In the waiting room at the head quarters of the London Fire Brigade, in Southwark Street, London, is an oak board on which are fixed a number of brass tablets, bearing the names of men who are entitled to a place on this "Roll of Honour".
From amongst these let us take one, and tell briefly what befell him. It will serve as a sample of the dangers which beset the fireman daily in the pursuit of his duty.
"Joseph Andrew Ford," so runs the official record, "lost his life at a fire which occurred at 98 Gray's Inn Road, at about 2 a.m. on the 7th of October, 1871.
"Ford was on duty with the fire escape stationed at Bedford Row, and he was called to the fire a few minutes before 2 a.m., and proceeded there with the utmost speed.
"Before he reached the fire, three persons had been rescued by the police, who took them down from the second-floor window by means of a builder's ladder; and, on his arrival, there were seven persons in the third floor, six in the left-hand window, and one in the right-hand window.
"He pitched his escape to the left-hand window, and with great difficulty and much exertion and skill succeeded in getting the six persons out safely (the woman in the right-hand window being in the meanwhile rescued by the next escape that arrived, in charge of fireman W. Attwood); and Ford was in the act of coming down himself when he became enveloped in flame and smoke, which burst out of the first-floor window; and, after some struggling in the wire netting, he fell to the pavement.
"Ford was evidently coming down the shoot when his axe handle or some of his accoutrements became entangled in the wire netting; so that, to clear himself, he had to break through, and, while struggling to do so, he got so severely burned that his recovery was hopeless.
"It was a work of no ordinary skill and difficulty to save so many persons in the few moments available for the purpose; and, when it is mentioned that some of them were very old and crippled, it is no exaggeration to say that it would be impossible to praise too highly Ford's conduct on this occasion, which has resulted so disastrously to himself.
"He was thirty-one years of age when he met his death, and he left a wife and two children to mourn his loss."
That's all the official record says—simple, calm, straightforward—like Joseph Ford's conduct on that night.
I suppose that next morning two pairs of bright little eyes were on the watch for Joseph Ford; and perchance four pattering feet ran to the door when the knock came; and that two little minds dimly realised that father had been called to a far-off country, where some day they would see him. And it may be that a brave woman, into whose life the sunlight had shined, was stricken with grief and bowed down. But all I know for certain is, that Joseph Ford died in the performance of his duty. He did a brave night's work. Six lives saved from the angry flames—old and crippled some of the terror-stricken folk were—and he took them down so carefully, so tenderly, and landed them all safely below.
His work was over. He had saved every life he could; and glad of heart, if weary of limb, he turned with a thankful mind to do just the simplest thing in the world—viz., to descend the escape he had been down so many times before.
He was young and strong; safety was only thirty feet or so below; and the people were waiting to welcome and cheer the victor.
Only thirty feet between him and safety! Yet the man was "fairly roasted" in the escape.
Men have been burnt at the stake and tortured, and limbs have been stretched on the rack, and people have been maimed by thumbscrews and bootscrews, and put inside iron figures with nails that tear and pierce. All this have they suffered in pursuit of duty, or at the bidding of conscience; and of such and of brave Joseph Ford there comes to us across the ages—a saying spoken long ago, to the effect that "he that loseth his life shall save it": and we need to remember that saying in such cases as that of Fireman Ford.
"A fine handsome child, with flashing black eyes!" Thus was Elizabeth Gilbert described at her birth in 1826; but at the age of three an attack of scarlet fever deprived her of eyesight; and thenceforth, for upwards of fifty years, the beautiful things in the world were seen by her no more.
Her parents were most anxious that she should take part in all that was going on in the household, in order that she should feel her misfortune as little as possible. So she lived in the midst of the family circle, sharing in their sports, their meals, and their entertainments, and being treated just as one of the others; yet with a special care and devotion by her father, Dr. Gilbert, whose heart went out in deep love towards his little sightless daughter.
Bessie was fond of romping games, and preferred by far getting a few knocks and bumps to being helped or guided by others when she was at play. She was by nature passionate, yet she gradually subdued this failing. She was a general favourite; and, when any petition had to be asked of father, it was always Bessie who was put forward to do it, as the children knew how good were her chances of being successful in her mission.
She was educated just like other girls, except that her lessons were read to her. She made great progress, and was a very apt pupil in French, German, and other subjects; but arithmetic she cordially disliked. Imagine for an instant the drudgery of working a long division sum with leaden type and raised, figures; think of all the difficulty of placing the figures, and the chances of doing the sum wrong; and then it will not cause surprise that the blind girl could never enjoy arithmetic, although in mental calculation she showed herself later on to be very clever.
When she was about ten years old, the Duchess of Kent and the Princess Victoria visited Oxford, where Bessie then lived with her parents. On her return home Bessie exclaimed: "Oh, mamma, I haveseenthe Duchess of Kent, and she had on a brown silk dress". Indeed, the child had such a vivid imagination that she saw mentally the scenes and people described to her.
And, so though no glimmer of light from the sun reached her, the child was not dull or unhappy. She listened to the birds with delight, and knew their songs; she loved flowers and liked people to describe them to her; and she was fond of making expeditions to the fields and meadows.
But as Bessie grew up she began to feel some of the sadness and loneliness natural to her lot. Her sisters could no longer be constantly with her as in the nursery days; and though she made no complaint, nor spoke of it to those around her, yet she felt it none the less keenly.
By this time her father had become Bishop of Chichester.
When Bessie was twenty-seven years old an idea was suggested which was the means of giving her an object in life, and affording her an opportunity of doing a great work for the blind.
It was her sister Mary who first spoke about it, having seen with sorrow how changed the once happy blind sister had become, and longing to lighten her burden.
Bessie listened to the facts which were set before her of the need that existed for some one to give a helping hand to the blind in London. She made many inquiries into the condition of the sightless, and then thought out a scheme for helping them.
Some of her friends considered it a great mistake for her to undertake such a mission. "Don't work yourself to death," said one of her acquaintances.
"Work to death!" she replied with a happy laugh. "I am working to life."
But if a few were opposed, her parents, brothers, sisters, and the majority of those she loved, were in hearty sympathy.
So in May, 1854, Bessie commenced her life work. Seven blind men were given employment at their own homes in London; materials were supplied to them at cost price, they manufactured them, and received the full price that the articles were sold for.
