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Tracks of a rolling stone by the Honour

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TEACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

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TKACKS

OF

A ROLLING STONE

BT THE

HONOUEABLE HENEY J. COKE

AUTHOR OF
■ A EIDE OVER THE ROOKY MODNTAINS ' ' CREEDS OP IHE DAS ' ETC.

WITH A PORTRAIT

LONDON

SMITH,

ELDER,

& CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE

1905

vv

[All rights reserved]

U^

TO

MY DAUGHTEE SYBIL

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE I

We know more of the early days of the Pyramids or
of ancient Babylon than we do of our own. The Stone
age, the dragons of the prime, are not more remote from
us than is our earliest childhood. It is not so long ago
for any of us ; and yet, our memories of it are but
veiled spectres wandering in the mazes of some foregone
existence.

Are we really trailing clouds of glory from afar ? Or
are our ' forgettings ' of the outer Eden only? Or, setting
poetry aside, are they perhaps the quickening germs of
all past heredity — an epitome of our race and its descent?
At any rate then, if ever, our lives are such stuff as
dreams are made of. There is no connected story of events,
thoughts, acts, or feelings. We try in vain to re-collect ;
but the secrets of the grave are not more inviolable,- — for
the beginnings, like the endings, of life are lost in dark-
ness.

It is very difficult to afSx a date to any relic of that
dim past. We may have a distinct remembrance of some
pleasure, some pain, some fright, some accident, but the
vivid does not help us to chronicle with accuracy. A year
or two makes a vast difference in our ability. We can
remember well enough when we donned the ' cauda
virilis,' but not when we left off petticoats.

B

2 TEACKS OP A ROLLING STONE

The first remembrance to which I can correctly tack
a date is the death of George IV. I was between three
and four years old. My recollection of the fact is per-
fectly distinct — distinct by its association with other facts,
then far more weighty to me than the death of a king.

I was watching with rapture, for the first time, the
spinning of a peg-top by one of the grooms in the stable
yard, when the coachman, who had just driven my mother
home, announced the historic news. In a few minutes
four or five servants — maids and men — came running to
the stables to learn particulars, and the peg-top, to my
sorrow, had to be abandoned for gossip and flirtation.
We were a long way from street criers — indeed, quite out
of town. My father's house was in Kensington, a little
further west than the present museum. It was completely
surrounded by fields and hedges. I mention the fact
merely to show to what age definite memory can be
authentically assigned. Doubtless we have much earlier
remembrances, though we must reckon these by days, or
by months at the outside. The relativity of the reckon-
ing would seem to make Time indeed a 'Form of
Thought.'

Two or three reminiscences of my childhood have stuck
to me ; some of them on account of their comicality. I
was taken to a children's ball at St. James's Palace. In
my mind's eye I have but one distinct vision of it. I
cannot see the crowd — there was nothing to distinguish
that from what I have so often seen since ; nor the court
dresses, nor the soldiers even, who always attract a child's
attention in the streets ; but I see a raised dais on which
were two thrones. "William IV. sat on one, Queen Adelaide
on the other. I cannot say whether we were marched past
in turn, or how I came there. But I remember the look
of the king in his naval uniform. I remember his white
kerseymere breeches, and pink silk stockings, and buckled

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 3

shoes. He took me between his knees, and asked, ' Well,
what are you going to be, my little man ? '

' A sailor,' said I, with brazen simplicity.

' Going to avenge the death of Nelson — eh ? Fond o'
sugar-plums ? '

' Ye — es,' said I, taking a mental inventory of stars
and anchor buttons.

Upon this, he fetched from the depths of his waistcoat
pocket a capacious gold box, and opened it with a tap, as
though he were about to offer me a pinch of snuff. ' There's
for you,' said he.

I helped myself, unawed by the situation, and with my
small fist clutching the bonbons, was passed on to Queen
Adelaide. She gave me a kiss, for form's sake, I thought ;
and I scuttled back to my mother.

But here followed the shocking part of the enfant
terrible's adventure. Not quite sure of Her Majesty's
identity — I had never heard there was a Queen — 1 naively
asked my mother, in a very audible stage-whisper, ' Who

is the old lady with ? ' My mother dragged me off

the instant she had made her curtsey. She had a quick
sense of humour ; and, judging from her laughter, when
she told her story to another lady in the supper room, I
fancied I had said or done something very funny. I was
rather disconcerted at being seriously admonished, and
told I must never again comment upon the breath of
ladies who condescended to kiss, or to speak to, me.

While we lived at Kensington, Lord Anglesey used
often to pay my mother a visit. She had told me the
story of the battle of Waterloo, in which my Uncle
George — 6th Lord Albemarle — had taken part ; and
related how Lord Anglesey had lost a leg there, and how
one of his legs was made of cork. Lord Anglesey was a
great dandy. The cut of the Paget hat was an heirloom
for the next generation or two, and the gallant Marquis'

B 2

4 TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

boots and tightly-strapped trousers were patterns of polish
and precision. The limp was perceptible ; but of which
leg, was, in spite of careful investigation, beyond my
diagnosis. His presence provoked my curiosity, till one
fine day it became too strong for resistance. While he
was busily engaged in conversation with my mother, I,
watching for the chance, sidled up to his chair, and as
soon as he looked away, rammed my heel on to his toes.
They were his toes. And considering the jump and the
oath which instantly responded to my test, I am per-
suaded they were abnormally tender ones. They might
have been made of corns, certainly not of cork.

Another discovery I made about this period was, for
me at least, a ' record ' : it happened at Quidenham — my
grandfather the 4th Lord Albemarle's place.

Some excursion was afoot, which needed an early
breakfast. When this was half over, one married couple
were missing. My grandfather called me to him (I was
playing with another small boy in one of the window
bays). ' Go and tell Lady Maria, with my love,' said he,
' that we shall start in half an hour. Stop, stop a minute.
Be sure you knock at the door.' I obeyed orders — I
knocked at the door, but failed to wait for an answer. I
entered without it. And what did I behold ? Lady Maria
was still in bed ; and by the side of Lady M. was, very
naturally. Lady M.'s husband, also in bed and fast asleep.
At first I could hardly believe my senses. It was within
the range of my experience that boys of my age occa-
sionally slept in the same bed. But that a grown up
man should sleep in the same bed with his wife was
quite beyond my notion of the fitness of things. I was
so staggered, so long in taking in this astounding novelty,
that I could not at first deliver my grandfather's message.
The moment I had done so, I rushed back to the break-
fast room, and in a loud voice proclaimed to the company

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 5

what I had seen. My tale produced all the effect I had
anticipated, but mainly in the shape of amusement. One
wag — my uncle Henry Keppel — asked for details, gravely
declaring he could hardly credit my statement. Every
one, however, seemed convinced by the circumstantial
nature of my evidence when I positively asserted that
their heads were not even at opposite ends of the bed, but
side by side upon the same pillow.

A still greater soldier than Lord Anglesey used to
come to Holkham every year, a great favourite of my
father's ; this was Lord Lynedoch. My earliest recollec-
tions of him owe their vividness to three accidents — in
the logical sense of the term : his silky milk-white locks,
his Spanish servant who wore earrings — and whom, by
the way, I used to confound with Courvoisier, often there
at the same time with his master Lord "William Eussell,
for the murder of whom he was hanged, as all the world
knows — and his fox terrier Nettle, which, as a special
favour, I was allowed to feed with Abernethy biscuits.

He was at Longford, my present home, on a visit to my
father in 1835, when, one evening after dinner, the two
old gentlemen — no one else being present but myself —
sitting in armchairs over the fire, finishing their bottle of
port. Lord Lynedoch told the wonderful story of his
adventures during the siege of Mantua by the French, in
1796. For brevity's sake, it were better perhaps to give
the outline in the words of Alison. ' It was high time the
Imperialists should advance to the relief of this fortress,
which was now reduced to the last extremity from want
of provisions. At a council of war held in the end of
December, it was decided that it was indispensable that
instant intelligence should be sent to Alvinzi of their
desperate situation. An English officer, attached to the
garrison, volunteered to perform the perilous mission,
which he executed with equal courage and success. He

6 TRACKS OF A KOLLING STONE

set out, disguised as a peasant, from Mantua on Decem-
ber 29, at nightfall in the midst of a deep fall of snow,
eluded the vigilance of the French patrols, and, after
surmounting a thousand hardships and dangers, arrived
at the headquarters of Alvinzi, at Bassano, on January 4,
the day after the conferences at Vicenza Vfere broken up.

' Great destinies avpaited this enterprising officer. He
was Colonel Graham, afterwards victor at Barrosa, and the
first British general who planted the English standard
on the soil of France.'

This bare skeleton of the event was endued ' with
sense and soul ' by the narrator. The ' hardships and
dangers ' thrilled one's young nerves. Their two salient
features were ice perils, and the no less imminent one of
being captured and shot as a spy. The crossing of the
rivers stands out prominently in my recollection. All the
bridges were of course guarded, and he had twO at least
within the enemy's lines to get over — the Mincio and the
Adige. Probably the lagunes surrounding the invested
fortress would be his worst difficulty. The Adige he
described as beset with a two-fold risk — the avoidance
of the bridges, which courted suspicion, and the thin ice
and only partially frozen river, which had to be traversed
in the dark. The vigour, the zest with which the wiry
veteran ' shoulder'd his crutch and show'd how fields
were won ' was not a thing to be forgotten.

Lord Lynedoch lived to a great age, and it was from
his house at Cardington, in Bedfordshire, that my brother
Leicester married his first wife, Miss Whitbread, in 1843.
That was the last time I saw him.

Perhaps the following is not out of place here, although
it is connected with more serious thoughts :

Though neither my father nor my mother were more
pious than their neighbours, we children were brought up
religiously. From infancy we were taught to repeat night

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 7

and morning the Lord's Prayer, and invoke blessings on
our parents. It was instilled into us by constant repeti-
tion that God did not love naughty children — our
naughtiness being for the most part the original sin
of disobedience, rooted in the love of forbidden fruit in all
its forms of allurement. Moses himself could not have
believed more faithfully in the direct and immediate
intervention of an avenging Grod. The pain in one's
stomach incident to unripe gooseberries, no less than the
consequent black dose, or the personal chastisement of
a responsible and apprehensive nurse, V7ere but the just
visitations of an offended Deity.

Whether my religious proclivities were more pro-
nounced than those of other children I cannot say, but
certainly, as a child, I was in the habit of appealing to
Omnipotence to gratify every ardent desire.

There were peacocks in the pleasure grounds at Holk-
ham, and I had an esthetic love for their gorgeous
plumes. As I hunted under and amongst the shrubs, I
secretly prayed that my search might be rewarded. Nor
had I a doubt, when successful, that my prayer had been
granted by a beneficent Providence.

Let no one smile at this infantine credulity, for is it
not the basis of that religious trust which helps so many
of us to support the sorrows to which our stoicism is
unequal ? Who that might be tempted thoughtlessly to
laugh at the child does not sometimes sustain the hope
of finding his ' plumes ' by appeals akin to those of his
childhood ? Which of ns could not quote a hundred
instances of such a soothing delusion — if delusion it be ?
I speak not of saints, but of sinners : of the countless
hosts who aspire to this world's happiness; of the dying
who would live, of the suffering who would die, of the
poor who would be rich, of the aggrieved who seek ven-
geance, of the ugly who would be beautiful, of the old

8 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

who would appear young, of the guilty who would not be
found out, and of the lover who would possess. Ah !
the lover. Here possibility is a negligible element. Con-
sequences are of no consequence. Passion must be served.
When could a miracle be more pertinent ?

It is just fifty years ago now; it was during the
Indian Mutiny. A lady friend of mine did me the honour
to make me her confidant. She paid the same compli-
ment to many — most of her friends ; and the friends (as
is their wont) confided in one another. Poor thing ! her
case was a sad one. Whose case is not ? She was, by
her own account, in the forty-second year of her virginity ;
and it may be added, parenthetically, an honest fourteen
stone in weight.

She was in love with a hero of Lucknow. It cannot
be said that she knew him only by his well-earned
fame. She had seen him, had even sat by him at dinner.
He was young, he was handsome. It was love at sight,
accentuated by much meditation — ' obsessions [perad-
venture] des images gen^tiques.' She told me (and her
other confidants, of course) that she prayed day and
night that this distinguished officer, this handsome officer,
might return her passion. And her letters to me (and to
other confidants) invariably ended with the entreaty that
I (and her other, &c.) would offer up a similar prayer on
her behalf. Alas ! poor soul, poor body ! I should say,
the distinguished officer, together with the invoked
Providence, remained equally insensible to her supplica-
tions. The lady rests in peace. The soldier, though a
veteran, still exults in war.

But why do I cite this single instance ? Are there not
millions of such entreaties addressed to Heaven on this,
and on every day? What difference is there, in spirit,
between them and the child's prayer for his feather ? Is
there anything great or small in the eye of Omniscience ?
Or is it not our thinking only that makes it so ?

TEACKS OF A KOLLING STONE

CHAPTEE II

Soon after I was seven years old, I went to what
was then, and is still, one of the most favoured of pre-
paratory schools — Temple Grove — at East Sheen, then
kept by Dr. Pinkney. I was taken thither from Holkham
by a great friend of my father's, General Sir Eonald
Ferguson, whose statue now adorns one of the niches in
the fa9ade of Wellington College. The school contained
about 120 boys ; but I cannot name any one of the lot who
afterwards achieved distinction. There were three
Macaulays there, nephews of the historian — Aulay,
Kenneth, and Hector. But I have lost sight of all.

Temple Grove was a typical private school of that
period. The type is familiar to everyone in its photograph
as Dotheboys Hall. The progress of the last century in
many directions is great indeed ; but in few is it greater
than in the comfort and the cleanliness of our modern
schools. The luxury enjoyed by the present boy is a
constant source of astonishment to us grandfathers. We
were half starved, we were exceedingly dirty, we were
systematically bullied, and we were flogged and caned
as though the master's pleasure was in inverse ratio to
ours. The inscription over the gates should have been
' Cave canem.'

We began our day as at Dotheboys Hall with two
large spoonfuls of sulphur and treacle. After an hour's
lessons we breakfasted on one bowl of milk — ' Skyblue '
we called it — and one hunch of buttered bread, unbuttered

10 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

at discretion. Our dinner began with pudding — generally
rice — to save the butcher's bill. Then mutton— which
was quite capable of taking care of itself. Our only other
meal was a basin of ' Skyblue ' and bread as before.

