen from these works were to go to work in Staffordshire, “they would be so disgusted, they would not stay; they would think they had got among a savage race.”

Footnote 6:

“Report of Inspection of French and Belgian mines, 1848—Appendix.”

There have been, lately, forty Frenchmen employed at one of the large manufactories in Staffordshire, by the Messrs. Chance, at their extensive and well-known glass-works at West Bromwich, in the immediate neighbourhood of some of the great iron-works. Mr. Chance gives the Commissioner the following account of these men:—“A few years ago, we brought over forty Frenchmen to teach our men a particular process in our manufacture. They have now nearly all returned. We found them very steady, quiet, temperate men. They earned good wages, and saved while they were with us a good deal of money. We have had as much as fifteen hundred pounds at a time in our hands belonging to these men, which we transmitted to France for them. One of them, who sometimes earns as much as seven pounds a week, has saved in our service not much short of four thousand pounds. He is with us now. He is a glass-blower. We have about fourteen hundred men in our employ (in the glass-blowing and alkali works) when trade is in a good state. I am sorry to say that the contrast between them and the Frenchmen was very marked in many respects, especially in that of forethought and economy. I do not think that, while we had in our hands the large sum mentioned above as the savings of the Frenchmen at one time, we have had at the same time five pounds belonging to our own people. They generally spend their money as fast as they can get it.”

In Scotland, evening schools abound, and come in effectually to aid the universal system of primary instruction existing over that part of our island. A Wesleyan local preacher told Mr. Tremenheere of the Scotchmen employed on the Northumberland and Durham collieries, “when you go into some of the Scotchmen’s houses, you would be surprised to see the books they have—not many, but all choice books. Some of their favourite authors in divinity are very common among them. Many of them read such books as Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations, and are fond of discussing the subjects he treats of. They also read the lives of statesmen, and books of history; also works on logic; and, sometimes, mathematics. Such men can be reasoned with about anything appertaining to their calling, and they know very well why wages cannot be at particular times higher than a certain standard. They see at once, by the price current in the market, what is the fair portion to go to the workman as wages, according to the circumstances of the pit and the general state of the trade. Such men will have nothing to do with the union. They scorn to read such penny and twopenny publications as we have been talking about. They are fonder of sitting down after their work and reading a chapter of the Wealth of Nations. They will also talk with great zest of many of their great men—their own countrymen, who have raised themselves by their own industry. There are, undoubtedly, some men that come out of Scotland bad men, but these are not informed men. I am speaking of all this neighbourhood, where I have lived all my life. There are a great many Scotch at all the collieries here, and most of them very respectable men, exceedingly so. You may ask me why the union is so strong in parts of Scotland—as in Lanarkshire? It is because in Lanarkshire the pitmen are one-third Irish, and many of the worst Scotch from other counties. Those who come here are among the best in their own country, I should think, from the accounts they give me. When a Scotchman comes here he earns English wages; but he does not spend them as an Englishman does. A Scotchman often, rather than lose buying a good book, will lose his dinner. The Scotchwomen begin to keep their houses cleaner after they get into England, and by degrees they come to keep them as clean as the Englishwomen; and the first generation after their fathers come are equal to the English in their wish to keep everything clean about them. They are generally very saving, and lay out the over-plus of their earnings in books and furniture or lay it by. They have a great disposition to have their children well taught. Indeed, I have seen several lads that have been educated in the Scotch schools, and I find them very well taught; they can reason like men.

“I don’t think I ever saw Adam Smith’s works in more than one or two English pit-men’s houses. They are backward to attempt anything that requires steady thinking, such as that book, or any work on logic or mathematics. The Scotch often study both. This makes one of the great differences between the best working-men of the two people. The English seldom attempt even English grammar or geometry; they always tell me they are obliged to give way when they have made a trial.[7] They had rather read any popular work, such as the ‘Christian Philosopher,’ the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ or Walter Scott’s novels. They love to read their country’s history, and they like to talk of its renown in the ancient French wars of Edward the Third and Henry the Fifth. They are also great readers of Napoleon’s and the Duke of Wellington’s wars, and their soul seems to take fire when they talk of their country’s victories. They are fond of biography, and especially that of men who rose from being poor men to be great characters. They are very generous in their dispositions, and will share their loaf with the poor, as all the beggars and trampers from Newcastle and all the country know. They are greatly improved in my time as to drinking habits; there is much less of it, and their money is chiefly spent in living well and making a great show in furniture and dress. The women, too, are improving, and manage their families much better than they used to do. The English pit-boys are exceedingly quick at school—much more so than the Scotch, I think. What I most want to see is better descriptions of schools—schools under masters of ability, who can teach their boys to think and reason. You will find boys who have been at such schools as most of those we have now, that can write a good hand and do some cyphering; but when you come to ask them questions that exercise the mind, they have no idea what to answer. If there were such schools for the boys, the men would soon be a different race; for what the men want is to be taught to exercise their reason fairly, which would prevent their being led away as they are now.”