This, of course, entailed a loss; but Bessie had been left a legacy by her godmother, which gave her an income of her own, and a large portion of this she continued to devote throughout her life to helping the blind.
A cellar was rented in New Turnstile Street, Holborn, at a charge of eighteenpence a week. A manager, named Levy, was engaged at a salary of half a crown a week and a commission on sales. He was a blind man himself, and a blind carpenter was engaged to assist in making the storehouse presentable.
It was a small beginning, certainly, but it was not long ere Levy's wages were largely increased, and trade began to grow in response to Miss Gilbert's efforts. From the cellar in Holborn a move was made to a better room, costing half a crown a week; and then, within little more than a year from the commencement, a house and shop were taken at a rent of £26 a year.
The increase in expenses as the scheme developed rendered it necessary to ask for public assistance. By the bishop's advice a committee was formed, and money collected.
By 1856, Miss Gilbert thought her work far enough advanced to bring it under the notice of Her Majesty, who, having asked for and received full particulars, sent a very kind letter of encouragement with a donation of £50.
This gracious acknowledgment of the work in which Miss Gilbert was engaged not only gave sincere pleasure to the blind lady herself, but helped on her scheme immensely. And the Queen did more than contribute money: orders for work were sent from Windsor Castle, Osborne and Balmoral; and the blind people delighted in saying that they were making brooms for the Queen. The benefit to the blind was not confined to what Miss Gilbert was doing herself, but general interest in their welfare was excited in all parts of the kingdom.
Naturally, many difficulties had to be encountered. Blind people applied for work who wished for alms instead; and arrangements necessary for carrying out so large a scheme entailed a good deal of labour on Miss Gilbert's part. Yet she was very happy in her mission, which attracted numerous friends occupying positions of eminence.
Miss Gilbert herself gave £2000 to the Association as an endowment fund, and others contributed liberally too. One day a strange old lady came to see her, and left with her £500 in bank notes. She did not even give her name; and a further gift of £500 was received the same year from a gentleman who felt interested in the work.
Up to the close of her life, which ended in 1885, Elizabeth Gilbert continued to take an active interest in the affairs of the Association. Notwithstanding her own weak and failing health she laboured on, winning the love and gratitude of the blind, and accomplishing a great work of which any one might feel justly proud.
For many years past men of science have been engaged in ascending far up amongst the clouds for the purpose of finding out as much as possible about the various currents of air, the electrical state of the atmosphere, the different kinds of clouds, sound, temperature and such matters.
One of the most eminent balloonists of modern times, Mr. James Glaisher, was many times in danger of losing his life whilst in pursuit of knowledge miles above the earth.
His first ascent was made from Wolverhampton on the 17th of July, 1862. It was very stormy at the time of starting. Before he and Mr. Coxwell got fairly off they very nearly came to grief; for the balloon did not rise properly, but dragged the car along near the ground, so that if they had come against any chimney or high building they would probably have been killed.
However, fortunately, they got clear and were soon high up above the clouds, with a beautiful blue sky, and the air so pleasantly warm that they needed no extra clothing, as is usually the case when in the upper region of the atmosphere. When they were about four miles high Mr. Glaisher found the beating of his heart become very distinct, his hands and lips turned to a dark bluish colour, and he could hardly read the instruments. Between four and five miles high he felt a kind of sea sickness.
Mr. Coxwell began to think they might be getting too near the Wash for safety, and they therefore came down quickly, and reached the earth with such force that the scientific instruments were nearly all broken. In their descent they passed through a cloud 8000 feet (or over a mile and a half) thick!
On the 5th of September, 1862, Mr. Glaisher and Mr. Coxwell made one of the most remarkable ascents in the history of ballooning. It nearly proved fatal to both.
Up to the time they reached the fifth mile Mr. Glaisher felt pretty well. What happened afterwards is best described by himself.
"When at the height of 26,000 feet I could not see the fine column of the mercury in the tube; then the fine divisions on the scale of the instrument became invisible. At that time I asked Mr. Coxwell to help me to read the instruments, as I experienced a difficulty in seeing them. In consequence of the rotary motion of the balloon, which had continued without ceasing since the earth was left, the valve line had become twisted, and he had to leave the car, and to mount into the ring above to adjust it. At that time I had no suspicion of other than temporary inconvenience in seeing. Shortly afterwards I laid my arm upon the table, possessed of its full vigour but directly after, being desirous of using it, I found it powerless. It must have lost its power momentarily. I then tried to move the other arm, but found it powerless also. I next tried to shake myself, and succeeded in shaking my body. I seemed to have no legs. I could only shake my body. I then looked at the barometer, and whilst I was doing so my head fell on my left shoulder. I struggled, and shook my body again, but could not move my arms. I got my head upright, but for an instant only, when it fell on my right shoulder; and then I fell backwards, my back resting against the side of the car, and my head on its edge. In that position my eyes were directed towards Mr. Coxwell in the ring. When I shook my body I seemed to have full power over the muscles of the back, and considerable power over those of the neck, but none over my limbs….I dimly saw Mr. Coxwell in the ring, and endeavoured to speak, but could not do so; when in an instant black darkness came over me, and the optic nerve lost power suddenly. I was still conscious, with as active a brain as whilst writing this. I thought I had been seized with asphyxia, and that I should experience no more, as death would come unless we speedily descended. Other thoughts were actively entering my mind when I suddenly became unconscious, as though going to sleep. I could not tell anything about the sense of hearing; the perfect stillness of the regions six miles from the earth—and at that time we were between six and seven miles high—is such that no sound reaches the ear. My last observation was made at 29,000 feet…. Whilst powerless I heard the words 'temperature' and 'observation,' and I knew Mr. Coxwell was in the car, speaking to me, and endeavouring to rouse me; and therefore consciousness and hearing had returned. I then heard him speak more emphatically, but I could not speak or move. Then I heard him say, 'Do try; now do!' Then I saw the instruments dimly, next Mr. Coxwell, and very shortly I saw clearly. I rose in my seat and looked round, as though waking from sleep, and said to Mr. Coxwell, 'I have been insensible'. He said, 'Yes; and I too very nearly …'. Mr. Coxwell informed me that he had lost the use of his hands, which were black, and I poured brandy over them."