As to cleanliness, I never had a bath, never bathed (at
the school) during the two years I was there. On
Saturday nights, before bed, our feet were washed by the
housemaids, in tubs round which half a dozen of us sat
at a time. Woe to the last comers ! for the water was
never changed. How we survived the food, or rather the
want of it, is a marvel. Fortunately for me, I used to
discover, when I got into bed, a thickly buttered crust
under my pillow. I believed, I never quite made sure,
(for the act was not admissible), that my good fairy was
a fiery-haired lassie (we called her ' Carrots,' though I had
my doubts as to this being her Christian name) who
hailed from Norfolk. I see her now : her jolly, round,
shining face, her extensive mouth, her ample person. I
recall, with more pleasure than I then endured, the cordial
hugs she surreptitiously bestowed upon me when we
met by accident in . the passages. Kind, affectionate
' Carrots ' ! Thy heart was as bounteous as thy bosom.
May the tenderness of both have met with their earthly
deserts ; and mayest thou have shared to the full the
pleasures thou wast ever ready to impart !

There were no railways in those times. It amuses me
to see people nowadays travelling by coach, for pleasure.
How many lives must have been shortened by long
winter journeys in those horrible coaches. The inside
passengers were hardly better off than the outside. The
corpulent and heavy occupied the scanty space allotted to
the weak and small — crushed them, slept on them,
snored over them, and monopolised the straw which was
supposed to keep their feet warm.

A pachydermatous old lady would insist upon an open

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 11

window. A wheezy consumptive invalid would insist on a
closed one. Everybody's legs were in their own, and in
every other body's, way. So that when the distance was
great and time precious, people avoided coaching, and
remained where they were.

For this reason, if a short holiday was given — less
than a week say — Norfolk was too far off ; and I was not
permitted to spend it at Holkham. I generally went to
Charles Fox's ^ at Addison Eoad, or to Holland House.
Lord Holland was a great friend of my father's ; but, if
Creevey is to be trusted — which, as a rule, my recollection
of him would permit me to doubt, though perhaps not in
this instance — Lord Holland did not go to Holkham
because of my father's dislike to Lady Holland.

I speak here of my introduction to Holland House, for
although Lady Holland was then in the zenith of her
ascendency, (it was she who was the Cabinet Minister, not
her too amiable husband,) although Holland House was
then the resort of all the potentates of Whig statecraft, and
Whig literature, and Whig wit, in the persons of Lord
Grey, Brougham, Jeffrey, Macaulay, Sydney Smith, and
others, it was not till eight or ten years later that I
knew, when I met them there, who and what her
Ladyship's brilliant satellites were. I shall not return to
Lady Holland, so I will say a parting word of her
forthwith.

The woman who corresponded with Buonaparte, and
consoled the prisoner of St. Helena with black currant
jam, was no ordinary personage. Most people, I fancy,
were afraid of her. Her stature, her voice, her beard,
were obtrusive marks of her masculine attributes. It is
questionable whether her amity or her enmity was most
to be dreaded. She liked those best whom she could

' Afterwards General Fox, the eldest but illegitimate son of Lord Holland.
He married Lady Mary Fitzolarence, daughter of William IV.

12 TKACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

most easily tyrannise over. Those in the other category
might possibly keep aloof. For my part I feared her
patronage. I remember when I was about seventeen —
a self-conscious hobbledehoy — Mr. Ellice took me to one
of her large receptions. She received her guests from a
sort of elevated dais. When I came up— very shy — to
make my salute, she asked me how old I was. ' Seven-
teen,' was the answer. ' That means next birthday,' she
grunted. ' Come and give me a kiss, my dear.' I, a man ! —
a man whose voice was (sometimes) as gruff as hers ! — a
man who was beginning to shave for a moustache !
Oh ! the indignity of it !

But it was not Lady Holland, or her court, that con-
cerned me in my school days, it was Holland Park, or the
extensive grounds about Charles Fox's house (there were
no other houses at Addison Eoad then), that I loved to
roam in. It was the birds'-nesting ; it was the golden
carp I used to fish for on the sly with a pin ; the shying
at the swans, the hunt for cockchafers, the freedom of
mischief generally, and the excellent food — which I was
so much in need of — that made the holiday delightful.

Some years later, when dining at Holland House, I
happened to sit near the hostess. It was a large dinner
party. Lord Holland, in his bath-chair (he nearly always
had the gout), sat at the far end of the table a long way
off. But my lady kept an eye on him, for she had caught
him drinking champagne. She beckoned to the groom of
the chambers, who stood behind her ; and in a gruff and
angry voice shouted : ' Go to my Lord. Take away his
wine, and tell him if he drinks any more you have my
orders to wheel him into the next room.' If this was a
joke it was certainly a practical one. And yet affection
was behind it. There's a tender place in every heart.

Like aU despots, she was subject to fits of cowardice —
especially, it was said, with regard to a future state, which

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 13

she professed to disbelieve in. Mr. EUice told me that
once, in some country house, while a fearful storm was
raging, and the claps of thunder made the windows
rattle, Lady Holland was so terrified that she changed
dresses with her maid, and hid herself in the cellar.
Whether the story be a calumny or not, it is at least
characteristic.

After all, it was mainly due to her that Holland House
became the focus of all that was brilliant in Europe. In
the memoirs of her father — Sydney Smith — Mrs. Austin
writes : ' The world has rarely seen, and will rarely, if
ever, see again all that was to be found within the walls
of Holland House. Genius and merit, in whatever rank
of life, became a passport there ; and all that was
choicest and rarest in Europe seemed attracted to that
spot as their natural soil.'

Did we learn much at Temple Grove? Let others
answer for themselves. Acquaintance with the classics
was the staple of a liberal education in those times.
Temple Grove was the atrium to Eton, and gerund-
grinding was its raison d'etre. Before I was nine years
old I daresay I could repeat — parrot, that is— several hun-
dreds of lines of the ^neid. This, and some elementary
arithmetic, geography, and drawing, which last I took to
kindly, were dearly paid for by many tears, and by
temporarily impaired health. It was due to my pallid
cheeks that I was removed. It was due to the following
six months — summer months— of a happy life that my
health was completely restored.

14 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE III

Me. Edwaed Ellicb, who constantly figures in the me-
moirs of the last century as ' Bear Ellice ' (an outrageous
misnomer, by the way), and who later on married my
mother, was the chief controller of my youthful destiny.
His first wife was a sister of the Lord Grey of Beform
Bill fame, in whose Government he filled the office of
War Minister. In many respects Mr. Ellice was a
notable man. He possessed shrewd intelligence, much
force of character, and an autocratic spirit — to which he
owed his sobriquet. His kindness of heart, his powers of
conversation, with .striking personality and ample wealth,
combined to make him popular. His house in Arlington
Street, and his shooting lodge at Glen Quoich, were
famous for the number of eminent men who were his
frequent guests.

Mr. Ellice's position as a minister, and his habitual
residence in Paris, had brought him in touch with the
leading statesmen of France. He was intimately
acquainted with Louis Philippe, with Talleyrand, with
Guizot, with Thiers, and most of the French men and
French women whose names were bruited in the early
part of the nineteenth century.

When I was taken from Temple Grove, I was placed,
by the advice and arrangement of Mr. Ellice, under the
charge of a French family, which had fallen into decay
through the change of dynasty. The Marquis de
Coubrier had been Master of the Horse to Charles X,

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 15

His widow — an old lady between seventy and eighty —
with three maiden daughters, all advanced in years, lived
upon the remnant of their estates in a small village called
Larue, close to Bourg-la-Eeine, which, it may be remem-
bered, was occupied by the Prussians during the siege of
Paris. There was a chEiteau, the former seat of the
family ; and, adjoining it, in the same grounds, a pretty
and commodious cottage. The first was let as a country
house to some wealthy Parisians ; the cottage was occu-
pied by the Marquise and her three daughters.

The personal appearances of each of these four elderly
ladies, their distinct idiosyncrasies, and their former high
position as members of a now moribund nobility, left a
lasting impression on my memory. One might expect,
perhaps, from such a prelude, to find in the old Marquise
traces of stately demeanour, or a regretted superiority.
Nothing of the kind. She herself was a short, square-
built woman, with large head and strong features, framed
in a mob cap, with a broad frill which flopped over her
tortoise-shell spectacles. She wore a black bombazine
gown, and list slippers. When in the garden, where she
was always busy in the summer-time, she put on wooden
sabots over her slippers.

Despite this homely exterior, she herself was a ' lady '
in every sense of the word. Her manner was dignified
and courteous to everyone. To her daughters and to my-
self she was gentle and affectionate. Her voice was
sympathetic, almost musical. I never saw her temper
ruffled. I never heard her allude to her antecedents.

The daughters were as unlike their mother as they
were to one another. Adele, the eldest, was very stout,
with a profusion of grey ringlets. She spoke EngUsh
fluently. I gathered, from her mysterious nods and
tosses of the head, (to be sure, her head wagged a little of
its own accord, the ringlets too, like lambs' tails,) that

16 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

she had had an affaire de cceur with an Englishman,
and that the perfidious islander had removed from the
Continent with her misplaced affections. She was a trifle
bitter, I thought — for I applied her insinuations to
myself — against Englishmen generally. But, though
cynical in theory, she was perfectly amiable in practice.
She superintended the menage and spent the rest of her
life in making paper flowers. I should hardly have known
they were flowers, never having seen their prototypes in
nature. She assured me, however, that they were
beautiful copies — undoubtedly she believed them to be so.

Henriette, the youngest, had been the beauty of the
family. This I had to take her own word for, since here
again there was much room for imagination and faith.
She was a confirmed invalid, and, poor thing! showed
every symptom of it. She rarely left her room except for
meals ; and although it was summer when I was there,
she never moved without her chauffrette. She seemed to
live for the sake of patent medicines and her chauffrette ;
she was always swallowing the one, and feeding the other.

The middle daughter was Aglae. Mademoiselle Aglae
took charge — I may say, possession — of me. She was tall,
gaunt, and bony, with a sharp aquiline nose, pomegranate
cheek-bones, and large saffron teeth ever much in evi-
dence. Her speciality, as I soon discovered, was senti-
ment. Like her sisters, she had had her ' affaires ' in the
plural. A Greek prince, so far as I could make out, was
the last of her adorers. But I sometimes got into scrapes
by mixing up the Greek prince with a Polish count, and
then confounding either one or both with a Hungarian
pianoforte player.

Without formulating my deductions, I came instinc-
tively to the conclusion that 'En fait d'amour,' as Figaro
puts it, ' trop n'est pas meme assez.' From Miss Aglae's
point of view a lover was a lover. As to the superiority of

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 17

one over another, this was— nay, is— purely subjective.
' We receive but what we give.' And, from what Made-
moiselle then told me, I cannot but infer that she had
given without stint.

Be that as it may, nothing could be more kind than
her care of me. She tucked me up at night, and used to
send for me in the morning before she rose, to partake
of her cafe-au-lait. In return for her indulgences, I would
' make eyes ' such as I had seen Auguste, the young man-
servant, cast at Eose the cook. I would present her with
little scraps which I copied in roundhand from a volume
of French poems. Once I drew, and coloured with red
ink, two hearts pierced with an arrow, a copious pool of
red ink beneath, emblematic of both the quality and
quantity of my passion. This work of art produced so
deep a sigh that I abstained thenceforth from repeating
such sanguinary endearments.

Not the least interesting part of the family was the
servants. I say ' family,' for a French family, unlike an
English one, includes its domestics ; wherein our neigh-
bours have the advantage oyer us. In the British estab-
lishment the household is but too often thought of and
treated as furniture. I was as fond of Eose the cook and
maid-of-all-work as I was of anyone in the house. She
showed me how to peel potatoes, break eggs, and make
pot-au-feu. She made me little delicacies in pastry —
swans with split almonds for wings, comic little pigs with
cloves in their eyes — for all of which my affection and my
liver duly acknowledged receipt in full. She taught me
more provincial pronunciation and bad grammar than ever
I could unlearn. She was very intelligent, and radiant
with good humour. One peculiarity especially took my
fancy — the yellow bandana in which she enveloped her
head. I was always wondering whether she was born
without hair — there was none to be seen. This puzzled

18 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

me so that one day I consulted Augusta, who was my
chief companion. He was quite indignant, and declared
with warmth that Mam'selle Eose had the most beautiful
hair he had ever beheld. He flushed even with enthu-
siasm. If it hadn't been for his manner, I should have
asked him how he knew. But somehow I felt the sub-
ject was a delicate one.

How incessantly they worked, Auguste and Eose, and
how cheerfully they worked ! One could hear her singing,
and him whistling, at it all day. Yet they seemed to have
abundant leisure to exchange a deal of pleasantry and
harmless banter. Auguste was a Swiss, and a bigoted
Protestant, and never lost an opportunity of holding forth
on the superiority of the reformed religion. If he thought
the family were out of hearing, he would grow very ani-
mated and declamatory. But Eose, who also had hopes,
though perhaps faint, for my salvation, would suddenly
rush into the room with the carpet broom, and drive him
out, \dth threats of Miss Aglae, and the broomstick.

The gardener, Monsieur Benoit, was also a great
favourite of mine, and I of his, for I was never tired of
listening to his wonderful adventures. He had, so he
informed me, been a soldier in the Grande Armie. He
enthralled me with hair-raising accounts of his exploits :
how, when leading a storming party — he was always the
leader — one dark and terrible night, the vivid and inces-
sant lightning betrayed them by the flashing of their
bayonets ; and how in a few minutes they were mowed
down by mitraille. He had led forlorn hopes, and per-
formed deeds of astounding prowess. How many Life-
guardsmen he had annihilated : ' Ah ! ben oui ! ' he was
afraid to say. He had been personally noticed by ' Le
p'tit caporal.' There were many, whose deeds were not
to compare with his, who had been made princes and
mareschals. Parbleu ! but his luck was bad. ' Pas

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 19

d'chance ! pas d'chance ! Mo'sieu Henri.' As Monsieur
Benolt recorded his feats, and witnessed my unbounded
admiration, his voice would grow more and more sepul-
chral, till it dropped to a hoarse and scarcely audible
whisper.