Footnote 7:

We doubt the _general_ applicability of this description, without
questioning its correctness in this case.

With a little modification, this description of the pitman applies, in its more favourable characteristics, to the English operative generally. No one can read it without being convinced that there is sound and hopeful material, in the generous English character to work upon. The natural ability, the deep feeling, the quickness of perception, the susceptibility to religious and moral impressions, the sound common sense where the rudest cultivation has been attained, and the heartfelt patriotism, of the humble orders of this country, are unequalled in the world. Surely this is a rich mine to work; surely it should not be left to unskilled workers, or to chance; but should be faithfully confided to the heads and hearts of men, trained up to its improvement, as to a noble calling, and a solemn duty! In all parts of this land, the people are willing and desirous to be taught. Open schools anywhere, and they will come—even, as the Ragged Schools have proved, out of the worst dens of vice and infamy, in the worst hiding-places, in the worst towns and cities. But, unless the art of teaching is pursued upon a system, as an art, thoroughly understood, and proceeding on sound principles, the best intentions and the most sincere devotion can do next to nothing. For want of competent teachers, there are opportunities being lost at this moment, we do not hesitate to say, in the Ragged Schools of London alone, the waste of which, is of more true importance to the community, than all the theological controversies that ever deafened its ears, and distracted its wits. Meanwhile, the sands of Time are running out remorselessly, and, with every grain, immortal souls are perishing. We want teachers, competent to educate the mind, to rouse the reason, to undo the beastly transformation that has been effected—to our guilt and shame—upon humanity, and to bring God’s image out of the condition of the lower animals. What we have suffered to be beaten out of shape, we must remould, with pains, and care, and skill, and cannot hope to put into its rightful form hap-hazard. And such would be the glorious office and main usefulness of a comprehensive, unsectarian—in short, Christian—Brotherhood in England.

AN EVERY DAY HERO.