When Mr. Coxwell saw that Mr. Glaisher was insensible he tried to go to him but could not, and he then felt insensibility coming over him. He became anxious to open the valve, but having lost the use of his hands he could not, and ultimately he did so by seizing the cord with his teeth and dipping his head two or three times.
During the journey they got to a height of 36,000 or 37,000 feet—about seven miles—that is to say, two miles higher than Mount Everest, the loftiest mountain in the world.
The year following Mr. Glaisher had a narrow escape from drowning.
He and Mr. Coxwell started from the Crystal Palace at a little past one o'clock on the 18th of April, 1863, and in an hour and thirteen minutes after starting were 24,000 feet high. Then they thought it would be just as well to see where they were, so they opened the valve to let out the gas, and came down a mile in three minutes. When, at a quarter to three, they were still 10,000 feet high Mr. Coxwell caught sight of Beachy Head and exclaimed: "What's that?" On looking over the car Mr. Glaisher found that they seemed to be overhanging the sea!
Not a moment was to be lost. They both clung on to the valve-line, rending the balloon in two places. Down, down, down at a tremendous speed they went; the earth appeared to be coming up to them with awful swiftness; and a minute or two later with a resounding crash they struck the ground at Newhaven close to the sea. The balloon had been so damaged that it did not drag along, and though most of the instruments were smashed their lives were saved.
Much valuable scientific information has been obtained by Mr. Glaisher, and by those who, like him, have made perilous journeys into cloudland.
"That great man and gallant soldier and true Christian, CharlesGordon."—THE PRINCE OF WALES.
Charles George Gordon was born at Woolwich on the 28th of January, 1833.
In early life he was delicate, and of all professions that of a soldier seemed least suitable for him. At school he made no mark in learning.
He was a fearless lad, with a strong will of his own. When he was only nine years old, and was yet unable to swim, he would throw himself into deep water, trusting to some older boy to get him out. He was threatened on one occasion that he should not go on a pleasure excursion because of some offence he had committed; and when afterwards he was given permission he stubbornly refused the treat—circus though it was, dear to the heart of a lad.
After passing through the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich he obtained in 1852 a commission as a Second Lieutenant of Engineers, and was sent out to the Crimea in December, 1854, with instructions to put up wooden huts for our soldiers, who were dying from cold in that icy land.
On his way he wrote from Marseilles to his mother; and, after telling her of the sights and scenes he has witnessed, mentions that he will leave Marseilles "D.V. on Monday for Constantinople".
Whilst in the Crimea he worked in the trenches twenty hours at a stretch times without number.
Once when he was leading a party at night he was fired at by his own sentries. On another occasion he was wounded in the forehead, and continued his work without showing any concern. He found it dull when no fighting was going on, but when there were bullets flying then it was exciting enough.
He was mentioned in the official despatches, and received from theFrench Government the Cross of the Legion of Honour.
Five years later Gordon was fighting with the English and French armies in China. Shortly after he was made commander of a force that was commissioned by the Emperor of China to put down a rebellion of the Taipings, of so dangerous a character that it threatened to overturn the monarchy.
Gordon had only about 3000 men, chiefly Chinese; and, notwithstanding the fact that when he took over the force it had just been demoralised by defeat, he soon proved himself more than a match for the rebel hordes. From one victory to another he led his men on, and cities fell in quick succession before him. His name ere long began to have the weight of an army in the mind of the rebels. Major Gordon, in fact, had made a great mark in the Chinese Empire.
On the 30th April Gordon was before the city of Taitsan, where three months before the same army which was now under his command had been defeated.
Three times his men rushed into the breach which the big guns had made. Twice they were hurled back; but for a third time Gordon urged them on, and their confidence in his leadership was such that they went readily; and this time, after a swift, sharp conflict, the city was won.
Europeans were fighting both with him and with the rebels. In the breach at Taitsan he came across two of the men he formerly had under his command. One was shot during the assault; the other cried out, "Mr. Gordon! Mr. Gordon! you will not let me be killed". "Take him down to the river and shoot him," said Gordon aloud. Aside he whispered, "Put him in my boat, let the doctor attend him, and send him down to Shanghai". He was stern and resolute enough where it was necessary, but underneath all was a heart full of love and pity.
During this war the only weapon Gordon carried was a cane; and men grew to regard this stick as a kind of magic wand, and Gordon as a man whom nothing could harm.
On one occasion when he was wounded he refused to retire till he was forcibly carried off the field by the doctor's orders.
After he had put an end to the rebellion the Emperor of China wanted to give him a large sum of money; but Gordon, whose only object in fighting was to benefit the people, refused it, and left China as poor as he had entered it. He had various distinctions conferred upon him by the emperor, and the English people gave him the title of "Chinese Gordon".
A gold medal was presented to him by the emperor. Gordon, obliterating the inscription, sent it anonymously to the Coventry relief fund. Of this incident he wrote at a later period: "Never shall I forget what I got when I scored out the inscription on the gold medal. How I have been repaid a millionfold! There is now not one thing I value in the world. Its honours, they are false; its knicknacks, they are perishable and useless; whilst I live I value God's blessing—health; and if you have that, as far as this world goes, you are rich."
He returned to England and settled down at Gravesend, living quite simply, and working in his spare moments amongst the poor. To the boys he was a hero indeed. That was but natural, seeing he not only taught them to read and write, and tried to get them situations, but treated them as his friends.
In his sitting-room was a map of the world, with pins stuck in it marking the probable positions of the ships in which his "kings" (as he called his boys) were to be found in various parts of the world. Thus, as they moved from place to place, he followed them in his thoughts, and was able to point out their whereabouts to inquiring friends.
It is no wonder then that the urchins scrawled upon the walls of the town, "C.G. is a jolly good feller". "God bless the Kernel."
He visited the hospitals and workhouses, and all the money he received he expended on the poor; for he believed that having given his heart to God he had no right to keep anything for himself. He comforted the sick and dying, he taught in the Ragged and Sunday Schools. He lived on the plainest food himself, thus "enduring hardness". He even gave up his garden, turning it into a kind of allotment for the needy.
He had one object in life—to do good. His views were utterly unworldly and opposed to those generally held, but they were in the main right.
In 1874 Gordon went to Egypt, and at the request of the Khedive undertook the position of Governor-General of the Soudan, in the hope of being able to put down the slave trade.
He was beset with difficulties, and "worn to a shadow" by incessant work and ceaseless anxiety; but he would not give up.