I was a little bewildered one day when, having breath-
lessly repeated some of his heroic deeds to the Marquise,
she with a quiet smile assured me that ' ce petit bon-
homme,' as she called him, had for a short time been a
drummer in the National Guard, but had never been a
soldier. This was a blow to me ; moreover, I was troubled
by the composure of the Marquise. Monsieur Benolt had
actually been telling me what was not true. Was it, then,
possible that grown-up people acquired the privilege of
fibbing with impunity ? I wondered whether this right
would eventually become mine !

At Bourg-la-Eeine there is, or was, a large school.
Three days in the week I had to join one of the classes
there ; on the other three one of the ushers came up to
Larue for a couple of hours of private tuition. At the
school itself I did not learn very much, except that boys
everywhere are pretty similar, especially in the badness
of their manners. I also learnt that shrugging the
shoulders while exhibiting the palms of the hands, and
smiting oneself vehemently on the chest, are indispensable
elements of the French idiom'. The indiscriminate use of
the word ' parfaitement ' I also noticed to be essential
when at a loss for either language or ideas, and have
made valuable use of it ever since.

Monsieur Vincent, my tutor, was a most good-natured
and patient teacher. I incline, however, to think that I
taught him more English than he taught me French.
He certainly worked hard at his lessons. He read Eng-
lish aloud to me, and made me correct his pronunciation.
The mental agony this caused me makes me hot to think

c 2

20 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

of still. I had never heard his kind of Franco-English
before. To my ignorance it was the most comic language
in the world. There were some words which, in spite of
my endeavours, he persisted in pronouncing in his own
way. I have since got quite used to the most of them,
and their only effect is to remind me of my own rash
ventures in a foreign tongue. There are one or two
words which recall the pain it gave me to control my
emotions. He would produce his penknife, for instance ;
and, contemplating it with a despondent air, would declare
it to be the most difficult word in the English language
to pronounce. ' 'Ow you say 'im ? ' ' Penknife,' I ex-
plained. He would bid me write it down ; then having
spelt it, he would, with much effort, and a sound like
sneezing — oh ! the pain I endured ! — slowly repeat ' Penk-
neef.' I gave it up at last ; and he was gratified with his
success. As my explosion generally occurred about five
minutes afterwards, Monsieur Vincent failed to connect
cause and effect. "When we parted he gave me a neatly
bound copy of La Bruyere as a prize — for his own
proficiency, I presume. Many a pleasant half-hour have
I since spent with the witty classic.

Except the controversial harangues of the zealot
Auguste, my religious teaching was neglected on week
days. On Sundays, if fine, I was taken to a Protestant
church in Paris ; not infrequently to the Embassy. I
did not enjoy this at all. I could have done very well
without it. I liked the drive, which took about an hour
each way. Occasionally Aglae and I went in the Bourg-
la-Eeine coucou. But Mr. Ellice had arranged that a
carriage should be hired for me. Probably he was not
unmindful of the convenience of the old ladies. They
were not. The carriage was always filled. Even Made-
moiselle Henriette managed to go sometimes — aided by a
little patent medicine, and when it was too hot for the

TKACKS OF A KOLLING STONE 21

chauffrette. If she was unable, a friend in the neighbour-
hood was offered a seat ; and I had to sit bodkin, or on
Mademoiselle Agla^'s lap. I hated the ' friend ' ; for,
secretly, I felt the carriage was mine, though of course
I never had the bad taste to say so.

They went to Mass, and I was allowed to go with
them, in addition to my church, as a special favour. I
liked the music, the display of candles, the smell of the
incense, and the dresses of the priests ; and wondered
whether when undressed — unrobed, that is — they were
funny old gentlemen like Monsieur le Cur6 at Larue, and
took such a prodigious quantity of snuff up their noses
and under their finger-nails. The ladies did a good deal
of shopping, and we finished off at the Flower Market by
the Madeleine, where I, through the agency of Made-
moiselle Aglae, bought plants for ' Maman.' This gave
' Maman ' un plaisir inom, and me too ; for the dear old
lady always presented me with a stick of barley-sugar in
return. As I never possessed a sou (Miss Agla6 kept
account of all my expenses and disbursements) I was
strongly in favour of buying plants for 'Maman.'

I loved the garden. It was such a beautiful garden ;
so beautifully kept by Monsieur Benoit, and withered old
Mere Michele, who did the weeding and helped Eose once
a week in the laundry. There were such pretty trellises,
covered with roses and clematis ; such masses of bright
flowers and sweet mignonette ; such tidy gravel walks and
clipped box edges ; such floods of sunshine ; so many butter-
flies and lizards basking in it ; the birds singing with excess
of joy. I used to fancy they sang in gratitude to the dear
old Marquise, who never forgot them in the winter snows.

What a quaint but charming picture she was amidst
this quietude, — she who had lived through the Eeign of
Terror : her mob cap, garden apron, and big gloves ; a
trowel in one hand, a watering-pot in the other ; potting

22 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

and unpotting ; so busy, seemingly so happy. She loved
to have me with her, and let me do the watering. What
a pleasure that was ! The scores of little jets from the
perforated rose, the gushing sound, the freshness and the
sparkle, the gratitude of the plants, to say nothing of
one's own wet legs. ' Maman ' did not approve of my
watering my own legs. But if the watering-pot was too
big for me how could I help it ? By and by a small one
painted red within and green outside was discovered in
Bourg-la-Eeine, and I was happy ever afterwards.

Much of my time was spent with the children and
nurses of the family which occupied the chateau. The
costume of the head nurse with her high Normandy cap
(would that I had a female pen for details) invariably
suggested to me that she would make any English show-
man's fortune, if he could only exhibit her stuffed. At
the cottage they called her ' La Grosse Normande.' Not
knowing her by any other name, I always so addressed
her. She was not very quick-witted, but I think she a
little resented my familiarity, and retaliated by compari-
sons between her compatriots and mine, always in a tone
derogatory to the latter. She informed me as a matter
of history, patent to all nurses, that the English race
were notoriously bow-legged; and that this was due to
the vicious practice of allowing children to use their legs
before the gristle had become bone. Being of an inquir-
ing turn of mind, I listened with awe to this physiological
revelation, and with chastened and depressed spirits
made a mental note of our national calamity. Privately
I fancied that the mottled and spasmodic legs of Achille
— whom she carried in her arms — or at least so much of
the infant Pelides' legs as were not enveloped in a napkin,
gave every promise of refuting her generalisation.

One of my amusements was to set brick traps for
small birds. At Holkham in the winter time, by baiting

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 23

with a few grains of corn, I and my brothers used, in
this way, to capture robins, hedge-sparrows, and tits.
Not far from the chateau was a large osier bed, resorted
to by flocks of the common sparrow. Here I set my
traps. But it being summer time, and (as I complained
when twitted with want of success) French birds being
too stupid to know what the traps were for, I never
caught a feather. Now this osier bed was a favourite
game covert for the sportsmen of the chateau ; and what
was my delight and astonishment when one morning
I found a dead hare with its head under the fallen brick
of my trap. How triumphantly I dragged it home, and
showed it to Eose and Auguste, — who more than the rest
had ' mocked themselves ' of my traps, and then carried
it in my arms, all bloody as it was (I could not make
out how both its hind legs were broken) into the salon
to show it to the old Marquise. Mademoiselle Henrietta,
who was there, gave a little scream (for effect) at sight
of the blood. Everybody was pleased. But when I over-
heard Eose's sotto voce to the Marquise : ' Comme ils
sont gentils ! ' I indignantly retorted that ' it wasn't kind
of the hare at all : it was entirely due to my skill in setting
the traps. They would catch anything that put its head
into them. Just you try.'

How severe are the shocks of early disillusionment !
It was not until long after the hare was skinned, roasted,
served as civet and as pitrie that I discovered the truth.
I was not at all grateful to the gentlemen of the chateau
whose dupe I had been ; was even wrath with my dear
old ' Maman ' for treating them with extra courtesy for
their kindness to hex petit cheri.

That was a happy summer. After it was ended, and
it was time for me to return to England and begin my
education for the Navy I never again set eyes on Larue, or
that charming nest of old ladies who had done their utmost

24 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

to spoil me. Many and many a time have I been to
Paris, but nothing could tempt me to visit Larue. So
it is with me. Often have I questioned the truth of the
nessun maggior dolore than the memory of happy times
in the midst of sorry ones. The thought of happiness,
it would seem, should surely make us happier, and yet —
not of happiness for ever lost. And are not the deepen-
ing shades of our declining sun deepened by youth's
contrast ? Whatever our sweetest songs may tell us of,
we are the sadder for our sweetest memories. The grass
can never be as green again to eyes grown watery. The
lambs that skipped when we did were long since served as
mutton. And if

Die Fiisse tragen mich so muthig nicht empor
Die hohen Stufen die ich kindisch ubersprang,

why, T will take the fact for granted, My youth is fled,
my friends are dead. The daisies and the snows whiten
by turns the grave of him or her — the dearest I have
loved. Shall I make a pilgrimage to that sepulchre?
Drop futile tears upon it ? Will they warm what is no
more ? I for one have not the heart for that. Happily
life has something else for us to do. Happily 'tis best to
do it.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 25

CHAPTBE IV

The passage from the romantic to the realistic, from the
chimerical to the actual, from the child's poetic inter-
pretation of life to life's practical version of itself, is too
gradual to be noticed while the process is going on. It is
only in the retrospect we see the change. There is still, for
yet another stage, the same and even greater receptivity, —
delight in new experiences, in gratified curiosity, in sen-
suous enjoyment, in the exercise of growing faculties.
But the belief in the impossible and the bliss of ignorance
are seen, when looking back, to have assumed almost
abruptly a cruder state of maturer dulness. Between
the public schoolboy and the child there is an essential
difference ; and this in a boy's case is largely due, I fancy,
to the diminished influence of woman, and the increased
influence of men.

With me, certainly, the rough usage I was ere long
to undergo materially modified my view of things in
general. In 1838, when I was eleven years old, my
uncle, Henry Keppel, the future Admiral of the Fleet,
but then a dashing young commander, took me (as he
mentions in his Autobiography) to the Naval Academy at
Gosport. The very afternoon of my admittance — as an
illustration of the above remarks — I had three fights
with three different boys. After that the 'new boy'
was left to his own devices, — qua ' new boy,' that is ; as
an ordinary small boy, I had my share. I have spoken of
the starvation at Dr. Pinkney's ; here it was the terrible

26 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

bullying that left its impress on me — literally its mark,
for I still bear the scar upon my hand.

Most boys, I presume, know the toy called a whirligig,
made by stringing a button on a loop of thread, the
twisting and untwisting of which by approaching and
separating the hands causes the button to revolve. Upon
this design, and by substituting a jagged disk of slate
for the button, the senior ' Bull-dogs ' (we were all called
' Burney's bull-dogs ') constructed a very simple instru-
ment of torture. One big boy spun the whirligig, while
another held the small boy's palm till the sharp slate-
edge gashed it. The wound was severe. For many years
a long white cicatrice recorded the fact in my right hand.
The ordeal was, I fancy, unique — a prerogative of the
naval ' bull-dogs.' The other torture was, in those days,
not unknown to public schools. It was to hold a boy's
back and breech as near to a hot fire as his clothes would
bear without burning. I have an indistinct recollection
of a boy at one of our largest public schools being thus
exposed, and left tied to chairs while his companions were
at church. When church was over the boy was found —
roasted.

By the advice of a chum I submitted to the scorching
without a howl, and thus obtained immunity, and ad-
mission to the roasting guild for the future. What,
however, served me best, in all matters of this kind, was
that as soon as I was twelve years old my name was
entered on the books of the ' Britannia,' then flag-ship in
Portsmouth Harbour, and though I remained at the
Academy, I always wore the uniform of a volunteer of
the first class, now called a naval cadet. The uniform
was respected, and the wearer shared the benefit.

During the winter of 1839-40 I joined H.M.S.
' Blonde,' a 46-gun frigate commanded by Captain
Bouchier, afterwards Sir Thomas, whose portrait is

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 27

now in the National Portrait Gallery. He had seen
much service, and had been flag-captain to Nelson's
Hardy. In the middle of that winter we sailed for
China, where troubles had arisen anent the opium
trade.

What would the cadet of the present day think of the
treatment we small boys had to put up with sixty or
seventy years ago ? Promotion depended almost entirely
on interest. The service was entered at twelve or
thirteen. After two years at sea, if the boy passed his
examination, he mounted the white patch, and became a
midshipman. At the end of four years more he had to
pass a double examination, — one for seamanship before a
board of captains, and another for navigation at the
Naval College. He then became a master's mate, and
had to serve for three years as such before he was eligible
for promotion to a lieutenancy. Unless an officer had
family interest he often stuck there, and as often had to
serve under one more favoured, who was not born when
he himself was getting stale.

Naturally enough these old hands were jealous of the
fortunate youngsters, and, unless exceptionally amiable,
would show them little mercy.

We left Portsmouth ia December 1839. It was
bitter winter. The day we sailed, such was the severity
of the gale and snowstorm, that we had to put back and
anchor at St. Helens in the Isle of Wight. The next
night we were at sea. It happened to be my middle
watch. I had to turn out of my hammock at twelve to
walk the deck till four in the morning. Walk ! I could
not stand. Blinded with snow, drenched by the seas,
frozen with cold, home sick and sea sick beyond descrip-
tion, my opinion of the Eoyal Navy — as a profession —
was, in the course of these four hours, seriously subverted.
Long before the watch ended, I was reeling aboat more

28 TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

asleep than awake ; every now and then brought to my
senses by breaking my shins against the carronade slides ;
or, if I sat down upon one of them to rest, by a playful
whack with a rope's end from one of the crusty old mates
aforesaid, who perhaps anticipated in my poor Httle
personality the arrogance of a possible commanding
officer. Oh ! those cruel night watches ! But the hard
training must have been a useful tonic too. One got
accustomed to it by degrees ; and hence, indifferent to
exposure, to bad food, to kicks and cuffs, to calls of duty,
to subordination, and to all that constitutes discipline.

Luckily for me, the midshipman of my watch. Jack
Johnson, was a trump, and a smart officer to boot. He
was six years older than I, and, though thoroughly good-
natured, was formidable enough from his strength and
determination to have his v?ill respected. He became
my patron and protector. Eightly, or vyrongly I am
afraid, he always took my part, made excuses for me to
the officer of our watch if I were caught napping under
the half-deck, or otherwise neglecting my duty. Some-
times he would even take the blame for this upon himself,
and give me a ' wigging ' in private, which was my
severest punishment. He taught me the ropes, and
explained the elements of seamanship. If it was very
cold at night he would make me wear his own comforter,
and, in short, took care of me in every possible way.
Poor Jack ! I never had a better friend ; and I loved
him then, God knows. He was one of those whose
advancement depended on himself. I doubt whether
he would ever have been promoted but for an accident
which I shall speak of presently.