“Tell us,” the children to their grandsire said,
“Some wondrous story! tell us of the wars,
Or one of those old ballads that you know
About the seven famous champions,
St. George, St. Denis, and the rest of them.
We have delight in those heroic stories,
And often tell them over to ourselves
And wish that there were heroes now-a-days.”
The old man smoked his pipe; the children urged
More eagerly their wish, athirst to know
Something about the great men of old times,
Deploring still that these degenerate days
Produced no heroes, and that now no poets
Made ballads that were worth the listening to.
The old man smiled and laid aside his pipe;
Then, gazing tenderly into their faces,
Said he would tell them of as great a hero
As any which the ballads chronicled—
The good old ballads which they loved so well.
“Once on a time,” said he, “there was a lad,
Whose name was John; his father was a gardener.
He had great skill in flowers even when a child;
And when his father died, he carried on
The gardener’s trade. One autumn night he found
A young man hiding in his garden-shed,
Haggard and foot-sore, wanting bread to eat;
A fugitive who had escaped the law,
And being now discovered, prayed for mercy,
And told his tale so very touchingly
That the young gardener promised him a refuge,
And strictest secresy. For weeks and months
The stranger worked with him, receiving wages
As a hired labourer. Both were fine young men,
Well-grown, broad-chested, full of strength and mettle;
In outward seeming equal to each other,
But inwardly the two were different.
“The stranger, George, had not a gardening turn,
He was book-learned, and had a gift for figures,
And could talk well, which in itself was good;
But he was double-faced, and false as Judas,
Who did betray the Saviour with a kiss.
He had, in truth, been clerk to some great merchant,
Had wronged his trusting master, and had fled,
As I have said, from the pursuit of law.
Of this, however, John knew not a word,
Knew only that he had been in sore trouble,
And, for that cause, he strove to do him good;
And when he found him useless in his trade,
He introduced him to the Squire’s bailiff,
Whose daughter he had courted many a year.
This bailiff was a simple, honest man,
Who not designing evil, none suspected.
He found the stranger, clever, quick at reckoning,
Smart with his pen; a likely man of business;
And, therefore, on a luckless day for him,
Brought him before the Squire. Ere long he had
A place appointed him which gave him access
To the Squire daily; principles of honour
Were all unknown to him: all means allowable
Which served his ends. He gained a great ascendance
Over the Squire, and ere four years were passed,
He was appointed bailiff.
“The old bailiff
Was sent adrift, and the kind, worthy, Squire,
His thirty years’ employer, turned against him!
It was a villain’s act, first, to traduce,
And then supplant—it was a Judas-trick!
The gardener John, who wooed the bailiff’s daughter,
Had married her before this plotter’s work
Was come to light; and they, poor, simple folk,
Invited him among their wedding-company,
And he, with his black plots hatching within him,
Came, full of smiles, and ate and drank with them;
The double-faced villain! The old bailiff
Was turned adrift, as I have said already,
And his dismissal looked like a disgrace,
Although the Squire brought not a charge against him,
Except that he was old, and younger men
Could better carry out his modern plans!
And modern plans, God knows, they had enough!
Old tenants were removed; and soon a notice
Came to the gardener, John, that he must quit;
Must quit the little spot he loved so well,
And where the poor, heart-broken bailiff, found
A home in his distress. It mattered not
Their likings or convenience, go they must;
The Squire was laying out his place afresh—
Or the new bailiff, rather; and John’s garden
Was wanted for the fine new pleasure-grounds!
“The man of work—the man who toils to live,
Must still be up and doing; ’tis his privilege
That he has little time to wring his hands,
And hang his head because his fate is cruel.
John was a man of action, so, to London
Came he, and, ere a twelvemonth had gone round,
Had taken service as a city fireman.
It was an arduous life; a different life
To that of gardening, of rearing pinks,
Budding the dainty rose, and giving heed
To the unclosing of the tulip’s leaf.
But he was one of those who fear not hardship;
And when he saw his little fortunes wrecked
By the smooth villain whom he had befriended,
He left his native place with wife and children,
Mostly because it galled his soul to meet
The man who had so much abused his goodness,
And, in the wide and busy world of London,
Where, as ’tis said, is room for every man,
He came to try his luck. He was strong-limbed,
Active and agile as a mountain goat,
Fearless of danger, hardy, brave, and full
Of pity as is every noble nature.
“He was the boldest of the London firemen.
Clothed in his iron mail like an old warrior,
He rushed on danger, his true heart his shield;
Fear he had none whene’er his duty called.
Oft clomb he to the roofs of burning houses;
Sprang here and there, and bore off human creatures,
Frantic with terror, or with terror dumb,
Saving their lives at peril of his own.
Such men as these are heroes!
“One dark night,
A stormy winter’s night, a fire broke out
Somewhere by Rotherhithe—a dreadful fire—
In midst of narrow streets where the tall houses
Were habited by poor and squalid wretches,
Together packed like sheep within their pens,
And who, unlike the rich, had nought to offer
For their lives’ rescue. Here the fire broke out,
And raged with fury; here the fireman, John,
‘Mid falling roofs, on dizzy walls aloft,
Through raging flames, and black, confounding smoke,
And noise and tumult as of hell broke loose,
Rushed on, and ever saved some sinking wretch.
Many had thus been saved by his one arm,
When some one said, that in a certain chamber,
High up amid the burning roofs, still lay
A sick man and his child, who, yesternight,
Had hither come as strangers. They were left,
By all forgotten, and must perish there.
Whilst yet they spoke, upon a roof’s high ridge,
Amid the eddying smoke and growing flame,
The miserable man was seen to stand,
Stretching his arms for aid in frantic terror.
“Without a moment’s pause, amid the fire,
Six stories high, sprang John, who caught the word
That still a human being had been left.
Quick as a thought o’er red-hot floors he leapt,
Through what seemed gulfs of fire, on to the roof
Where stood the frantic man. The crowds below
Looked on and scarcely breathed. They saw him reach
The yet unperished roof-tree—saw him pause—
Saw the two men start back, as from each other.
They raised a cry to urge him on. They knew not
That here he met his former enemy—
The man who had returned him evil for good!
And who had lost his place for breach of trust
Some twelvemonths past, and now had come to want.
“The flames approached the roof. A cry burst forth
Again from the great crowd, and women fainted.
And what did John, think you—this city fireman?
—He looked upon the abject wretch before him,
Who fell into a swoon at sight of him,
So sensitive is even an evil conscience,
And, speaking not a word, lifted him up
And bore him safely down into the street—
Then shook him from him like a noisome thing!
“Anon the man revived, and with quick terror
Asked for his child—his little four years’ son—
But he had been forgotten—still was left
Within the house to perish. Who would save him!
Grovelling before his feet the father lay,
Of all forgetful but of his dear child,
And prayed the injured man who had saved his life
To save the boy! ‘Why spake ye not of him?
He was more worthy saving of the two!’
Said John, abrupt and brief—and straight was gone.
Once more he scaled the roof. The crowd was hushed
Into deep silence: it had but one heart,
Had but one breath, intense anxiety
For that brave man who put again his life
In such dire jeopardy. None spoke,
But many a prayer was breathed. Along the roof
Anon they saw him hurrying with the child.
The red flames met him, hemmed him round about!
Escape was not! The women sobbed and moaned
Down in the crowd below; men gazed and trembled,
And wild suggestions ran throughout the mass
Of how he might be saved. But all were vain,
Help was there none! Amid the roaring flames
His voice was heard; he spake, they knew not what;
They hurried to and fro; the engines drenched
The burning pile. He made another sign!
Oh, God! could they but know what was his wish!
—They knew it not! The fierce flame mastered all—
The roof fell in—the child—the man was lost!”
The grandsire paused a moment, then went on;
“Yes, in our common life of every day
There are true heroes, truer, many a one,
Than they whose deeds are blazoned forth on brass!
—Now leave me to myself; give me my pipe—
You’ve had your will; I’ve told you of a hero,
One of God’s making—and he was, your own father!”