In all his trials he felt the presence of God. As he watched his men hauling the boats up the rapids he "prayed them upas he used to do the troops when they wavered in the breaches in China".
Once his men failed in their attack on an offending tribe; and, believing they had been misled by the Sheik, wanted to punish him; but Gordon saw the other side of the man's character—"He was a brave patriotic man," he said; "and I shall let him go".
Here was his hope. "With terrific exertion," he writes, "in two or three years' time I may with God's administration make a good province—with a good army and a fair revenue and peace, and an increased trade,—also have suppressed slave raids." He felt it was a weary work before him, for he adds: "Then I will come home and go to bed, and never get up till noon every day, and never walk more than a mile". No wonder he was worn and tired, for he moved about the Soudan like a whirlwind. He travelled on camelback thousands of miles. In four months' time he had put down a dangerous rebellion that would have taken the Egyptians as many years—if, indeed, they could ever have done it at all.
This is the kind of way in which he won his victories. On one occasion with a few troops he arrived at a place called Dara. That great slave trader Suleiman, who had given Sir Samuel Baker so much trouble, was there at the head of 6000 men. Gordon rode into the place nearly alone, and told the commander to come and talk with him. Utterly taken aback the man did as he was requested, and afterwards promised obedience.
It is true he did not keep his promise; but after fighting several battles Suleiman was at length taken prisoner by Gordon's lieutenant; and so many were the crimes and cruelties that he had committed that he was condemned to death, and thus the slaves of Africa became rid of one of their worst oppressors.
The work begun by Baker was continued with great success by Gordon. He estimated that in nine months he liberated 2000 slaves. The suffering these poor creatures had gone through was appalling. Some of them when set free had been four or five days without water in the terrible heat of that hot country. Every caravan route showed signs of the horrible trade, by the bones of those who had fallen and died from exhaustion, unable to keep their ranks in the gang.
So great was the effect which the thought and sight of these sufferings produced on Gordon that he wrote in March, 1879: "I declare if I could stop this traffic I would willingly be shot this night".
Later on he was to give his life for these people; but the hour was not yet.
When Gordon was in Abyssinia King John took him prisoner. Brought before his Majesty, Gordon fairly took away the breath of the monarch by going up to him, placing his own chair beside the king's, and telling him that he would only talk to him as an equal.
"Do you know, Gordon Pasha," said the king, "that I could kill you on the spot if I liked?"
"I am perfectly aware of it," replied Gordon calmly; "so do it, if it is your royal pleasure."
"What! ready to be killed?" asked the king incredulously.
"Certainly. I am always ready to die," answered the pasha; "and so far from fearing your putting me to death you would confer a favour on me by so doing."
Upon this his Majesty gave up the idea of frightening him.
At the end of 1879 Gordon was free from the Soudan for the second time. In 1876 he had left it, as he thought, for good; but, as it turned out, it was only for a few weeks' holiday in England, and then back to quell the rebellion.
Even now it was destined that he should soon return once again and finally. But during the breathing time that now came to him, so far from leading an easy life or "never getting up till noon," he was in all parts of the world, from China to the Cape, from Ireland to India, still on the old mission of endeavouring to do a little good wherever he was.
Leopold II., King of the Belgians, who had a profound regard for Gordon, greatly desired that he should go out to the Congo; and in January, 1884, he was just preparing to start in his Majesty's service when on the 17th of that month a telegram from Lord Wolseley arrived, asking him to return to England.
At six o'clock next morning he was in London; and the same day, having received instructions from the Government, he was on his way for the last time to Khartoum.
The Egyptian garrisons of the Soudan towns were sore beset by the legions which were gathering beneath the banners of the Mahdi, who, flushed with victory, was threatening an eruption into Lower Egypt itself.
To extricate these garrisons without bloodshed if possible was Gordon's object. It was a forlorn hope; still if any one man could accomplish it Charles Gordon was that man.
But ere long it was found even beyond his powers; for after sending off a portion of the Khartoum population in safety down the river, the Mahdi's legions closed in upon him, and Khartoum was in a state of siege.
For nearly a year he held the city against all the forces of the enemy; and meantime Great Britain was stirred with a vehement desire to save the life of this devoted man.
In the autumn of 1884 a force under the command of Lord Wolseley was sent out to relieve Khartoum.
Whilst the British troops were slowly forcing their way up the river and across the desert, Khartoum was enduring a death agony.
By January, 1885, the city had been reduced to starvation. Donkeys, dogs, rats, everything indeed in the way of flesh, had been consumed; even boot leather, the straps of native bedsteads, and mimosa gum did not come amiss to the sorely-tried garrison.
Famine had produced lack of discipline on the part of some of the troops; and Gordon foresaw well what the end must be, though without a fear for himself.
You can read for yourself from the reproduction of the last page of his diary, written on the 14th December, 1884, his own estimate of the length of time he could hold out; and, though he managed to keep back the enemy for another month, yet on the 26th January, 1885, whilst yet Sir Charles Wilson and the British troops were fighting their way up the river Nile to his relief, Khartoum fell.
In the early dawn of that day the Mahdi assaulted the town in overwhelming force—whether helped by treachery is not exactly known; and before his well-fed, well-trained hosts, the feeble worn-out garrison gave way, the walls were scaled, the city taken, and the hero who had won the affection of many nations fell amidst the people he had come to save.
It was on the whole a happy and fitting end. The mind cannot conceive Gordon rusting out; and the man lived so much in the presence of God that death was a welcome visitor.
"Like Lawrence," he wrote, "I have tried to do my duty"; and England confessed that right nobly he had done it.
Let those who wish to testify their love and veneration for this great man remember the Gordon Home for Boys at Chobham, which was founded to perpetuate his name. It is situated in the midst of Surrey; and here are to be found over two hundred boys rescued from the streets of our great cities.
The bracing life they lead in their country home soon brings the colour to their cheeks, and the training they receive fits them for becoming useful citizens and valuable servants of the State. Most of them join the army, and the Gordon boys are now to be found serving the Queen in every land.
One of the most glorious of the many battles of the British navy was fought on the 10th and 11th September, 1591, by Vice-Admiral Sir Richard Grenville, in his shipThe Revenge, against a great fleet of Spanish vessels. The fight was described by the gallant Sir Walter Raleigh, from whose account (published in November, 1591) the facts given in the following narrative are taken.