When we got into warm latitudes we were taught
not only to knot and splice, but to take in and set the
mizzen royal. There were four of us boys, and in all
weathers at last we were practised aloft until we were as

TEACKS OF A EOLLING STONE 29

active and as smart as any of the ship's lads, even in dirty
weather or in sudden squalls.

We had a capital naval instructor for lessons in
navigation, and the quartermaster of the watch taught us
how to handle the wheel and con.

These quartermasters — there was one to each of the
three watches — were picked men who had been captains
of tops or boatswains' mates. They were much older
than any of the crew. Our three in the ' Blonde ' had all
seen service in the French and Spanish wars. One, a
tall, handsome old fellow, had been a smuggler ; and
many a fight with, or narrow escape from, the coast-
guard he had to tell of. The other two had been badly
wounded. Old Jimmy Bartlett of my watch had a hole
in his chest half an inch deep from a boarding pike. He
had also lost a finger, and a bullet had passed through his
cheek. One of his fights was in the ' Amethyst ' frigate
when, under Sir Michael Seymour, she captured the
' Niemen ' in 1809. Often in the calm tropical nights,
when the helm could take care of itself almost, he would
spin me a yarn about hot actions, cutting-outs, press-
gangings, and perils which he had gone through, or —
what was all one to me — had invented.

From England to China round the Cape was a long
voyage before there was a steamer in the Navy. It is
impossible to describe the charm of one's first acquaint-
ance with tropical vegetation after the tedious monotony
unbroken by any event but an occasional flogging or a
man overboard. The islands seemed afloat in an atmo-
sphere of blue ; their jungles rooting in the water's edge.
The strange birds in the daytime, the flocks of parrots,
the din of every kind of life, the flying foxes at night,
the fragrant and spicy odours, captivate the senses.
How delicious, too, the fresh fruits brought off by the
Malays in their scooped-out logs, one's first taste of

30 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

bananas, juicy shaddocks, mangoes, and custard apples —
after months of salt junk, disgusting salt pork, and
biscuit all dust and weevils. The water is so crystal-
clear it seems as though one could lay one's hands on
strange coloured fish and coral beds at any depth. This,
indeed, was ' kissing the lips of unexpected change.' It
was a first kiss moreover. The tropics now have
ceased to remind me even of this spell of novelty and
wonder.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 31

CHAPTEB V

The first time I ' smelt powder ' was at Amoy. The
' Blonde ' carried out Lord Palmerston's letter to the
Chinese Government. Never was there a more iniquitous
war than England then provoked with China to force
upon her the opium trade with India in spite of the harm
which the Chinese authorities believed that opium did to
their people.

Even Macaulay advocated this shameful imposition.
China had to submit, and pay into the bargain four and a
half millions sterling to prove themselves in the VTrong.
Part of this went as prize money. My share of it — the
douceur for a middy's 'participation in the crime — was
exactly lOOZ.

To return to Amoy. When off the mouth of the
Canton river we had taken on board an interpreter named
Thorn. What our instructions were I know not ; I can
only tell what happened. Our entry into Amoy harbour
caused an immediate commotion on land. As soon as we
dropped anchor, about half a mile from the shore, a
number of troops, with eight or ten field-pieces, took up
their position on the beach, evidently resolved to prevent
our landing. We hoisted a flag of truce, at the same
time cleared the decks for action, and dropped a kedge
astern so as to moor the ship broadside to the forts and
invested shore. The officer of my watch, the late Sir
Frederick Nicholson, together with the interpreter, were
ordered to land and communicate with the chief mandarin.

32 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

To carry out this as inoffensively as possible, Nicholson
took the jolly-boat, manned by four lads only. As it was
my watch, I had charge of the boat. A napkin or towel
served for a flag of truce. But long before we reached
the shore, several mandarins came down to the water's
edge waving their swords and shouting angrily to warn
us off. Mr. Thom, who understood what they said, was
frightened out of his wits, assuring us we should all be
sawed in half if we attempted to land. Sir Frederick
was not the man to disobey orders even on such a
penalty ; he, however, took the precaution — a very wise
one as it happened — to reverse the boat, and back her in
stern foremost.

No sooner did the keel grate on the shingle than a
score of soldiers rushed down to seize us. Before they
could do so we had shoved off. The shore was very
steep. In a moment we were in deep water, and our lads
pulling for dear life. Then came a storm of bullets from
matchlocks and jingals and the bigger guns, fortunately
just too high to hit us. One bullet only struck the back-
board, but did no harm. What, however, seemed a
greater danger was the fire from the ship. Ere we were
halfway back broadside after broadside was fired over our
heads into the poor devils massed along the beach. This
was kept up until not a living Chinaman was to be seen.

I may mention here a curious instance of cowardice.
One of our men, a ship's painter, soon after the firing
began and was returned by the fort's guns, which in truth
were quite harmless, jumped overboard and drowned him-
self. I have seen men's courage tried under fire, and in
many other ways since ; yet I have never known but one
case similar to this, when a friend of my own, a rich and
prosperous man, shot himself to avoid death ! So that
there are men hke ' Monsieur Grenouille, qui se cachait
dans I'eau pour ^viter la pluie.' Often have I seen timid

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 33

and nervous men, who were thought to be cowards, get so
excited in action that their timidity has turned to rash-
ness. In truth ' on est souvent ferme par faiblesse, et
audacieux par timidite.'

Partly for this reason, and partly because I look upon
it as a remnant of our predatory antecedents and of
animal pugnacity, I have no extravagant admiration for
mere combativeness or physical courage. Honoured and
rewarded as one of the noblest of manly attributes, it is
one of the commonest of qualities, — one which there is not
a mammal, a bird, a fish, or an insect even, that does not
share vyith us. Such is the esteem in which it is held,
such the ignominy which punishes the want of it, that the
most cautious and the most timid by nature will rather
face the uncertain risks of a fight than the certain infamy
of imputed cowardice.

Is it likely that courage should be rare under such
circumstances, especially amongst professional fighters,
who in England at least have chosen their trade ? That
there are poltroons, and plenty of them, amongst our
soldiers and sailors, I do not dispute. But with the fear
of shame on one hand, the hope of reward on the other,
the merest dastard will fight like a wild beast, when his
blood is up. The extraordinary merit of his conduct is
not so obvious to the peaceful thinker. I speak not of
such heroism as that of the Japanese, — their deeds will
henceforth be bracketed with those of Leonidas and his
three hundred, who died for a like cause. With the
Japanese, as it was with the Spartans, every man is a
patriot ; nor is the proportionate force of their barbaric
invaders altogether dissimilar.

Is then the Victoria Cross an error ? To say so would
be an outrage in this age of militarism. And what would
all the Queens of Beauty think, from Sir Wilfred Ivanhoe's
days to ours, if mighty warriors ceased to poke each other

D

34 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

in the ribs, and send one another's souls untimely to the
' viewless shades,' for the sake of their ' doux yeux ? '
Ah ! who knows how many a mutilation, how many a
life, has been the price of that requital ? Ye gentle
creatures who swoon at the sight of blood, is it not the
hero who lets most of it that finds most favour in your
eyes ? Possibly it may be to the heroes of moral courage
that some distant age will award its choicest decorations.
As it is, the courage that seeks the rewards of Fame
seems to me about on a par with the virtue that invests in
Heaven.

Meanwhile let us turn to another aspect of the deeds
of war. About daylight on the morning following our
bombardment, it being my morning watch, I was ordered
to take the surgeon and assistant surgeon ashore. There
were many corpses, but no living or wounded to be seen.
One object only dwells visually in my memory.

At least a quarter of a mile from the dead soldiers, a
stray shell had killed a grey-bearded old man and a young
woman. They were side by side. The woman was still
in her teens and pretty. She lay upon her back. Blood
was oozing from her side. A swarm of flies were buzzing
in and out of her open mouth. Her little deformed feet,
cased in the high-heeled and embroidered tiny shoes, ex-
tended far beyond her petticoats. It was these feet that
interested the men of science. They are now, I believe,
in a jar of spirits at Haslar hospital. At least, my
friend the assistant surgeon told me, as we returned
to the ship, that that was their ultimate destination.
The mutilated body, as I turned from it with sickening
horror, left a picture on my youthful mind not easily to
be effaced.

After this we joined the rest of the squadron : the
' Melville ' (a three-decker. Sir W. Parker's flagship),
the ' Blenheim,' the ' Druid,' the ' Calliope,' and several

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 35

18-gun brigs. We took Hong Kong, Chusan, Ningpo,
Canton, and returned to take Amoy. One or two
incidents only in the several engagements seem worth
recording.

We have all of us supped full with horrors this last
year or so, and I have no thought of adding to the surfeit.
But sometimes common accidents appear exceptional, if
they befall ourselves, or those with whom we are intimate.
If the sufferer has any special identity, we speculate on
his peculiar way of bearing his misfortune ; and are thus
led on to place ourselves in his position, and imagine our-
selves the sufferers.

Major Daniel, the senior marine officer of the ' Blonde,'
was a reserved and taciturn man. He was quiet and
gentlemanlike, always very neat in his dress ; rather
severe, still kind to his men. His aloofness was in no
wise due to lack of ideas, nor, I should say, to pride —
unless, perhaps, it were the pride which some men feel in
suppressing all emotion by habitual restraint of manner.
Whether his sangfroid was constitutional, or that nobler
kind of courage which feels and masters timidity and the
sense of danger, none could tell. Certain it is he was as
calm and self-possessed in action as in repose. He was so
courteous one fancied he would almost have apologised to
his foe before he remorselessly ran him through.

On our second visit to Amoy, a year or more after the
first, we met with a warmer reception. The place was
much more strongly fortified, and the ship was several
times hulled. We were at very close quarters, as it is
necessary to pass under high ground as the harbour is
entered. Those who had the option, excepting our gallant
old captain, naturally kept under shelter of the bulwarks
and hammock nettings. Not so Major Daniel. He stood
in the open gangway watching the effect of the shells, as
though he were looking at a game of billiards. While

D 2

36 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

thus occupied a round shot struck him full in the face,
and simply left him headless.

Another accident, partly due to an ignorance of
dynamics, happened at the taking of Canton. The whole
of the naval brigade was commanded by Sir Thomas
Bouchier. Our men were lying under the ridge of a hill
protected from the guns on the city walls. Fully exposed
to the fire, which was pretty hot, ' old Tommy ' as we
called him, paced to and fro with contemptuous in-
difference, stopping occasionally to spy the enemy with
his long ship's telescope. A number of bluejackets, in
reserve, were stationed about half a mile further off at
the bottom of the protecting hill. They were completely
screened from the fire by some buildings of the suburbs
abutting upon the slope. Those in front were watching
the cannon-balls which had struck the crest and were
rolling as it were by mere force of gravitation down the hill-
side. Some jokes were made about football, when suddenly
a smart and popular young officer — Fox, first lieutenant of
one of the brigs — jumped out at one of these spent balls,
which looked as though it might have been picked up by
the hands, and gave it a kick. It took his foot off just
above the ankle. There was no surgeon at hand, and he
was bleeding to death before one could be found. Sir
Thomas had come down the hill, and seeing the wounded
officer on the ground with a group around him, said in
passing, ' Well, Fox, this is a bad job, but it will make up
the pair of epaulets, which is something.'

' Yes sir,' said the dying man feebly, ' but without a
pair of legs.' Half an hour later he was dead.

I have spoken lightly of courage, as if, by implication,
I myself possessed it. Let me make a confession. From
my soul I pity the man who is or has been such a
miserable coward as I was in my infancy, and up to this
youthful period of my life. No fear of bullets or bayonets

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 37

could ever equal mine. It was the fear of ghosts. As a
child, I think that at times when shut up for punishment,
in a dark cellar for instance, I must have nearly gone out
of my mind with this appalling terror.

Once when we were lying just below Whampo, the
captain took nearly every officer and nearly the whole
ship's crew on a punitive expedition up the Canton river.
They were away about a week. I was left behind, dan-
gerously ill with fever and ague. In his absence. Sir
Thomas had had me put into his cabin, where I lay quite
alone day and night, seeing hardly anyone save the
surgeon and the captain's steward, who was himself a
shadow, pretty nigh. Never shall I forget my mental
sufferings at night. In vain may one attempt to describe
what one then goes through ; only the victims know what
that is. My ghost — the ghost of the "Whampo Eeach —
the ghost of those sultry and miasmal nights, had no
shape, no vaporous form ; it was nothing but a presence,
a vague amorphous dread. It may have floated with the
swollen and putrid corpses which hourly came bobbing
down the stream, but it never appeared ; for there was
nothing to appear. Still it might appear. I expected
every instant through the night to see it in some incon-
ceivable form. I expected it to touch me. It neither
stalked upon the deck, nor hovered in the dark, nor moved,
nor rested anywhere. And yet it was there about me, —
where, I knew not. On every side I was threatened. I
feared it most behind the head of my cot, because I could
not see it if it were so.

This, it will be said, is the description of a nightmare.
Exactly so. My agony of fright was a nightmare ; but
a nightmare when every sense was strained with wake-
fulness, when all the powers of imagination were concen-
trated to paralyse my shattered reason.