THE LIFE AND LABOURS OF LIEUTENANT WAGHORN.

The great benefactors of our species may be divided into two grand classes—the men of thought, and the men of action; the men whose genius was chiefly in the realm of mind, and those whose power lies in tangible things. Let no one set up the idle and invidious comparison as to which of the two is the nobler, since both are equally needful to the world’s progress; all great thoughts and theories, dreams and visions (let us never fear the truth, but honor it even in using terms of vulgar and shortsighted opprobrium) of men of genius and knowledge, being the germ and origin of great actions,—and all great actions being the practical working out of the former, without which no good to mankind at large can be accomplished. To set thought and action, therefore, in opposition to each other, is like setting the arms and legs of Hercules to quarrel with his head while performing his labours. Nor can the distinction, thus broadly stated, be drawn at all times with any definite precision, since the man who conceives and developes a new principle, is sometimes able to carry it out himself. This combination of powers in the same individual is very rare, and is obviously one reason why, in most cases, the originator of a new thing is neglected as a visionary, and a madman. But the energy of thought to conceive and design displayed by Lieutenant Waghorn, was more than equalled by the energy of character and action required to carry out his stupendous plans. Sometimes with the best assistance—sometimes with none—sometimes in defiance of contest, opprobrium, and opposition—the vigour of mind and body of this man caused him to undertake and to succeed in projects which are among the most prominent of those which especially characterise the genius of the present age.

We have intimated that Mr. Waghorn was both a man of thought and action, but this must be understood with certain marked limitations. Mr. Waghorn’s mind was of that peculiar construction, which appears never to think earnestly except with a view to action. Even that quality, which in other men is of the most ideal kind, and commonly exerts itself in matters of little or no substantiality of fact and purpose, with him partook of the physicality of his strong nature as much as the admixture was possible,—so that he may be said to have had a practical imagination. His objects and designs were welded into all the materials of his understanding and knowledge; his ambitions and hopes were fused with the generation of the mighty steam-forces that were to drive his ships across the ocean and inland seas; the elasticity of his spirit was identified with the flying speed of Arab horses, and dromedaries carrying the “mail” across the desert; and when he projected a wonderful shortening of time and space, he at the same moment beheld the broad massive arm of England stretched across to govern and make use of her enormous Indian territories, comprising a hundred million of souls. He never thought of himself; he was too much engaged with the vastness of his designs for his country. We shall see how that country rewarded his efforts.