If the story seems somewhat out of place amongst nineteenth century records, it is, nevertheless, such a unique display of stubborn heroism "under fire" that I have not hesitated to include it.
On the 10th of September, 1591 (31st August, old style), Lord Thomas Howard, with six of her Majesty's ships, five victualling ships, a barque and two or three pinnaces, was at anchor near Flores, one of the westerly islands of the Azores, when Captain Middleton brought the news that the Spanish fleet was approaching.
He had no sooner delivered his message than the Spaniards came in sight. The few ships at Lord Howard's command were in a very unready state for fighting. Many of the seamen were ill. Some of the ships' companies were procuring ballast, others getting in water.
Being so unprepared for the contest, and so greatly outnumbered, the British ships weighed their anchors and set sail. The last ship to get under weigh wasThe Revenge, as Sir Richard waited for the men left on the island, who would have otherwise been captured.
The master of the ship wanted him to "cut his mainsail and cast about, and to trust to the sailing of his ship"; but Sir Richard utterly refused to turn from the enemy, saying that he would rather choose to die than dishonour himself, his country, and her Majesty's ship, and informed his company that he would pass through the two squadrons in spite of them. He might possibly have been able to carry out his plan; but the hugeSan Philip, an immense vessel of 1500 tons, coming towards him as he was engaging other ships of the fleet, becalmed his sails and then boarded him. Whilst thus entangled with theSan Philip, four other ships also boardedThe Revenge.
"The fight thus beginning at three of the clocke in the after noone," says Sir Walter Raleigh, "continued verie terrible all that evening."
Before long, theSan Philip, having received the fire ofThe Revengeat close quarters, "shifted herself with all diligence, utterly misliking her first entertainment".
The Spanish ships had a great number of soldiers on board, in some cases two hundred, in others five, and in some even eight hundred; whilst onThe Revengethere were in all only one hundred and ninety persons, of whom ninety were sick.
After discharging their guns the Spanish ships endeavoured to boardThe Revenge; but, notwithstanding the multitude of their armed men, they were repulsed again and again, and driven back either into their ships or into the sea.
After the battle had lasted well into the night many of the British were slain or wounded, whilst two Spanish ships had been sunk. An hour before midnight Sir Richard Grenville was shot in the body, and a little later was wounded in the head, whilst the doctor who was attending him was killed.
The company on boardThe Revengewas gradually getting less and less; the Spanish ships, meanwhile, as they received a sufficient evidence ofThe Revenge'spowers of destruction, dropped off, and their places were taken by others; and thus it happened that ere the morning fifteen ships had been engaged, and all were so little pleased with the entertainment provided that they were far more willing to listen to proposals for an honourable arrangement than to make any more assaults.
As Lord Tennyson writes:—
And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea,But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.Ship after ship the whole night long their high-built galleons came,
Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder andflame;Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and hershame.For some were sunk and many were shatter'd, and so could fight us nomore—God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?
The Revengehad by this time spent her last barrel of gunpowder; all her pikes were broken, forty of her best men slain, and most of the remainder wounded. For her brave defenders there was now no hope,—no powder, no weapons, the masts all beaten overboard, all her tackle cut asunder, her decks battered, nothing left overhead for flight or below for defence.
Sir Richard, finding himself in this condition after fifteen hours' hard fighting, and having received about eight hundred shots from great guns, besides various assaults from the enemy, and seeing, moreover, no way by which he might prevent his ship falling into the hands of the Spanish, commanded the master gunner, whom he knew was a most resolute man, to split and sink the ship. He did this that thereby nothing might remain of glory or victory to the Spaniards: seeing that in so many hours' fight, and with so great a navy, they were not able to take her, though they had fifteen hours in which to do so; and moreover had 15,000 men and fifty-three ships of war against his single vessel of five hundred tons.
He endeavoured to persuade his men to yield themselves to God, and to the mercy of none else; that, as they had repulsed so many enemies, they should not shorten the honour of their nation by prolonging their lives by a few hours or days.
The captain and master could not, however, see the matter in this light, and besought Sir Richard to have a care of them, declaring that the Spaniards would be ready to treat with them; and that, as there were a number of gallant men yet living whose wounds were not mortal, they might do their country and prince acceptable service hereafter. They also pointed out that asThe Revengehad six feet of water in the hold and three shots under water, but weakly stopped, she must needs sink in the first heavy sea; which indeed happened a few days later. But Sir Richard refused to be guided by such counsels.
Whilst, however, the dispute was going on, the master ofThe Revengeopened communication with the Spaniards and concluded an arrangement fully honourable to the British, by which it was agreed that those on boardThe Revengeshould be sent to England in due course; those of the better sort to pay a reasonable ransom, and meantime no one was to be imprisoned. The commander of the Spanish fleet agreed to this readily, not only because (knowing the disposition of his adversary) he feared further loss to his own side by prolonging the fight, but because he greatly admired the valour of Sir Richard Grenville, and desired to save his life. The master gunner, finding Sir Richard and himself alone in their way of thinking, would have slain himself rather than fall into the hands of the enemy, but was forcibly prevented from carrying out his intention and locked in his cabin.
Being sent for by Don Alfonso Bassan, the Spanish commander, Sir Richard made no objection to going, answering that he might do as he pleased with his body, for he esteemed it not. As he was being carried out of the ship he swooned, and reviving again desired the company to pray for him.
Though the Spaniards treated Sir Richard with every care and consideration, he died the second or third day after the fight, deeply lamented both by, the enemy and by his own men.
"Here die I, Richard Grenville," said he, "with a joyful and quiet mind; for that I have ended my life as a true soldier ought to do, that hath fought for his country, queen, religion and honour. Whereby my soul most joyfully departeth out of this body, and shall always leave behind it an everlasting fame of a valiant and true soldier, that hath done his duty as he was bound to do."
The reason the other British ships did not take part in the contest was that it was altogether hopeless; and that, had the admiral ordered it, the entire fleet would probably have fallen into the hands of the Spaniards, seeing that they so greatly outnumbered the British ships.
Six small ships ill supplied with fighting men against fifty-three bigger ones filled with soldiers was too great a disparity of force to give even a hope of victory.
And, although Lord Howard would himself have gone into battle even against such odds as that, yet the other commanders were greatly opposed to so rash an enterprise; and the master of his own ship said he would rather jump into the sea than conduct her Majesty's ship and the rest to be a prey to the enemy.