The experience here spoken of is so common in some

38 TEACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

form or other that we may well pause to consider it.
What is the meaning of this fear of ghosts ? — how do we
come by it ? It may be thought that its cradle is our
own, that we are purposely frightened in early childhood
to keep us calm and quiet. But I do not believe that
nurses' stories would excite dread of the unknown if the
unknown were not already known. The susceptibility to
this particular terror is there before the terror is created.
A little reflection will convince us that we must look far
deeper for the solution of a mystery inseparable from
another, which is of the last importance to all of us.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 39

CHAPTBE VI

The belief in phantoms, ghosts, or spirits, has frequently
been discussed in connection with speculations on the
origin of religion. According to Mr. Spencer (' Principles
of Sociology ') ' the first traceable conception of a super-
natural being is the conception of a ghost.' Even
Fetichism is ' an extension of the ghost theory.' The
soul of the Fetich ' in common with supernatural agents
at large, is originally the double of a dead man.' How
do we get this notion — ' the double of a dead man ? '
Through dreams. In the Old Testament we are told :
' God came to ' Abimelech, Laban, Solomon, and others
' in a dream ' ; also that ' the angel of the Lord ' appeared
to Joseph ' in a dream.' That is to say, these men
dreamed that God came to them. So the savage, who
dreams of his dead acquaintance, believes he has been
visited by the dead man's spirit. This belief in ghosts is
confirmed, Mr. Spencer argues, by other phenomena.
The savage who faints from the effect of a wound sus-
tained in fight looks just like the dead man beside him.
The spirit of the wounded man returns after a long or
short period of absence : why should the spirit of the
other not do likewise ? If reanimation follows comatose
states, why should it not follow death ? Insensibility is
but an affair of time. All the modes of preserving the
dead, in the remotest ages, evince the belief in casual
separation of body and soul, and of their possible reunion.
Take another theory. Comte tells us there is a primary

40 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

tendency in man ' to transfer the sense of his own nature,
in the radical explanation of all phenomena whatever.'
Writing in the same key, Schopenhauer calls man ' a
metaphysical animal.' He is speaking of the need man
feels of a theory, in regard to the riddle of existence,
which forces itself upon his notice ; ■ a need arising from
the consciousness that behind the physical in the world,
there is a metaphysical something permanent as the
foundation of constant change.' Though not here allud-
ing to the ghost theory, this bears indirectly on the
conception, as I shall proceed to show.

We need not entangle ourselves in the vexed question
of innate ideas, nor inquire whether the principle of
casuality is, as Kant supposed, like space and time, a
form of intuition given a priori. That every change has
a cause must necessarily (without being thus formulated)
be one of the initial beliefs of conscious beings far lower
in the scale than man, whether derived solely from experi-
ence or otherwise. The reed that shakes is obviously
shaken by the wind. But the riddle of the vpind also
forces itself into notice ; and man explains this by
transferring to the wind 'the sense of his own nature.'
Thunderstorms, volcanic disturbances, ocean waves, run-
ning streams, the motions of the heavenly bodies, had to
be accounted for as involving change. And the natural —
the primitive — explanation was by reference to life,
analogous, if not similar, to our own. Here then, it
seems to me, we have the true origin of the belief in
ghosts.

Take an illustration which supports this view. While
sitting in my garden the other day a puff of wind blew a
lady's parasol across the lawn. It rolled away close to
a dog lying quietly in the sun. The dog looked at it
for a moment, but seeing nothing to account for its
movements, barked nervously, put its tail between its

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 41

legs, and ran away, turning occasionally to watch and
again bark, with every sign of fear.

This was animism. The dog must have accounted
for the eccentric behaviour of the parasol by endowing it
with an uncanny spirit. The horse that shies at inanimate
objects by the roadside, and will sometimes dash itself
against a tree or a wall, is actuated by a similar supersti-
tion. Is there any essential difference between this belief
of the dog or horse and the belief of primitive man ? I
maintain that an intuitive animistic tendency (which Mr.
Spencer repudiates), and not dreams, lies at the root of all
spiritualism. Would Mr. Spencer have had us believe
that the dog's fear of the rolling parasol was a logical
deduction from its canine dreams ? This would scarcely
elucidate the problem. The dog and the horse share
apparently Schopenhauer's metaphysical propensity with
man.

The familiar aphorism of Statins : Primus in orbe
Deos fecit timor, points to the relation of animism first
to the belief in ghosts, thence to Polytheism, and ulti-
mately to Monotheism. I must apologise to those of the
transcendental school who, like Max Miiller for instance
(Introduction to the ' Science of Eeligion '), hold that we
have ' a primitive intuition of God ' ; which, after all, the
professor derives, like many others, from the ' yearning
for something that neither sense nor reason can supply ' ;
and from the assumption that ' there was in the heart of
man from the very first a feeling of incompleteness, of
weakness, of dependency, &c.' All this, I take it, is due
to the aspirations of a much later creature than the
'Pithecanthropus erectus,' to whom we here refer.

Probably spirits and ghosts were originally of an evil
kind. Sir John Lubbock (' The Origin of CiviHsation ')
says : ' The baying of the dog to the moon is as much an
act of worship as some ceremonies which have been so

42 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

described by travellers.' I think he would admit that
fear is the origin of the worship. In his essay on
' Superstition,' Hume writes : ' Weakness, fear, melan-
choly, together with ignorance, are the true sources of
superstition.' Also 'in such a state of mind, infinite
unknown evils are dreaded from unknown agents.'

Man's impotence to resist the forces of nature, and
their terrible ability to injure him, would inspire a sense
of terror ; which in turn would give rise to the twofold
notion of omnipotence and malignity. The savage of the
present day lives in perpetual fear of evil spirits ; and
the superstitious dread, which I and most others have
suffered, is inherited from our savage ancestry. How
much further back we must seek it may be left to the
sage philosophers of the future.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 43

CHAPTEE VII

The next winter we lay for a couple of months off
Chinhai, which we had stormed, blockading the mouth of
the Ningpo river. Here, I regret to think, I committed
an act which has often haunted my conscience as a crime ;
although I had frequently promised the captain of a gun
a glass of grog to let me have a shot, and was mightily
pleased if death and destruction rewarded my aim.

Off Chinhai, lorchers and fast sailing junks laden with
merchandise would try to run the blockade before daylight.
And it sometimes happened that we youngsters had a
long chase in a cutter to overhaul them. This meant
getting back to a nine or ten o'clock breakfast at the end
of the morning's watch ; equivalent to five or six hours'
duty on an empty stomach.

One cold morning I had a hard job to stop a small
junk. The men were sweating at their oars like galley
slaves, and muttering curses at the apparent futility of
their labour. I had fired a couple of shots from a ' brown
Bess ' — the musket of the day — through the fugitive's
sails ; and fearing punishment if I let her escape, I next
aimed at the boat herself. Down came the mainsail in a
crack. When I boarded our capture, I found I had put
a bullet through the thigh of the man at the tiller. Boys
are not much troubled with scruples about bloodguiltiness,
and not unfrequently are very cruel, for cruelty as a rule
(with exceptions) mostly proceeds from thoughtlessness.
But when I realised what I had done, and heard the

44 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

wretched man groan, I was seized with remorse for what,
at a more hardened stage, I should have excused on the
score of duty.

It was during this blockade that the accident, which I
have already alluded to, befell my dear protector. Jack
Johnson.

One night, during his and my middle watch, the
forecastle sentries hailed a large sampan, like a Thames
barge, drifting down stream and threatening to foul us.
Sir Frederick Nicholson, the officer of the watch, ordered
Johnson to take the cutter and tow her clear.

I begged leave to go with him. Sir Frederick refused,
for he at once suspected mischief. The sampan was
reached and diverted just before she swung athwart our
bows. But scarcely was this achieved, when an explosion
took place. My friend was knocked over, and one or two
of the men fell back into the cutter. This is what had
happened : Johnson finding no one in the sampan,
cautiously raised one of the deck hatches with a boat-hook
before he left the cutter. The mine (for such it proved)
was so arranged that examination of this kind drew a
lighted match on to the magazine, which instantly exploded.

Poor Jack ! what was my horror when we got him on
board ! Every trace of his handsome features was gone.
He was alive, and that seemed to be all. In a few
minutes his head and face swelled so that all was a round
black charred baU. One could hardly see where the eyes
were, buried beneath the powder-ingrained and incrusted
flesh.

For weeks, at night, I used to sit on a chest near his
hammock, listening for his slightest movement, too happy
if he called me for something I could get him. In time
he recovered, and was invalided home, and I lost my dear
companion and protector. A couple of years afterwards
I had the happiness to dine with him on board another

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 45

ship in Portsmouth, no longer in the midshipman's berth,
but in the wardroom.

Twice during this war, the ' Blonde ' was caught in a
typhoon. The first time was in waters now famous,
but then unknown, the Gulf of Liau-tung , in full sight
of China's great wall. We were twenty-four hours
battened down, and under storm staysails. The ' Blen-
heim,' with Captain Elliott our plenipotentiary on board,
was with us, and the one circumstance left in my
memory is the sight .of a line-of-battle ship rolling and
pitching so that one caught sight of the whole of her
keel from stem to stern as if she had been a fishing smack.
We had been wintering in the Yellow Sea, and at the
time I speak of were on a foraging expedition round the
Liau-tung peninsula. Those who have followed the
events of the Japanese war will have noticed on the map,
not far north of Ta-lien-wan in the Korean Bay, three
groups of islands. So little was the geography of these
parts then known, that they had no place on our charts.
On this very occasion, one group was named after Captain
Elliott, one was called the Bouchier Islands, and the other
the Blonde Islands. The first surveying of the two latter
groups, and the placing of them upon the map, was done
by our naval instructor, and he always took me with him
as his assistant.

Our second typhoon was while we were at anchor in
Hong Kong harbour. Those who have knowledge only
of the gales, however violent, of our latitudes, have no
conception of what wind-force can mount to. To be the
toy of it is enough to fill the stoutest heart with awe.
The harbour was full of transports, merchant ships,
opium clippers, besides four or five men-of-war, and a
steamer belonging to the East India Company — the first
steamship I had ever seen.

The coming of a typhoon is well known to the natives

46 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

at least twenty-four hours beforehand, and every prepara-
tion is made for it. Boats are dragged far up the beach ;
buildings even are fortified for resistance. Every ship
had laid out its anchors, lowered its yards, and housed its
topmasts. We had both bowers down, with cables paid
out to extreme length. The danger was either in drifting
on shore or, what was more imminent, collision. When
once the tornado struck us there was nothing more to
be done ; no men could have worked on deck. The seas
broke by tons over all ; boats beached as described were
lifted from the ground, and hurled, in some instances,
over the houses. The air was darkened by the spray.

But terrible as was the raging of wind and water, far
more awful was the vain struggle for life of the human
beings who succumbed to it. In a short time almost all
the ships except the men-of-war, which were better provided
with anchors, began to drift from their moorings. Then
wreck followed wreck. I do not think the ' Blonde '
moved ; but from first to last we were threatened with
the additional weight and strain of a drifting vessel.
Had we been so hampered our anchorage must have
given way. As a single example of the force of a
typhoon, the ' Phlegethon ' with three anchors down, and
engines working at full speed, was blown past us out of
the harbour.

One tragic incident I witnessed, which happened wdthin
a few fathoms of the ' Blonde.' An opium clipper had
drifted athwart the bow of a large merchantman, which
in turn was almost foul of us. In less than five minutes
the clipper sank. One man alone reappeared on the
surface. He was so close, that from where I was holding
on and crouching under the lee of the mainmast I could
see the expression of his face. He was a splendidly
built man, and his strength and activity must have been
prodigious. He clung to the cable of the merchantman,

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 47

which he had managed to clasp. As the vessel reared
between the seas he gained a few feet before he was
again submerged. At last he reached the hawse-hole.
Had he hoped, in spite of his knowledge, to find it large
enough to admit his body ? He must have known the
truth ; and yet he struggled on. Did he hope that, when
thus within arms' length of men in safety, some pitying
hand would be stretched out to rescue him, — a rope's end
perhaps flung out to haul him inboard ? Vain desperate
hope ! He looked upwards : an imploring look. Would
Heaven be more compassionate than man ? A mountain
of sea towered above his head ; and when again the bow
was visible, the man was gone for ever.

Before taking leave of my seafaring days, I must say
one word about corporal punishment. Sir Thomas
Bouchier was a good sailor, a gallant officer, and a kind-
hearted man ; but he was one of the old school.
Discipline was his watchword, and he endeavoured to
maintain it by severity. I dare say that, on an average,
there was a man flogged as often as once a month during
the first two years the ' Blonde ' was in commission.
A flogging on board a man-of-war with a ' cat,' the nine
tails of which were knotted, and the lashes of which
were slowly delivered, up to the four dozen, at the full
swing of the arm, and at the extremity of lash and
handle, was very severe punishment. Each knot brought
blood, and the shock of the blow knocked the breath out
of a man with an involuntary ' Ugh ! ' however stoically
he bore the pain.

I have seen many a bad man flogged for unpardonable
conduct, and many a good man for a glass of grog too
much. My firm conviction is that the bad man was very
little the better; the good man very much the worse.
The good man felt the disgrace, and was branded for life.
His self-esteem was permanently maimed, and he rarely

48 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

held up his head or did his best again. Besides which,
— and this is true of all punishment — any sense of in-
justice destroys respect for the punisher. Still I am no
sentimentalist ; I have a contempt for, and even a dread
of, sentimentalism. For boy housebreakers, and for
ruffians who commit criminal assaults, the rod or the
lash is the only treatment.

A comic piece of insubordination on my part recurs
to me in connection with flogging. About the year 1840
or 1841, a midshipman on the Pacific station was flogged.
I think the ship was the ' Peak.' The event created
some sensation, and was brought before Parliament.
Two frigates were sent out to furnish a quorum of post-
captains to try the responsible commander. The verdict
of the court-martial was a severe reprimand. This was,
of course, nuts to every midshipman in the service.

Shortly after it became known I got into a scrape
for laughing at, and disobeying the orders of, our first-
lieutenant, — the head of the executive on board a frigate.
As a matter of fact, the orders were ridiculous, for the
said of&cer was tipsy. Nevertheless, I was reported, and
had up before the captain. ' Old Tommy ' was, or affected
to be, very angry. I am afraid I was very ' cheeky.'
Whereupon Sir Thomas did lose his temper, and threatened
to send for the boatswain to tie me up and give me a
dozen, — not on the back, but where the back leaves off.
Undismayed by the threat, and mindful of the episode
of the ' Peak ' (?) I looked the old gentleman in the face,
and shrilly piped out, ' It's as much as your commission
is worth, sir.' In spite of his previous wrath, he was so
taken aback by my impudence that he burst out laughing,
and, to hide it, kicked me out of the cabin.

After another severe attack of fever, and during a long
convalescence, I was laid up at Macao, where I enjoyed
the hospitality of Messrs. Dent and of Messrs. Jardine

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 49

and Matheson. Thence I was invalided home, and took
my passage to Bombay in one of the big Bast India
tea-ships. As I was being carried up the side in the arms
of one of the boatmen, I overheard another exclaim :
' Poor little beggar. He'll never see land again ! '

The only other passenger was Colonel Frederick Cotton,
of the Madras Engineers, one of a distinguished family.
He, too, had been through the China campaign, and had
also broken down. We touched at Manila, Batavia,
Singapore, and several other ports in the Malay Archi-
pelago, to take in cargo. While that was going on,
Cotton, the captain, and I made excursions inland.
Altogether I had a most pleasant time of it till we reached
Bombay.