Thomas Waghorn was born at Chatham, in 1800. At twelve years of age he became a midshipman in Her Majesty’s Navy; and before he had reached seventeen, passed in “navigation” for Lieutenant, being the youngest midshipman that had ever done so—the examination requiring a great amount of both theoretical and practical knowledge, and being always conducted with severity. This made him eligible to the rank of lieutenant, but did not include it. At the close of the year 1817, he was paid off, and went as third mate of a Free-trader to Calcutta. He returned home, and, in 1819, obtained an appointment in the Bengal Marine (Pilot-Service) of India, where he served till 1824. At the request of the Bengal Government, he now volunteered for the Arracan War, and received the command of the Honourable East India Company’s cutter, Matchless, together with a division of gun-boats, and repaired to the scene of action in Arracan, with the south-eastern division of that army and flotilla. He was five times in action, saw much rough work by land and by sea, and escaped with only one wound in the right thigh. He remained two years and a half in this service, and after having received the thanks of all the authorities in that province, he returned to Calcutta in 1827, with a constitution already undermined from the baneful fever of Arracan, where so many thousands had died.

Weakened as he had been, Mr. Waghorn nevertheless rallied to the great project he had secretly at heart, namely, “A steam communication between our Eastern possessions and their mother-country, England.” Even before his departure from Calcutta on furlough, in 1827, ill in health, and only imperfectly recovered from the Arracan fever, still, between its attacks, his energies returned. He communicated his plan to the officials, namely, the Marine Board at Calcutta, who forthwith advanced it to the notice of the then Chief Secretary to the Bengal Government, the present Mr. Charles Lushington, M.P. for Westminster; through whom he obtained letters of credence from Lord Combermere, then acting as Vice-President in Council (Earl Amherst, Governor-General, being on a tour in Upper India), to the Honourable Court of Directors of the East India Company in London, recommending him, in consequence of his meritorious conduct in the Arracan War, “as a fit and proper person to open Steam Navigation with India, _viâ_ the Cape of Good Hope.”

On his homeward voyage, Mr. Waghorn advocated this great object publicly by every means in his power (the numerous attestations of which lie open before us) at Madras, the Mauritius, the Cape, and St. Helena. Directly he arrived in England, he set about the same thing, and advocated the project at all points, particularly in London, Liverpool, Manchester, Glasgow, Birmingham. But the Post Office, at that time, was opposed to ocean steam-navigation; and so, unfortunately, were the East India Directors,—with the single exception of Mr. Loch. Two whole years were thus passed in fruitless efforts to make great men open their eyes. At length, in October, 1829, Mr. Waghorn was summoned by Lord Ellenborough, the then Chairman of the Court of Directors, to go to India, through Egypt, with despatches for Sir John Malcolm, Governor of Bombay, &c., and more especially, to report upon the practicability of the Red Sea Navigation for the Overland Route.

On the 28th of October, having had only four days’ previous notice from the India House, Waghorn started on the top of the Eagle stage-coach from the Spread Eagle, Gracechurch Street. All his luggage weighed about twenty pounds. The East India Company’s steam-vessel Enterprise was expected to be at Suez, in the Red Sea, from India, on or about the 8th of December. It was much desired that despatches from England should reach her at this place, which Mr. Waghorn undertook they should do. He could not speak French nor Italian, both of which would have been very advantageous; but he had some knowledge of Hindostanee, and a little Arabic.

On this “trip,” as Waghorn calls it, so extraordinarily rapid was the first part of his journey, _viz._ to Trieste (accomplished in nine days and a half, through five kingdoms) that an enquiry was instituted by the Foreign Office respecting it; for at this time our Post Office Letters occupied fourteen days in reaching that place. Yet Waghorn had been obliged to travel upwards of one hundred and thirty miles out of his direct way, in consequence of broken bridges, falling avalanches, and the disabling of a steamer.