Hence it was thatThe Revengefought alone on that September day the entire Spanish fleet, and has given us one of the most glorious pages in the annals of our national history.
Fancy Hannington, of all persons in the world, turning missionary, and going out to preach the Gospel to the blacks!
It is well-nigh incredible at first thought that such a light-hearted, rollicking, jovial fellow could have given upeverythingfor such a work as that!
He had plenty of money, hosts of friends, wife, children, any amount of useful work to do at home,—everything, in fact, that can make life worth living.
What could possibly make such a man as that go into the wilds ofAfrica to be tormented, tortured, and slain by savages?
I will try and show briefly how it came about.
At school Hannington was the veriest pickle, and was nicknamed "MadJim".
On one occasion he lit a bonfire in his dormitory, he pelted the German master with rejected examination papers, and in a single day was caned over a dozen times. Yet he fought the bullies, and kept his word; he was brave, honest and manly, and was a great favourite.
When about fifteen years old he was put into his father's business at Brighton. His life there was certainly not hard or trying. He was allowed to travel a great deal, and thus went over a considerable part of Europe, enjoying himself immensely when so doing. Still, he had no taste for the counting-house; and after six years gave it up to become a clergyman, and forthwith proceeded to Oxford.
Both at Oxford and at Martinhoe, in North Devon, where he spent some time during the vacations, Hannington preserved his reputation for fun and love of adventure. At Oxford he took part in practical jokes innumerable; at Martinhoe cliff-climbing and adventurous scrambles occupied some little of his time.
One day he went with two companions to explore a cave called "The Eyes". Adjoining this they discovered a narrow hole leading to a further cave, which was below high-water mark. Into this with great exertion Jim managed to squeeze himself. It was quite dark inside, and whilst he was describing it to his companions they suddenly noticed that the tide was fast coming in, and implored him to get out of his perilous position at once.
Easier said than done. The difficulty he had found in getting in was a trifle compared with the passage out. He tried head first, then feet first, and whilst his friends tugged he squeezed. It was of no use. The sea had almost reached him, and drowning seemed certain.
Then, quite hopeless of escape, he bade his companions good-bye. All at once it occurred to him to try taking off his clothes. This made just the difference required, and with a tremendous effort he got out of his prison-house in the very nick of time.
A little later comes an important entry in his diary: "—— opened a correspondence with me to-day, which I speak of as delightful; it led to my conversion".
Thereafter followed a change in Hannington's life—he prayed more.
It seems that about this time a college friend began to think much of him, and to pray earnestly for him; and finally wrote to him a serious, simple, earnest letter, which had much effect on Hannington.
The letter was unanswered for over a year; but coming at a time when the man of twenty-five was beginning to find that there were better things to be done in life than cliff-climbing in the country, or giving pleasant parties at Oxford, it wrought its purpose, and formed the first step towards the new life.
Having spent some time in study, Hannington went up for his ordination examination. He did very well the first day; the second he was ill and could do nothing; the third the same; and when he was dismissed by the bishop he was in a state akin to despair.
The next examination was better, but he was nervous, and found his mind at times a hopeless blank. He passed, but not in such a way as he desired. At the examination for priest's orders he came out at the top of the list.
The first portion of his life as a curate did not seem to point to his making any mark upon his Devonshire flock. His audiences were sleepy, and paid little attention to his sermons.
One day he got lost on Exmoor in trying to make a short cut to a place where he was to conduct service. He was consequently late in arriving, and found the congregation waiting. On explaining why he was late to the clerk:—
"Iss," said that official, "we reckoned you was lost, but now you are here go and put on your surples and be short, for we all want to get back to dinner". Truly he was no Wesley in those days!
But to him, as to every true-hearted seeker, light came at last. Not long afterwards he could write, "I know now that Jesus Christ died for me, and that He is mine and I am His".
After little more than a year in Devonshire, Hannington was appointed curate in charge of St. George's, Hurstpierpoint, near Brighton. By his earnestness he roused the people to a fuller faith and to better works. Finding much drunkenness in the place he turned teetotaler, and persuaded many to sign the pledge. He started Bible classes, prayer meetings, and mothers' meetings. Not only was he a shining light in his own parish, but he also went about the country and assisted at revival missions, showing himself everywhere a bright and helpful minister of the Gospel.
In the year 1878 Hannington heard of the violent deaths which had befallen Lieut. Shergold Smith and Mr. O'Neil in Central Africa. From this time he became drawn towards mission work in that district.
It was not, however, till the year 1882 that he finally entered into arrangements with the Church Missionary Society to go to Africa.
Their high estimation of his capacities may be gathered from the fact that he was appointed as leader of the expedition which was being sent out.
It was a horrible wrench at last to leave wife and children. "My most bitter trial," he writes—"an agony that still cleaves to me—was saying good-bye to the little ones. Thank God the pain was all on one side. 'Come back soon, papa!' they cried." His wife had resolutely made up her mind to give him to God, and was brave to the last.
"When at length the ship left England I watched and watched the retreating tow-boat," he continues, "until I could see it no longer, and then hurried down below. Indeed, I felt for the moment as one paralysed. Now is the time for reaction—to 'cast all your care upon Him'."
Strangely enough, both his missionary journeys in Africa failed in their original aim, which was to reach the kingdom of Uganda.
In the first journey the expedition started from the coast at the end of June, 1882. After two months' difficult marching into the interior, amidst the constant difficulties which beset the African traveller, he writes on 1st August: "I am very happy. Fever is trying, but it does not take away the joy of the Lord, and keeps one low in the right place".
On, on they went. Fever was so heavy upon him that his temperature reached 110 degrees; but still he struggled forward, insisting upon placing a weary companion on the beast which he ought himself to have ridden.
By 4th September they reached Uyui, a place which was still far distant from Lake Victoria (or Victoria Nyanza); and now he was at death's door. So intense was the pain he suffered that he asked to be left alone that he might scream, as that seemed to bring some relief.
Notwithstanding this suffering, the expedition started forward again on 16th October, Hannington being placed in a hammock. They reached Lake Victoria, but the leader could go no further. He was utterly broken down by continued fever; and, though the thought of returning to England without accomplishing his mission was bitter to him, it was a necessity.