My health was now re-established ; and after a couple
of weeks at Bombay, where I lived in a merchant's house.
Cotton took me to Poonah and Ahmadnagar ; in both of
which places I stayed with his friends, and messed with
the regiments. Here a copy of the ' Times ' was put
into my hands ; and I saw a notice of the death of my
father.

After a fortnight's quarantine at La Valetta, where
two young Englishmen — one an Oxford man — shared the
same rooms in the fort with me, we three returned to
England ; and (I suppose few living people can say the
same) travelled from Naples to Calais before there was a
single railway on the Continent.

At the end of two months' leave in England I was
appointed to the ' Caledonia,' flagship at Plymouth. Sir
Thomas Bouchier had written to the Admiral, Sir Edward
Codrington, of Navarino fame (whose daughter Sir Thomas
afterwards married), giving me ' a character.' Sir Edward
sent for me, and was most kind. He told me I was to
go to the Pacific in the first ship that left for South
America, which would probably be in a week or two;

E

50 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

and he gave me a letter to his friend, Admiral Thomas,
who commanded on that station.

About this time, and for a year or two later, the
relations between England and America were severely
strained by what was called ' the Oregon question.'
The dispute was concerning the right of ownership of
the mouth of the Columbia river, and of Vancouver's
Island. The President as well as the American people
took the matter up very warmly; and much discretion
was needed to avert the outbreak of hostilities.

In Sir Edward's letter, which he read out and gave to
me open, he requested Admiral Thomas to put me into any
ship ' that was likely to see service ' ; and quoted a word
or two from my dear old captain Sir Thomas, which
would probably have given me a lift.

The prospect before me was brilhant. What could
be more delectable than the chance of a war ? My fancy
pictured all sorts of opportunities, turned to the best
account, — my seniors disposed of, and myself, vdth a
pair of epaulets, commanding the smartest brig in the
service.

Alack-a-day ! what a climb down from such high
flights my life has been. The ship in which I was to
have sailed to the west was suddenly countermanded to
the east. She was to leave for China the following week,
and I was already appointed to her, not even as a ' super.'

My courage and my ambition were wrecked at a blow.
The notion of returning for another three years to China,
where all was now peaceful and stale to me, the excite-
ment of the war at an end, every port reminding me of
my old comrades, visions of renewed fevers and horrible
food, — were more than I could stand.

I instantly made up my mind to leave the Navy. It
was a wilful, and perhaps a too hasty, impulse. But
I am impulsive by nature ; and now that my father was

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 51

dead, I fancied myself to a certain extent my own master.
I knew moreover, by my father's will, that I should not
be dependent upon a profession. Knowledge of such a
fact has been the ruin of many a better man than I.
I have no virtuous superstitions in favour of poverty —
quite the reverse — but I am convinced that the rich man,
who has never had to earn his position or his living, is
more to be pitied and less respected than the poor man
whose comforts certainly, if not his bread, have depended
on his own exertions.

My mother had a strong will of her own, and I could
not guess what line she might take. I also apprehended
the opposition of my guardians. On the whole, I opined
a woman's heart would be the most suitable for an appeal
ad misericordiam. So I pulled out the agony stop, and
worked the pedals of despair with all the anguish at my
command.

' It was easy enough for her to revel in luxury and
consign me to a life worse than a convict's. But how
would she like to live on salt junk, to keep night
watches, to have to cut up her blankets for ponchos
(I knew she had never heard the word, and that it would
tell accordingly), to save her from heing frozen to death?
How would she like to be mast-headed when a ship was
rolling gunwale under ? As to the wishes of my guardians,
were their feelings to be considered before mine ? I should
like to see Lord Eosebery or Lord Spencer ^ in my place !
They'd very soon wish they had a mother who &c. &c.'

When my letter was finished I got leave to go ashore
to post it. Feeling utterly miserable, I had my hair
cut ; and, rendered perfectly reckless by my appearance,
I consented to have what was left of it tightly curled
with a pair of tongs. I cannot say that I shared in any

' My two guardians. The grandfather of the ex-premier, and the
famous Lord Althorp.

E 2

52 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

sensible degree the pleasure which this operation seemed
to give to the artist. But when I got back to the ship
the sight of my adornment kept my messmates in an
uproar for the rest of the afternoon.

Whether the touching appeal to my mother produced
tears, or of what kind, matters little ; it effectually deter-
mined my career. Before my new ship sailed for China,
I was home again, and in full possession of my coveted
freedom as a civilian.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 53

CHAPTEE VIII

It was settled that after a course of three years at a
private tutor's I was to go to Cambridge. The life I had
led for the past three years was not the best training for
the fellow-pupil of lads of fifteen or sixteen who had just
left school. They were much more ready to follow my
lead than I theirs, especially as mine was always in the
pursuit of pleasure.

I was first sent to Mr. B.'s, about a couple of miles
from Alnwick. Before my time, Alnwick itself was con-
sidered out of bounds. But as nearly half the sin in this
world consists in being found out, my companions and
I managed never to commit any in this direction.

We generally returned from the town with a bottle of
some noxious compound called ' port ' in our pockets,
which was served out in our ' study ' at night, while I
read aloud the instructive adventures of Mr. Thomas
Jones. We were, of course, supposed to employ these
late hours in preparing our work for the morrow. One
boy only protested that, under the combined seductions
of the port and Miss Molly Seagrim, he could never make
his verses scan.

Another of our recreations was poaching. From my
earliest days I was taught to shoot, myself and my
brothers being each provided with his little single-barrelled

flint and steel ' Joe Manton.' At we were surrounded

by grouse moors on one side, and by well-preserved coverts
on the other. The grouse I used to shoot in the evening

54 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

while they fed amongst the corn stocks ; for pheasants
and hares, I used to get the other pupils to walk through
the woods, while I with a gun walked outside. Scouts
were posted to look out for keepers.

Did our tutor know ? Of course he knew. But think
of the saving in the butcher's bill ! Besides which, Mr.
B. was otherwise preoccupied; he was in love with
Mrs. B. I say ' in love,' for although I could not be sure
of it then, (having no direct experience of the amantium
ircB,) subsequent observation has persuaded me that their
perpetual quarrels could mean nothing else. This was
exceedingly favourable to the independence of Mr. B.'s
pupils. But when asked by Mr. ElHce how I was getting
on, I was forced in candour to admit that I was in a fair
way to forget all I ever knew.

By the advice of Lord Spencer I was next placed
under the tuition of one of the minor canons of Ely. The
Bishop of Ely — Dr. Allen — had been Lord Spencer's tutor,
hence his elevation to the see. The Dean — Dr. Peacock,
of algebraic and Trinity College fame — was good enough
to promise ' to keep an eye ' on me. Lord Spencer him-
self took me to Ely ; and there I remained for two years.
They were two very important years of my life. Having
no fellow pupil to beguile me, I was the more industrious.
But it was not from the better acquaintance with ancient
literature that I mainly benefited, — it was from my initia-
tion to modern thought. I was a constant guest at the
Deanery ; where I frequently met such men as Sedgwick,
Airey the Astronomer-Eoyal, Selwyn, Phelps the Master of
Sydney, Canon Heaviside the master of Haileybury, and
many other friends of the Dean's, distinguished in science,
literature, and art. Here I heard discussed opinions on
these subjects by some of their leading representatives.
Naturally, as many of them were Churchmen, conversa-
tion often turned on the bearing of modem science, of

TRACKS Oi* A EOLLiNfl STONE $S

geology especially if Sedgwick were of the party, upon
Mosaic cosmogony, or Biblical exegesis generally.

The knowledge of these learned men, the lucidity with
which they expressed their views, and the earnestness
with which they defended them, captivated my attention,
and opened to me a new world of surpassing interest and
gravity.

What startled me most was the spirit in which a man
of Sedgwick's intellectual power protested against the
possible encroachments of his own branch of science upon
the orthodox tenets of the Church. Just about this time
an anonymous book appeared, which, though long since
forgotten, caused no slight disturbance amongst dogmatic
theologians. The tendency of this book, ' Vestiges of the
Creation,' was, or was then held to be, antagonistic to the
arguments from design. Familiar as we now are with
the theory of evolution, such a work as the ' Vestiges '
would no more stir the odium theologicum than Franklin's
kite. Sedgwick, however, attacked it with a vehemence
and a rancour that would certainly have roasted its
author had the professor held the office of Grand In-
quisitor.

Though incapable of forming any opinion as to the
scientific merits of such a book, or of Hugh Miller's
writings, which he also attacked upon purely religious
grounds, I was staggered by the fact that the Bible could
possibly be impeached, or that it was not profanity to
defend it even. Was it not the ' Word of God ' ? And
if so, how could any theories of creation, any historical,
any philological researches, shake its eternal truth ?

Day and night I pondered over this new revelation.
I bought the books — the wicked books — which nobody
ought to read. I bought the books which these books
referred to. I laid hands on every heretical work I could
hear of. By chance I made the acquaintance of a yoang

66 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

man who, together with his family, were Unitarians. I
got, and devoured, Channing's works. I found a splendid
copy of Voltaire in the Holkham library, and hunted
through the endless volumes, till I came to the ' Dialogues
Philosophiques.' The world is too busy, fortunately, to
disturb its peace with such profane satire, such withering
sarcasm as flashes through an ' entretien ' like that
between ' Frere Eigolet ' and 'L'Empereur de la Chine.'
Every French man of letters knows it by heart ; but it
would wound our English susceptibilities were I to cite it
here. Then, too, the impious paraphrase of the Atha-
nasian Creed, with its terrible climax, from the converting
Jesuit : ' Or vous voyez bien . . . qu'un homme qui ne
croit pas cette histoire doit ^tre brtile dans ce monde ci,
et dans I'autre.' To which 'L'Empereur' replies: ' Qa
c'est clair comme le jour,'

Could an ignorant youth, fevered with curiosity and
the first goadings of the questioning spirit, resist such
logic, such scorn, such scathing wit, as he met with here ?

Then followed Eousseau ; ' Emile ' became my favourite.
Froude's ' Nemesis of Faith ' I read, and many other books
of a like tendency. Passive obedience, blind submission
to authority, was never one of my virtues, and once my
faith was shattered, I knew not where to stop — what to
doubt, what to believe. If the injunction to ' prove all
things ' was anything more than an empty apophthegm,
inquiry, in St. Paul's eyes at any rate, could not be
sacrilege.

It was not happiness I sought, — not peace of mind at
least ; for assuredly my thirst for knowledge, for truth,
brought me anything but peace. I never was more rest-
less, or, at times, more unhappy. Shallow, indeed, must
be the soul that can lightly sever itself from beliefs which
lie at the roots of our moral, intellectual, and emotional
being, sanctified too by associations of our earliest love

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 57

and reverence. I used to wander about the fields, and sit
for hours in sequestered spots, longing for some friend,
some confidant to take counsel with. I knew no such
friend. I did not dare to speak of my misgivings to
others. In spite of my earnest desire for guidance, for
more light, the strong grip of childhood's influences was
impossible to shake off. I could not rid my conscience
of the sin of doubt.

It is this difficulty, this primary dependence on
others, which develops into the child's first religion, that
perpetuates the infantile character of human creeds ;
and, what is worse, generates the hideous bigotry which
justifies that sad reflection of Lucretius : ' Tantum Eeligio
potuit suadere malorum ! '

58 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTBE IX

To turn again to narrative, and to far less serious thoughts.
The last eighteen months before I went to Cambridge,
I was placed, or rather placed myself, under the tuition
of Mr. Eobert CoUyer, rector of Warham, a living close
to Holkham in the gift of my brother Leicester. Be-
tween my Ely tutor and myself there was but little sym-
pathy. He was a man of much refinement, but with not
much indulgence for such aberrant proclivities as mine.
Without my knowledge, he wrote to Mr. EUice lamenting
my secret recusancy, and its moral dangers. Mr. EUice
came expressly from London, and stayed a night at Ely.
He dined with us in the cloisters, and had a long private
conversation with my tutor, and, before he left, with me.
I indignantly resented the clandestine representations of
Mr. S., and, without a word to Mr. EUice or to anyone
else, wrote next day to Mr. CoUyer to beg him to take me
in at Warham, and make what he could of me, before I
went to Cambridge. It may here be said that Mr. CoUyer
had been my father's chaplain, and had lived at Holkham
for several years as family tutor to my brothers and my-
self, as we in turn left the nursery. Mr. CoUyer, upon
receipt of my letter, referred the matter to Mr. EUice ;
with his approval I was duly installed at Warham. Before
describing my time there, I must tell of an incident which
came near to affecting me in a rather important way.

My mother lived at Longford in Derbyshire, an old
place, now my home, which had come into the Coke

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 59

family in James I.'s reign, through the marriage of a son
of Chief Justice Coke's with the heiress of the De Lang-
fords, an ancient family from that time extinct. While
staying there during my summer holidays, my mother
confided to me that she had had an offer of marriage
from Mr. Motteux, the owner of considerable estates in
Norfolk, including two houses — Beachamwell and Sand-
ringham. Mr. Motteux — ' Johnny Motteux,' as he was
called — was, like Tristram Shandy's father, the son
of a wealthy ' Turkey merchant,' which, until better
informed, I always took to mean a dealer in poultry.
'Johnny,' like another man of some notoriety, whom
I well remember in my younger days — Mr. Creevey —
had access to many large houses such as Holkham ; not,
like Creevey, for the sake of his scandalous tongue, but
for the sake of his wealth. He had no (known) relatives ;
and big people, who had younger sons to provide for,
were quite willing that one of them should be his heir.
Johnny Motteux was an epicure with the best of chefs.
His capons came from Paris, his salmon from Christ-
church, and his Strasburg pies were made to order. One
of these he always brought with him as a present to my
mother, who used to say, ' Mr. Motteux evidently thinks
the nearest way to my heart is down my throat.'

A couple of years after my father's death, Motteux
wrote to my mother proposing marriage, and, to enhance
his personal attractions, (in figure and dress he was a
duplicate of the immortal Pickwick,) stated that he had
made his will and had bequeathed Sandringham to me,
adding that, should he die without issue, I was to inherit
the remainder of his estates.