Instantly enquiring for the quickest means of getting on to Alexandria, he was informed that an Austrian brig had sailed only the evening before, and having had calms and light airs all night, she was still in sight from the tops of the hills. Away he dashed in a fresh posting carriage, because if he could reach Pesano, through Capo D’Istria, twenty miles down the eastern side of the Gulf of Venice, before the Austrian vessel had passed, he might embark from this port as passenger for Alexandria. On reaching Pesano, he could still distinguish the vessel, and he accordingly strove to increase the rapidity of his chase to the utmost. He got within three miles of the vessel. At this juncture a strong northerly wind sprang up, and carrying her forward on her course, she was presently lost to sight. Exhausted in body, and “racked,” as he says, by disappointment after the previous excitement, he returned to Trieste.

Ascertaining that the next opportunity of getting to Alexandria would be by a Spanish ship, which was now taking in her cargo in the quarantine ground, he instantly hastened there. The captain informed him that he could not possibly sail in less than three days, and required one hundred dollars for the passage. Waghorn directly offered him one hundred and fifty dollars if he would sail in eight-and-forty hours. Whereupon the captain found that it _was_ just possible to do so; and he kept his word.

“After a tedious passage of sixteen days,” says Waghorn, to whom every
hour that did not fly was no doubt tedious, “I arrived at Alexandria,
but hearing that Mr. Barker, who held the combined offices of Consul
General in Egypt, and agent to the Honourable East India Company, was
at his country-house at Rosetta, I hired donkeys, and was on my way
for it after five hours’ stay at Alexandria.”

One ludicrous characteristic of the Alexandrian donkeys is worth recording. Never in future can we regard the epithet of “an ass,” as being properly synonymous with stupidity. The creatures ambled and trotted along very well during the first day; but on the subsequent morning, when they clearly perceived that a long journey was before them, they fell down intentionally four or five times, with all the signs of fatigue and weakness. The drivers informed him that it was a common practice of the donkeys.

Embarking on the Nile, our traveller made it his business to navigate the boat himself, in order to take soundings, and to obtain as much knowledge as would promote both the immediate and future objects of his journey.

Mr. Waghorn rested at Rosetta, to recover from his fatigue, and then set out for Cairo on a _cangé_, a sort of boat of fifteen tons’ burthen, with two large latteen-sails. The _rais_, or captain, agreed to land him at Cairo in three days and four nights, or receive nothing. This he failed to do, in consequence of the boat grounding on the shoal of Shallakan. Waghorn’s notions of a reason for fatigue, may be curiously gathered from a remark he makes incidentally on this occasion. “The crew,” says he, “were _almost_ fatigued: we have been continually tacking for _five_ days and nights.” Being out of all patience, he left the boat, and again mounting donkeys, proceeded with his servant to Cairo. He left his luggage behind him, merely taking his despatches.

Having obtained camels, and a requisite passport from the Pasha, Mohammed Ali, to guarantee his safe passage across the Desert of Suez; Mr. Waghorn left Cairo on the 5th of December for Suez, and at sunset had pitched his tent on the Desert at six miles distance.

At dawn of day, he was again on his journey, and managed to travel thirty-four miles beneath the burning sun before he halted. The next day he journeyed thirty miles, and in the evening pitched his tent only four miles short of Suez. The next day, he reached the appointed place, and there rested, the Enterprise not having yet arrived.

While waiting with the greatest impatience the arrival of this steamer, Mr. Waghorn appears to have endeavoured to calm himself by jotting down a few observations on the Desert he had just crossed. These observations, slight and few as they are, must be “made much of,” as they are, of all things, the rarest with him. He always saw the _end_ before him, and nearly all his observations were confined to the means of attaining it.

“The Desert of Suez, commencing from Cairo, a gentle ascent, about
thirty-five miles on the way; then, the same gradual descent till you
arrive at the plains of Suez. The soil of the first five miles from
Cairo is fine sand; then, coarse sand, inclinable to gravel. Within
twelve miles of Suez” (notice—he is tired already of description, and
brings you within twelve miles of the place) “you meet many sand-hills
between, till you arrive at the plains before mentioned, which form a
perfect level for miles in extent, leading you to the gates of Suez.

“The antelopes I observed in parties of about a dozen each, and the
camel-drivers informed me that they creep under the shrubs about
eighteen inches high, to catch the drops of dew, which is the only
means they have of relieving their thirst. I saw partridges in covies
of from six to seven, but nowhere on the wing: they were running about
the Desert, and I was informed they were not eaten even by the Arabs.”