By June, 1883, he was again in London. How favourable was the impression Hannington had already made upon the Missionary Society is apparent from the fact that the bishopric of East Equatorial Africa was offered him. He was consecrated in June, 1884; and, after visiting Palestine to confirm the churches there, he arrived in Frere Town on the west coast of Africa in January, 1885, and spent several months of useful work in organising. By July, 1885, he was ready to attempt the second time to reach the kingdom of Uganda.
He determined to try a different route from that taken before, in order to avoid the fevers from which the previous expedition had suffered so terribly.
After surmounting many difficulties in his passage through Masai Land he had by October reached within a few days' journey of Uganda; but there, on the outskirts of the kingdom he sought to enter, a martyr's death crowned his brief but earnest mission life.
On 21st October, 1885, the bishop had started from his tent to get a view of the river Nile when about twenty of the natives set upon him, robbed him, and hurried him off to prison. He was violently dragged along, some trying to force him one way, some another, dashing him against trees in their hurry, and bruising and wounding him without thought or consideration. Although the bishop believed he was to be thrown over a precipice or murdered at once, he could still say, "Lord, I put myself in Thy hands; I look to Thee alone," and sing, "Safe in the arms of Jesus".
At length, after a journey of about five miles, he was pushed into a hut, and there kept prisoner. Whilst in this place he endured all kinds of horrors. Laughed at in his sufferings by the savages, almost suffocated by the bad smells about the hut, taken out at times to be the sport of his captors, unable to eat, full of aches and pains, he was yet able to look up and say, "Let the Lord do as He sees fit," and to read his Bible and feel refreshed.
On 27th October he writes: "I am very low, and cry to God for release". On the 28th fever developed rapidly. Word was brought that messengers had arrived from Mwanga, King of Uganda. Three soldiers from this monarch had indeed arrived; but, instead of bringing orders for his release, doubtless conveyed instructions that the bishop should be put to death.
It seems that Mwanga had some fear of invasion from the East; and acting on his suspicions, without taking any trouble to ascertain the facts of the case, had sent the fatal command.
On the day of the bishop's release, the 29th, he was held up by Psalm xxx., which came with great power. As he was led forth to execution he sang hymns nearly all the way. When his captors hesitated to launch their spears at him, he spake gently to them and pointed to his gun. So, either by gunshot or spear wounds, died another of that glorious band of martyrs who have, century after century, fearlessly laid down their lives to advance the Kingdom of God.
Mrs. Hannington has kindly made a tracing of the page in the bishop's little pocket diary for 28th October, the day before his martyrdom took place. I am very glad to be able to give a reproduction of so interesting a memento.
[Illustration: diary entry]
Seventh day's prison. Wednesday, 28th October. A terrible night, 1st with noisy, drunken guard, and 2nd with vermin which have found out my tent and swarm. I don't think I got one sound hour's sleep, and woke with fever fast developing. O Lord, do have mercy upon me and release me. I am quite broken down and brought low. Comforted by reading 27th Psalm.
In an hour or two's time fever developing rapidly. My tent was so stifling I was obliged to go inside the filthy hut, and soon was delirious.
Evening: fever passed away. Word came that Mwanga had sent 3 soldiers, but what news they bring they will not yet let me know.
Much comforted by 28th Psalm.
He was nicknamed "Phlos"—short for philosopher—even when at school. Havelock and a few companions at Charterhouse met together for devotion, and of course came in for a large amount of jeering from some of the other boys. But it was useless to call him "Methodist" and "hypocrite"; he had learnt from his mother the value of Bible reading, and possessed sufficient character to care little what his companions said.
He knew the right, and did it—thus early he was a philosopher in a small way.
It had been intended that Havelock should follow the law as a profession; and he was studying with this end in view when his father stopped the necessary supplies of money, and he had to turn to some other occupation for a living.
He had always had a leaning towards a military life, and by his brother's aid obtained a commission as second lieutenant in 1815, being then twenty years old.
Unlike Colin Campbell, who was in the thick of the fight within a few months of joining his regiment, it was some years before Havelock had a chance of distinguishing himself; but meantime he set to work to study military history and tactics both ancient and modern.
Not content with this, he learnt Persian and Hindostanee; and thus when he went to India in 1823 he was equipped as few young men of his day were.
Havelock's faith, strong though it was, had to undergo a time of severe trial. Doubts arose in his mind, and made him miserable while they lasted. But on board ship he came across Lieut. Gardner, to whom, with others, he was giving lessons in languages; and as a result of his intercourse with this man he became again the same simple loving believer that he had been when he learnt to read the Bible at his mother's knee, or braved the taunts of his school-fellows.
During the two months he was at Calcutta he held religious meetings, to which the soldiers were invited. At these, not only did he preach the Gospel of Christ, but he made a point of telling the men the blessings of temperance; and it was by his influence that later on a society was formed in the regiment, and various attractions were placed before the men to keep them from intemperance.
Now came the chance of active service for which he had been longing. An expedition was planned against the Burmese, and Havelock was one of the members. But a great disappointment was in store for him. The ship in which he sailed was delayed, and did not arrive at Rangoon till the town was taken. Still, though there was no glory to be gained, there was much good work to be done in looking after his men's comfort and well-being; and this he did to the utmost of his power. He also held simple services, such as the men could appreciate, in one of the Buddhist temples.
Though there was not a great deal of fighting to do, there were great losses of men through disease; and Havelock himself was ere long so ill that he was told a voyage to England was the only thing to save his life.
This, however, he objected to; and after a stay at Bombay he was sufficiently restored to rejoin his regiment.
During this war a night attack was made by the enemy on an outpost; and the men ordered to repulse it were not ready when summoned.
"Then call out Havelock's saints," said the commander-in-chief. "They are always sober, and can be depended upon, and Havelock himself is always ready." And, surely enough, "Havelock's saints" were among the enemy in double quick time, and soon gave them as much steel and lead as they had any wish for!
"Every inch a soldier, and every inch a Christian,"—that was an exact description of this man.
Even the day he got married to Hannah Marshman, the missionary's daughter, he showed that he was a soldier before all else. For, having been suddenly summoned to attend a military court of inquiry at twelve o'clock on his wedding day, he got married at an earlier hour than he had previously arranged, took a quick boat to Calcutta, returning to his bride when his business of the day was finished.