Eather to my surprise, my mother handed the letter
to me with evident signs of embarrassment and distress.
My first exclamation was : ' How jolly ! The shooting's
first rate, and the old boy is over seventy, if he's a day.'

60 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

My mother apparently did not see it in this light. She
clearly, to my disappointment, did not care for the
shooting ; and my exultation only brought tears into her
eyes.

' Why, mother,' I exclaimed, ' what's up ? Don't you
— don't you care for Johnny Motteux ? '

She confessed that she did not.

' Then why don't you tell him so, and not bother
about his beastly letter ? '

' If I refuse him you will lose Sandringham.'

' But he says here he has already left it to me.'

' He will alter his will.'

' Let him ! ' cried I, flying out at such prospective
meanness. ' Just you tell him you don't care a rap for
him or for Sandringham either.'

In more lady-like terms she acted in accordance with
my advice ; and, it may be added, not long afterwards
married Mr. Bllice.

Mr. Motteux's first love, or one of them, had been
Lady Cowper, then Lady Palmerston. Lady Palmer-
ston's youngest son was Mr. Spencer Cowper. Mr.
Motteux died a year or two after the above event. He
made a codicil to his will, and left Sandringham and all
his property to Mr. Spencer Cowper. Mr. Spencer
Cowper was a young gentleman of costly habits. Indeed,
he bore the slightly modified name of 'Expensive
Cowper.' As an attache at Paris he was famous for his
patronage of dramatic art — or artistes rather ; the votaries
of Terpsichore were especially indebted to his liberality.
At the time of Mr. Motteux's demise, he was attached to
the Embassy at St. Petersburg. Mr. Motteux's solicitors
wrote immediately to inform him of his accession to
their late client's wealth. It being one of Mr. Cowper's
maxims never to read lawyers' letters, (he was in daily
receipt of more than he could attend to,) he flung this one

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 61

unread into the fire ; and only learnt his mistake through
the congratulations of his family.

The Prince Consort happened about this time to be in
quest of a suitable country seat for his present Majesty ;
and Sandringham, through the adroit negotiations of Lord
Palmerston, became the property of the Prince of Wales.
The soul of the ' Turkey merchant,' we cannot doubt,
will repose in peace.

The worthy rector of Warham St. Mary's was an
oddity deserving of passing notice. Outwardly he was
no Adonis. His plain features and shock head of foxy
hair, his antiquated and neglected garb, his copious
jabot — much affected by the clergy of those days — were
becoming investitures of the inward man. His temper
was inflammatory, sometimes leading to excesses, which
I am sure he rued in mental sackcloth and ashes. But
visitors at Holkham (unaware of the excellent motives
and moral courage which inspired his conduct) were not
a little amazed at the austerity with which he obeyed the
dictates of his conscience.

For example, one Sunday evening after dinner, when
the drawing-room was filled with guests, who more or
less preserved the decorum which etiquette demands in
the presence of royalty, (the Duke of Sussex was of the
party,) Charles Fox and 'Lady Anson, great-grandmother
of the present Lord Lichfield, happened to be playing at
chess. When the irascible dominie beheld them he pushed
his way through the bystanders, swept the pieces from
the board, and, with rigorous impartiality, denounced
these impious desecrators of the Sabbath eve.

As an example of his fidelity as a librarian, Mr.
Panizzi used to relate with much glee how, whenever he
was at Holkham, Mr. CoUyer dogged him like a detective.
One day, not wishing to detain the reverend gentleman
while he himself spent the forenoon in the manuscript

62 TRACKS OF A KOLLING STONE

library, (where not only the ancient manuscripts, but the
most valuable of the printed books, are kept under lock
and key,) he considerately begged Mr. Collyer to leave
him to his researches. The dominie replied ' that he
knew his duty, and did not mean to neglect it.' He did
not lose sight of Mr. Panizzi.

The notion that he — the great custodian of the
nation's literary treasures — would snip out and pocket the
title-page of the folio edition of Shakespeare, or of the
Coverdale Bible, tickled Mr. Panizzi's fancy vastly.

In spite, however, of our rector's fiery temperament,
or perhaps in consequence of it, he was remarkably
susceptible to the charms of beauty. We were con-
stantly invited to dinner and garden parties in the neigh-
bourhood ; nor was the good rector slow to return the
compliment. It must be confessed that the pupil shared
to the full the impressibility of the tutor ; and, as it hap-
pened, unknown to both, the two were in one case rivals.

As the young lady afterwards occupied a very dis-
tinguished position in Oxford society, it can only be said
that she was celebrated for her many attractions. She
was then sixteen, and the younger of her suitors but two
years older. As far as age was concerned, nothing could
be more compatible. Nor in the matter of mutual
inclination was there any disparity whatever. What,
then, was the pupil's dismay when, after a dinner party
at the rectory, and the company had left, the tutor, in a
frantic state of excitement, seized the pupil by both
hands, and exclaimed : ' She has accepted me ! '

' Accepted you ? ' I asked. ' Who has accepted you ? '

' Who ? Why, Miss , of course ! Who else do

you suppose would accept me ? '

' No one,' said I, with doleful sincerity. ' But did you
propose to her? Did she understand what you said to
her ? Did she deliberately and seriously say " Yes ? " '

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 63

' Yes, yes, yes,' and his disordered jabot and touzled
hair echoed the fatal word.

' Smintheus of the silver bow ! ' I groaned. ' It is
the woman's part to create delusions, and — destroy them !
To think of it ! after all that has passed between us these
— these three weeks, next Monday ! " Once and for
ever." Did ever woman use such words before ? And
I — believed them ! ' ' Did you speak to the mother ? '
I asked in a fit of desperation.

' There was no time for that. Mrs. was in the

carriage, and I didn't pop [the odious word !] till I was
helping her on with her cloak. The cloak, you see, made
it less awkward. My offer was a sort of ohiter dictum —
a by-the-way, as it were.'

' To the carriage, yes. But wasn't she taken by
surprise ? '

' Not a bit of it. Bless you ! they always know.
She pretended not to understand, but that's a way they
have.'

' And when you explained ? '

' There wasn't time for more. She laughed, and
sprang into the carriage.'

' And that was all ? '

' All ! would you have had her spring into my arms ? '

' God forbid ! You will have to face the mother
to-morrow,' said I, recovering rapidly from my de-
spondency.

' Face ? Well, I shall have to call upon Mrs. ,

if that's what you mean. A mere matter of form. I
shall go over after lunch. But it needn't interfere with
your work. You can go on with the " Anabasis " till I come
back. And remember — Neaniskos is not a proper name,
ha ! ha ! ha ! The quadratics vyiU keep till the evening.'
He was merry over his prospects, and I was not altogether
othervfise.

64 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

But there was no Xenophon, no algebra, that day !
Dire was the distress of my poor dominie when he found
the mother as much bewildered as the daughter was
frightened, by the mistake. ' She,' the daughter, ' had
never for a moment imagined, &e., &c.'

My tutor was not long disheartened by such caprices —
such he deemed them, as Miss Jemima's (she had a
prettier name, you may be sure), and I did my best (it
cost me little now) to encourage his fondest hopes. I
proposed that we should drink the health of the future
mistress of Warham in tea, which he cheerfully acceded
to, all the more readily, that it gave him an opportunity
to vent one of his old college jokes. ' Yes, yes,' said he,
with a laugh, ' there's nothing like tea. Te veniente die,
te decedente canebam.' Such sallies of innocent playful-
ness often smoothed his path in life. He took a genuine
pleasure in his own jokes. Some men do. One day I
dropped a pot of marmalade on a new carpet, and should
certainly have been reprimanded for carelessness, had it
not occurred to him to exclaim : ' Jam satis terris ! ' and
then laugh immoderately at his wit.

That there are as good fish in the sea as ever came
out of it, was a maxim he acted upon, if he never heard
it. "Within a month of the above incident he proposed
to another lady upon the sole grounds that, when playing
a game of chess, an exchange of pieces being contem-
plated, she innocently, but incautiously, observed, ' If you
take me, I will take you.' He referred the matter next
day to my ripe judgment. As I had no partiality for
the lady in question, I strongly advised him to accept
so obvious a challenge, and go down on his knees
to her at once. I laid stress on the knees, as the
accepted form of declaration, both in novels and on the
stage.

In this case the beloved object, who was not em-

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 65

barrassed by excess of amiability, promptly desired him,
when he urged his suit, ' not to make a fool of himself.'

My tutor's peculiarities, however, were not confined
to his endeavours to meet with a lady rectoress. He
sometimes surprised his hearers with the originality of
his abstruse theories. One morning he called me into
the stable yard to join in consultation with his gardener
as to the advisability of killing a pig. There were two,
and it was not easy to decide which was the fitter for the
butcher. The rector selected one, I the other, and the
gardener, who had nurtured both from their tenderest age,
pleaded that they should be allowed to ' put on another
score.' The point was warmly argued all round.

' The black sow,' said I (they were both sows, you must
know) — ' The black sow had a litter of ten last time, and
the white one only six. Ergo, if history repeats itself, as
I have heard you say, you should keep the black, and
sacrifice the white.'

' But,' objected the rector, ' that was the white's first
litter, and the black's second. Why shouldn't the white
do as well as the black next time ? '

'And better, your reverence,' chimed in the gardener.
' The number don't allays depend on the sow, do it ? '

' That is neither here nor there,' returned the rector.

' Well,' said the gardener, who stood to his guns, ' if
your reverence is right, as no doubt you will be, that'll
make just twenty little pigs for the butcher, come
Michaelmas.'

'We can't kill 'em before they are born,' said the
rector.

' That's true, your reverence. But it comes to the same
thing.'

'Not to the pigs,' retorted the rector.

' To your reverence, I means.'

66 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

' A pig at the butcher's,' I suggested, ' is worth a dozen
unborn.'

' No one can deny it,' said the rector, as he fingered
the small change in his breeches pocket; and pointing
with the other hand to the broad back of the black sow,
exclaimed, ' This is the one. Duplex agitur per lumhos
spina ! She's got a back like an alderman's chin.'

'Epicuri de grege porcus,' I assented, and the fate of
the black sow was sealed.

Next day an express came from Holkham, to say that
Lady Leicester had given birth to a daughter. My tutor
jumped out of his chair to hand me the note. ' Did I not
anticipate the event ? ' he cried. ' What a wonderful world
we live in ! Unconsciously I made room for the infant
by sacrificing the life of that pig.' As I never heard him
allude to the doctrine of Pythagoras, as he had no leaning
to Buddhism, and, as I am sure he knew nothing of the
co-relation of forces, it must be admitted that the con-
ception was an original one.

Be this as it may, Mr. Collyer was an upright and
conscientious man. I owe him much, and respect his
memory. He died at an advanced age, an honorary
canon, and — a bachelor.

Another portrait hangs amongst the many in my
memory's picture gallery. It is that of his successor to
the vicarage, the chaplaincy, and the librarianship, at
Holkham — Mr. Alexander Napier — at this time, and
until his death fifty years later, one of my closest and
most cherished friends. Alexander Napier was the son of
Macvey Napier, first editor of the ' Edinburgh Eeview.'
Thus, associated with many eminent men of letters, he
also did some good literary work of his own. He edited
Isaac Barrow's works for the University of Cambridge,
also Boswell's ' Johnson,' and gave various other proofs
of his talents and his scholarship. He was the most

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 67

delightful of companions ; liberal-minded in the highest
degree ; full of quaint humour and quick sympathy ; an
excellent parish priest, — looking upon Christianity as a
life and not a dogma ; beloved by all, for he had a kind
thought and a kind word for every needy or sick being in
his parish.

With such qualities, the man always predominated
over the priest. Hence his large-hearted charity and
indulgence for the faults — nay, crimes — of others. Yet, if
taken aback by an outrage, or an act of gross stupidity,
which even the perpetrator himself had to suffer for, he
would momentarily lose his patience, and rap out an
objurgation that would stagger the straiter-laced gentle-
men of his own cloth, or an outsider who knew less of
him than — the recording angel.

A fellow undergraduate of Napier's told me a charac-
teristic anecdote of his impetuosity. Both were Trinity
men, and had been keeping high jinks at a supper party
at Caius, The friend suddenly pointed to the clock,
reminding Napier they had but five minutes to get into
college before Trinity gates were closed. ' D — n the
clock ! ' shouted Napier, and snatching up the sugar basin
(it was not eau sucree they were drinking), incontinently
flung it at the face of the offending timepiece.

This youthful vivacity did not desert him in later
years. An old college friend — also a Scotchman — had
become Bishop of Edinburgh. Napier paid him a visit
(he described it to me himself). They talked of books,
they talked of politics, they talked of English Bards
and Scotch Eeviewers, of Brougham, Horner, Wilson,
Macaulay, Jeffrey, of Carlyle's dealings with Napier's
father — ' Nosey,' as Carlyle calls him. They chatted into
the small hours of the night, as boon companions, and as
what Bacon calls ' full ' men, are wont. The claret, once
so famous in the ' land of cakes,' had given place to

68 TEACKS OF A KOLLING STONE

toddy; its flow was in due measure to the flow of soul.
But all that ends is short — the old friends had spent their
last evening together. Yes, their last, perhaps. It was
bed-time, and quoth Napier to his lordship, ' I tell you
what it is. Bishop, I am na fou', but I'll be hanged if I
haven't got two left legs.'

' I see something odd about them,' says his lordship.
' We'd better go to bed.'

Who the bishop was I do not know, but I'll answer
for it he was one of the right sort.

In 1846 I became an undergraduate of Trinity College,
Cambridge. I do not envy the man (though, of course,
one ought) whose college days are not the happiest to
look back upon. One should hope that however profitably
a young man spends his time at the University, it is but
the preparation for something better. But happiness
and utility are not necessarily concomitant ; and even
when an undergraduate's course is least employed for its
intended purpose (as, alas ! mine was) — for happiness,
certainly not pure, but simple, give me life at a Uni-
versity.

Heaven forbid that any youth should be corrupted by
my confession ! But surely there are some pleasures per-
taining to this unique epoch that are harmless in them-
selves, and are certainly not to be met with at any other.
These are the first years of comparative freedom, of
manhood, of responsibility. The novelty, the freshness
of every pleasure, the unsatiated appetite for enjoyment,
the animal vigour, the ignorance of care, the heedlessness
of, or rather, the implicit faith in, the morrow, the
absence of mistrust or suspicion, the frank surrender to
generous impulses, the readiness to accept appearances
for realities — to believe in every profession or exhibition
of good will, to rush into the arms of every friendship,
to lay bare one's tenderest secrets, to listen eagerly to the

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 69

revelations which make us all akin, to offer one's time,
one's energies, one's purse, one's heart, without a selfish
afterthought — these, I say, are the priceless pleasures,
never to be repeated, of healthful average youth.