Considering the food they pick up in the Desert, perhaps this is no wonder.

Having informed us that camels are to be had very cheaply at Suez—say a dollar each camel for fifty miles’ distance—and that the water is very brackish, he suddenly adds, with characteristic brevity, “To save recapitulation in _describing_ Cossier, it is the same as Suez, _viz._, camels are to be had in abundance at a trifling expense, and the water is as bad.”

He remained at Suez two days, waiting with feverish anxiety the expected arrival of the Enterprise. She still did not appear—a strong N.W. wind blowing directly down the sea. Being quite unable to endure the suspense any longer, he determined to embark on the Red Sea in an open boat, intending to sail down its centre, in hopes of meeting her between Suez and Cossier.

All the seamen of the locality vigorously remonstrated with Mr. Waghorn against this attempt, and he well knew that the nautical authorities, both of the East India House and the British Government, were of opinion that the Red Sea was not navigable. But he had important Government despatches to deliver—had pledged himself to deliver them on board the Enterprise, and considering that his course of duty, as well as his reputation as a traveller, were at stake, he persisted in his determination. Accordingly, he embarked in an open boat, and without having any personal knowledge of the navigation of this sea, without chart, without compass, or even the encouragement of a single precedent for such an enterprise—his only guide the sun by day, and the North star by night—he sailed down the centre of the Red Sea.

Of this most interesting and unprecedented voyage, the narrative of which everybody would have read with such avidity, Mr. Waghorn gives no detailed account. He disappoints you of all the circumstances. All intermediate things are abruptly cut off with these very characteristic words:—“_Suffice it_ to say, _I arrived_ at Juddah, 620 miles, in six and a half days, in that boat!” You get nothing more than the sum total. He kept a sailor’s log-journal; but it is only meant for sailors to read, though now and then you obtain a glimpse of the sort of work he went through. Thus:—“_Sunday_, 13th, strong N.W. wind, half a gale, but scudding under storm-sail. Sunset, anchored for the night. Jaffateen islands out of sight to the N. Lost two anchors during the night,” &c. The rest is equally nautical and technical. In one of the many scattered papers collected since the death of Mr. Waghorn, we find a very slight passing allusion to toils, perils, and privations, which, however, he calmly says, were “inseparable from such a voyage under such circumstances,”—but not one touch of description from first to last.

A more extraordinary instance of great practical experience and knowledge, resolutely and fully carrying out a project which must of necessity have appeared little short of madness to almost everybody else, was never recorded. He was perfectly successful, so far as the navigation was concerned, and in the course he adopted, notwithstanding that his crew of six Arabs mutinied. It appears (for he tells us only the bare fact) they were only subdued on the principle known to philosophers in theory, and to high-couraged men, accustomed to command, by experience, _viz._, that the one man who is braver, stronger, and firmer than any individual of ten or twenty men, is more than a match for the ten or twenty put together. He touched at Cossier on the 14th, not having fallen in with the Enterprise. There he was told by the Governor that the steamer was expected every hour. Mr. Waghorn was in no state of mind to wait very long; so, finding she did not arrive, he again put to sea in his open boat, resolved, if he did not fall in with her, to proceed the entire distance to Juddah—a distance of four hundred miles further. Of this further voyage he does not leave any record, even in his log, beyond the simple declaration that he “embarked for Juddah—ran the distance in three days and twenty-one hours and a quarter—and on the 23rd anchored his boat close to one of the East India Company’s cruisers, the Benares.”

But, now comes the most trying part of his whole undertaking—the part which a man of his vigorously constituted impulses was least able to bear as the climax of his prolonged and arduous efforts, privations, anxieties, and fatigue. Repairing on board the Benares, to learn the news, the captain informed him, that in consequence of being found in a defective state on her arrival at Bombay, “the Enterprise was not coming at all.” This intelligence seems to have felled him like a blow, and he was immediately seized with a delirious fever. The captain and officers of the Benares felt great sympathy and interest in this sad result of so many extraordinary efforts, and detaining him on board, bestowed every attention on his malady.