Time passed on, and the leader of "the saints" was still but a junior lieutenant, though he had been seventeen years in the army. Thrice were his hopes of promotion raised, and thrice doomed to disappointment.
Still he murmured not. "I have only two wishes," he would say. "I pray that in life and death I may glorify God, and that my wife and children may be provided for."
Heavy trials befel him. Death laid its hand on his little boy Ettrick, and another child was so burnt in a fire that happened at their bungalow that he died also, whilst his beloved wife narrowly escaped the same fate. Yet he bore all this with patience.
Stern commander though he was, his men loved him so much that they wanted to give him a month of their pay to assist him in the loss of means occasioned by the fire.
Though their offer was refused, yet Havelock could not but be thankful for the kind feeling which prompted it.
At length, after over twenty years' service, he became a captain.
In the Afghan war Havelock was with General Sale at Jellalabad at the time that Dr. Brydon brought the news of the massacre of our men by the Afghans; and during the anxious time that followed he was able to render good service in the field and at the council table.
He fought in the battles of Moodkee, Ferozeshah, and Sobraon. At the first-named he had two horses shot under him; and in all he distinguished himself by coolness and bravery.
When the terrible mutiny broke out in India in the year 1857, the hour of dire emergency had come, and with it had come the man. "Your excellency," said Sir Patrick Grant, presenting Havelock to Lord Canning, "I have brought the man."
That was on 17th June, 1857.
Two days later Havelock was appointed to the command of the little army. His instructions were that, "after quelling all disturbances at Allahabad, he should not lose a moment in supporting Sir Henry Lawrence at Lucknow, and Sir Hugh Wheeler at Cawnpore; and that he should take prompt measures for dispersing and utterly destroying all mutineers and insurgents".
A large order that to tell a commander with 2000 men, to take a dozen fortified places defended by ten times the number of his own force!
Not a moment was to be lost, for both cities were in deadly peril.
Alas! Early on the 1st July came news of the terrible massacre of the Cawnpore garrison,—men, women and children slain in one wanton, heartless slaughter, which still makes the blood run cold to read about.
Out of the 2000 men under Havelock's command 1400 only were British soldiers. But in that force every man was a hero. Notwithstanding the scorching heat of an Indian summer,—in spite, too, of the fact that a number of the men were obliged to march in heavy garments utterly unsuited to the climate; though death, disease, and a thousand perils lay in front of them,—not a man of Havelock's "Ironsides" but was impatient to push onward to death or victory.
The general himself was full of humble trust in the Lord, and was in good spirits notwithstanding—perhaps because of—the perils before him. For it is written of him that "he was always as sour as if he had swallowed a pint of vinegar except when he was being shot at,—and then he was as blithe as a schoolboy out for a holiday".
Sour he wasnot, but he kept splendid discipline among his troops.
"Soldiers," he said as they set out, "there is work before us. We are bound on an expedition whose object is the supremacy of British rule, and to avenge the fate of British men and women."
The first battle fought was at Futtehpore. Writing to his wife on the same night, Havelock said: "One of the prayers oft repeated throughout my life has been answered, and I have lived to command in a general action…. We fought, and in ten minutes' time the affair was decided…. But away with vain glory! Thanks to God Almighty, who gave me the victory."
Day, after day, the men fought and marched—marched and fought. Battle after battle was won against foes of reckless daring, carefully entrenched, amply supplied with big guns, and infinitely superior in numbers.
His men were often half famished. For two whole days they had but one meal, consisting of a few biscuits and porter!
Hearing that some of the women and children were still alive, having escaped the massacre of 27th June, Havelock pressed on with his wearied little army. "With God's help," said he, "we shall save them, or every man die in the attempt."
Nana Sahib himself barred the way to Cawnpore. His 5000 men were well placed in good positions; but they were driven from post to post before the onset of the British.
"Now, Highlanders!" shouted Havelock, as the men halted to re-form after one of their irresistible onslaughts; "another charge like the last wins the day!"
And again the Scots scattered the enemy, at the bayonet's point.
The sun was far towards the western horizon before the battle was finally over. The mutineers were brave men; and, though beaten, retreated, reformed, and fought again.
The enemy had rallied at a village; and Havelock's men, after their day's fight, lagged a little when, having gone over ploughed fields and swamps, they came again under fire.
[Illustration: THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.]
But their general rode out under fire of the guns, and, smiling as a cannon ball just missed him by a hairsbreadth, said:—
"Come, who is to take that village—the Highlanders or the 64th?"
That was enough: pell-mell went both regiments upon the enemy, who had a bad quarter of an hour between the two.
Cawnpore was won; but, alas! the women and children had been slain whilst their countrymen had been fighting for their deliverance. And Lucknow was not yet to be relieved.
For after advancing into Oude Havelock found that constant fighting, cholera, sunstroke and illness had so reduced his numbers that to go on would risk the extermination of his force.
He therefore returned to await reinforcements. By the time these arrived, Sir James Outram had been appointed general of the forces in India; but he generously refused to accept the command till Lucknow had been relieved, saying that, Havelock having made such noble exertions, it was only right he should have the honour of leading the troops till this had been done.
So he accompanied the army as a volunteer; and again the men fought their way, this time right through the mutineers, accomplishing their object by the first relief of Lucknow.
On the evening of 28th September, the soldiers reached the Residency, where the British had been shut up for so long face to face with death. The last piece of fighting was the worst they had had to face. Fired at from roof and window by concealed foes, they marched on with unwavering courage, and those who reached the Residency had a reward such as can come to few in this life.
As the women and children frantic with joy rushed to welcome their rescuers the stern-set faces of the Highlanders changed to joy and gladness; hunger, thirst, wounds, weariness—all were forgotten as they clasped hands with those for whom they had fought and bled.
"God bless you," they exclaimed; "why, we expected to have found only your bones!"
"And the children living too!"
Women and children, civilians and soldiers, gave themselves up to pure gladness of heart, and in that meeting all thought of past woes and dangers faded away.
After a series of the most thrilling incidents the world has known,Lucknow was finally relieved by Sir Colin Campbell.
When Havelock came from the Residency to meet the troops the men flocked round him cheering, and their enthusiasm brought tears to the veteran's eyes.
On the 17th November Lucknow was relieved, and on the 24th Havelock died. "I have," he said to Outram in his last illness, "for forty years so ruled my life that when death came I might face it without fear."