“Thus baffled,” writes Mr. Waghorn, “I was six weeks before I could proceed onward to Bombay by sailing vessel.” On arriving at Bombay with his despatches, the thanks of the Government in Council, &c., were voted to him, “for having, when disappointed of a steamer, proceeded with these despatches in an open boat, down the Red Sea, &c.” There was evidently much more said of a complimentary kind, but Waghorn cuts all short with the _et cætera_.

He reached Bombay on the 21st of March, having thus accomplished his journey from London in four months and twenty-one days—an extraordinary rapidity at this date, 1830. Of course, the time he was detained in Cairo, Suez, Cossier, and Juddah (where he lay ill with the fever six weeks), ought to be deducted, because he would have saved all this time, fever inclusive, if he had not expected the Enterprise from India.

He now turned his attention to a series of fresh exhortations to large public meetings which he convened at different places—Calcutta, Madras, the Isle of France, the Cape of Good Hope, St. Helena, &c., on the subject of shortening the route from England to India, and greatly lessening the time. He described the various points of the new route he proposed, and also the new kind of steam-vessel which it was advisable to have built and fitted up, for the sole purpose of a rapid transmission of the mail. In an “Address to His Majesty’s Ministers and the Honourable East India Company,” which we find among his papers, there occurs the following passage—simple in expression, noble in its quiet modesty, but pregnant with enormous results to his country, all of which have already, in a great degree, been accomplished.

“Of myself I trust I may be excused when I say that the highest object
of my ambition has ever been an extensive usefulness; and my line of
life—my turn of mind—my disposition long ago impelled me to give all
my leisure, and all my opportunities of observation, to the
introduction of steam-vessels, and permanently establishing them as
the means of communication between India and England, including all
the colonies on the route. The vast importance of three months’
earlier information to His Majesty’s Government and to the Honourable
Company, whether relative to a war or a peace; to abundant or to short
crops; to the sickness or convalescence of a colony or district, and
oftentimes even of an individual; the advantages to the merchant, by
enabling him to regulate his supplies and orders according to
circumstances and demands; the anxieties of the thousands of my
countrymen in India for accounts, and further accounts, of their
parents, children, and friends at home; the corresponding anxieties of
those relatives and friends in this country; in a word, the speediest
possible transit of letters to the tens of thousands who at all times
in solicitude await them, was a service to my mind,” (of the greatest
general importance) “and it shall not be my fault if I do not, and for
ever, establish it.”

By his indefatigable efforts in India, having extensively made known his plans and methods for accomplishing these great objects, and bringing home with him the testimonial of thanks he had received from the Governor in Council of Bombay, he returned to England. Let his own words—homely, earnest, straightforward, full of sailor-like simplicity, impulsive, and fraught with important results—relate his reception.

“Armed with the record of the Governor’s thanks, I commenced an active
agitation in India for the establishment of steam to Europe. In
prosecution of this design, I returned to England, expecting, of
course, to be received with open arms—at the India House especially.
Judge of my surprise on being told by the successor of Mr. Loch
(Chairman of the court), that the India Company required no steam to
the East at all!

“I told him that the feeling in India was most ardent for it; that I
had convened large public meetings at Bombay, Madras, and Calcutta,
and, in fact, all over the Peninsula, which I had traversed by _dawk_;
that the Governor-General, Lord William Bentinck, was enthusiastic in
the same cause, and had done me the honour to predict (with what
prescience need not now, in 1849, be stated), that if ever the object
was accomplished, it would be by the man who had navigated the Red Sea
in an open boat, under the circumstances already named.

“To all this the Chairman made answer that the Governor-General and
people of India had nothing to do with the India House; and if I did
not go back and join _their_ pilot service, to which I belonged, I
should receive such a communication from that House as would be by no
means agreeable to me!

“On the instant I penned my resignation, and placing it in his hands,
then gave utterance to the sentiment which actuated me from that
moment till the moment I realised my aspiration—that I would establish
the Overland Route, in spite of the India House.”

How little must the public of the present day be prepared to find such a condition of affairs, or anything in the shape of antagonism in such a quarter, now that the Overland Route has become not only a practical thing for the “mail” but for ordinary travellers and tourists, and a matter of panorama and pantomime, of dioramic effects and burlesque songs—the sublime, and the ridiculous! But how did it fare with our enterprising sailor, after penning his resignation, and handing it in with such a declaration and defiance?