What has after-success, honour, wealth, fame, or
power — burdened, as they always are, with ambitions,
blunders, jealousies, cares, regrets, and failing health — to
match with this enjoyment of the young, the bright, the
bygone, hour? The wisdom of the worldly teacher —
at least, the carpe diem — was practised here before the
injunction was ever thought of. Du hist so schon was the
unuttered invocation, while the Verweile doch was deemed
unneedful.

Little, I am ashamed to own, did I add either to my
small classical or mathematical attainments. But I
made friendships — lifelong friendships, that I would not
barter for the best of academical prizes.

Amongst my associates or acquaintances, two or
three of whom have since become known — were the last
Lord Derby, Sir William Harcourt, the late Lord Stanley
of Alderley, Latimer Neville, late Master of Magdalen,
Lord Calthorpe, of racing fame, with whom I afterwards
crossed the Eocky Mountains, the last Lord Durham,
my cousin, Sir Augustus Stephenson, ex-solicitor to the
Treasury, Julian Fane, whose lyrics were edited by Lord
Lytton, and my life-long friend Charles Barrington,
private secretary to Lord Palmerston and to Lord John
Eussell.

But the most intimate of them was George Cayley,
son of the member for the East Eiding of Yorkshire.
Cayley was a young rcian of much promise. In his second
year he won the University prize poem with his ' Balder,'
and soon after published some other poems, and a novel,
which met with merited oblivion. But it was as a talker
that he shone. His quick intelligence, his ready wit, his

70 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

command of language, made his conversation always
lively, and sometimes brilliant. For several years after I
left Cambridge I lived with him in his father's house in
Dean's Yard, and thus made the acquaintance of some
celebrities whom his fascinating and versatile talents
attracted thither. As I shall return to this later on, I
will merely mention here the names of such men as
Thackeray, Tennyson, Frederick Locker, Stirling of Keir,
Tom Taylor the dramatist, Millais, Leighton, and others of
lesser note. Cayley was a member of, and regular atten-
dant at, the Cosmopolitan Club ; where he met Dickens,
Foster, Shirley Brooks, John Leech, Dicky Doyle, and
the wits of the day ; many of whom occasionally formed
part of our charming coterie in the house I shared with
his father.

Speaking of Tom Taylor reminds me of a good turn
he once did me in my college examination at Cambridge.
Whewell was then Master of Trinity. One of the subjects
I had to take up was either the ' Amicitia ' or the ' Senec-
tute ' (I forget which). Whewell, more formidable and
alarming than ever, opened the book at hazard, and set
me on to construe. I broke down. He turned over the
page ; again I stuck fast. The truth is, I had hardly
looked at my lesson, — trusting to my recollection of parts
of it to carry me through, if lucky, with the whole.

' "What's your name, sir ? ' was the Master's gruff
inquiry. He did not catch it. But Tom Taylor — also an
examiner — sitting next to him, repeated my reply, with
the addition, ' Just returned from China, where he served
as a midshipman in the late war.' He then took the book
out of Whewell's hands, and giving it to me closed, said
good-naturedly : ' Let us have another try, Mr. Coke.'
The chance was not thrown away ; I turned to a part I
knew, and rattled off as if my first examiner had been to
blame, not I.

TEACKS OF A EOLLING STONE 71

CHAPTEE X

Befoee dropping the curtain on my college days I must
relate a little adventure which is amusing as an illustration
of my reverend friend "Napier's enthusiastic spontaneity.
My own share in the farce is a subordinate matter.

During the Christmas party at Holkham I had ' fallen
in love,' as the phrase goes, with a young lady whose
uncle (she had neither father nor mother) had rented a
place in the neighbourhood. At the end of his visit he
invited me to shoot there the following week. For what
else had I paid him assiduous attention, and listened like
an angel to the interminable history of his gout? I
went ; and before I left, proposed to, and was accepted by,
the young lady. I was still at Cambridge, not of age, and
had but moderate means. As for the maiden, ' my face
is my fortune ' she might have said. The aunt, therefore,
very properly pooh-poohed the whole affair, and declined
to entertain the possibility of an engagement ; the elderly
gentleman got a bad attack of gout ; and every wire of
communication being cut, not an obstacle was wanting to
render persistence the sweetest of miseries.

Napier was my confessor, and became as keen to
circumvent the ' old she-dragon,' so he called her, as I
was. Frequent and long were our consultations, but they
generally ended in suggestions and schemes so pre-
posterous, that the only result was an immoderate fit of
laughter on both sides. At length it came to this (the
proposition was not mine) : we were to hire a post chaise

72 TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

and drive to the inn at G . I was to write a note to

the young lady requesting her to meet me at some trysting
place. The note was to state that a clergyman would
accompany me, who was ready and willing to unite us
there and then in holy matrimony ; that I would bring
the licence in my pocket ; that after the marriage we
could confer as to ways and means ; and that — she could
leave the rest to me.

No enterprise was ever more merrily conceived, or
more seriously undertaken. (Please to remember that my
friend was not so very much older than I ; and, in other
respects, was quite as juvenile.)

Whatever was to come of it, the drive was worth the
venture. The number of possible and impossible contin-
gencies provided for kept us occupied by the hour. Fur-
nished with a well-fiiled luncheon basket, we regaled
ourselves and fortified our courage ; while our hilarity
increased as we neared, or imagined that we neared, the
climax. Unanimously we repeated Dr. Johnson's ex-
clamation in a post chaise : ' Life has not many things
better than this.'

But where were we ? Our watches told us that we
had been two hours covering a distance of eleven miles.

' Hi ! Hullo ! Stop ! ' shouted Napier. In those days
post horses were ridden, not driven ; and about all we
could see of the post boy was what Mistress Tabitha
Bramble saw of Humphrey Clinker. ' Where the dickens
have we got to now ? '

'Don't know, I'm sure, sir,' says the boy; ' never was
in these 'ere parts afore.'

'Why,' shouts the vicar, after a survey of the land-
scape, ' if I can see a church by daylight, that's Blakeney
steeple ; and we are only three miles from where we
started,'

Sure enough it was so. There was nothing for it but

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 73

to stop at the nearest house, give the horses a rest and a
feed, and make a fresh start, — better informed as to our
topography.

It was past four on that summer afternoon when we
reached our destination. The plan of campaign was cut
and dried. I called for writing materials, and indicted
my epistle as agreed upon.

' To whom are you telling her to address the answer ? '
asked my accomplice. 'We're incog, you know. It
won't do for either of us to be known.'

' Certainly not,' said I. ' What shall it be ? White ?
Black ? Brown ? or Green ? '

' Try Browne with an B,' said he. ' The E gives an
aristocratic flavour. We can't afford to risk our respect-
ability.'

The note sealed, I rang the bell for the landlord, desired
him to send it up to the hall and tell the messenger to
wait for an answer.

As our host was leaving the room he turned round,
with his hand on the door, and said :

' Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Cook, would you and Mr.
Napeer please to take dinner here ? I've soom beatiful
lamb chops, and you could have a ducklin' and some nice
young peas to your second course. The post-boy says
the 'osses is pretty nigh done up ; but by the time '

' How did you know our names ? ' asked my companion.

' Law sir ! The post-boy, he told me. But, beggin'
your pardon, Mr. Napeer, my daughter, she lives in
Holkham willage ; and I've heard you preach afore now.'

' Let's have the dinner by all means,' said I.

'If the Bishop sequesters my living,' cried Napier,
with solemnity, ' I'll summon the landlord for defamation
of character. But time's up. You must make for the
boat-house, which is on the other side of the park. I'll
go with you to the head of the lake.'

74 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

We had not gone far, when we heard the sound of an
approaching vehicle. What did we see but an open
carriage, with two ladies in it, not a hundred yards behind
us.

' The aunt ! by all that's ! '

What I never heard; for, before the sentence

was completed, the speaker's long legs were scampering
out of sight in the direction of a clump of trees, I
following as hard as I could go.

As the carriage drove past, my Friar Lawrence was
lying in a ditch, while I was behind an oak. We were
near enough to discern the niece, and consequently we
feared to be recognised. The situation was neither
dignified nor romantic. My friend was sanguine, though
his ardour was slightly damped by the ditch water. I
doubted the expediency of trying the boat-house, but he
urged the risk of her disappointment, which made the
attempt imperative.

The padre returned to the inn to dry himself, and, in
due course, I rejoined him. He met me with the answer to
my note. ' The boat-house,' it declared, ' was out of the
question. But so, of course, was the possibility of change.
We must put our trust in Providence. Time could make
no difference in our case, whatever it might do with others.
She, at any rate, could wait for yeaes.' Upon the whole
the result was comforting — especially as the ' years '
dispensed with the necessity of any immediate step more
desperate than dinner. This we enjoyed like men who
had earned it ; and long before I deposited my dear friar
in his cell both of us were snoring in our respective
corners of the chaise.

A word or two will complete this romantic episode.
The next long vacation I spent in London, bent, needless
to say, on a happy issue to my engagement. How simple,
in the retrospect, is the frustration of our hopes ! I had

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 75

not been a week in town, had only danced once with my
fiancee, when, one day, taking a tennis lesson from the
great Barre, a forced ball grazed the frame of my racket,
and broke a blood vessel in my eye.

For five weeks I was shut up in a dark room. It was
two more before I again met my charmer. She did not
tell me, but her man did, that their wedding day was fixed
for the 10th of the following month ; and he ' hoped they
would have the pleasure of seeing me at the breakfast ! '
[I made the following note of the fact : N.B. — A woman's
tears may cost her nothing ; but her smiles may be
expensive.]

I must, however, do the young lady the justice to
state that, though her future husband was no great things
as a ' man,' as she afterwards discovered, he was the heir
to a peerage and great wealth. Both he and she, like
most of my collaborators in this world, have long since
passed into the other.

76 TEACKS OF A BOLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XI.

DtTEiNG my blindness I was hospitably housed in Eaton
Place by Mr. Whitbread, the head of the renowned firm.
After my recovery I had the good fortmie to meet there
Lady Morgan, the once famous authoress of the ' Wild
Irish Girl.' She still bore traces of her former comeliness,
and had probably lost little of her sparkling vivacity.
She was known to like the company of young people, as
she said they made her feel young ; so, being the youngest
of the party, I had the honour of sitting next her at
dinner. When I recall her conversation and her pleasing
manners, I can well understand the homage paid both
abroad and at home to the bright genius of the Irish
actor's daughter.

We talked a good deal about Byron and Lady Caroline
Lamb. This arose out of my saying I had been reading
' Glenarvon,' in which Lady Caroline gives Byron's letters
to herself as Glenarvon's letters to the heroine. Lady
Morgan had been the confidante of Lady Caroline, had
seen many of Byron's letters, and possessed many of her
friend's — full of details of the extraordinary intercourse
which had existed between the two.

Lady Morgan evidently did not believe (in spite of
Lady Caroline's mad passion for the poet) that the liaison
ever reached the ultimate stage contemplated by her
lover. This opinion was strengthened by Lady Caroline s
undoubted attachment to her husband — William Lamb,
afterwards Lord Melbourne — who seems to have submitted

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 77

to his wife's vagaries with his habitual stoicism and good
humour.

Both Byron and Lady CaroHne had violent tempers,
and were always quarrelling. This led to the final
rupture, when, according to my informant, the poet's
conduct was outrageous. He sent her some insulting
lines, which Lady Morgan quoted. The only one I
remember is :

Thou false to him, thou fiend to me I

Among other amusing anecdotes she told was one of
Disraeli. She had met him (I forget where), soon after
his first success as the youthful author of ' Vivian Grey.'
He was naturally made much of, but rather in the
Bohemian world than by such queens of society as
Lady Holland or Lady Jersey. ' And faith ! ' she added,
with the piquante accent which excitement evoked, ' he took
the full shine out of his janius. And how do ye think
he was dressed ? In a black velvet jacket and suit to
match, with a red sash round his waist, in which was
stuck a dagger with a richly jew'lled sheath and handle.'

The only analogous instance of self-confidence that I
can call to mind was Garibaldi's costume at a huge
reception at Stafford House. The elite of society was
there, in diamonds, ribbons, and stars, to meet him.
Garibaldi's uppermost and outermost garment was a red
flannel shirt, nothing more nor less.

The crowd jostled and swayed around him. To get
out of the way of it, I retreated to the deserted picture
gallery. The only person there was one who interested
me more than the scarlet patriot, Bulwer-Lytton the
First. He was sauntering to and fro with his hands
behind his back, looking dingy in his black satin scarf, and
dejected. Was he envying the Italian hero the obsequious
reverence paid to his miner's shirt ? (Nine tenths of the

78 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

men, and still more of the women there, knew nothing of
the wearer, or his cause, beyond that.) Was he thinking
of similar honours which had been lavished upon himself
when his star was in the zenith? Was he muttering to
himself the usual consolation of the ' have-beens ' —
vanitas vanitatum ? Or what new fiction, what old love,
was flitting through that versatile and fantastic brain?
Poor Bulwer ! He had written the best novel, the best
play, and had made the most eloquent parliamentary
oration of any man of his day. But, like another cele-
brated statesman who has lately passed away, he strutted
his hour and will soon be forgotten — ' Quand on broute sa
gloire en herbe de son vivant, on ne la recolte pas en
epis apres sa mort.' The ' Masses,' so courted by the
one, however blatant, are not the arbiters of immortal
fame.

To go back a few years before I met Lady Morgan :
when my mother was living at 18 Arlington Street,
Sydney Smith used to be a constant visitor there. One
day he called just as we were going to lunch. He had
been very ill, and would not eat anything. My mother
suggested the wing of a chicken.

' My dear lady,' said he, ' it was only yesterday that
my doctor positively refused my request for the wing of a
butterfly.'

Another time when he was making a call I came to
the door before it was opened. When the footman
answered the bell, ' Is Lady Leicester at home ? ' he asked.

' No, sir,' was the answer.

'That's a good job,' he exclaimed, but with a heartiness
that fairly took Jeames' breath away.

As Sydney's face was perfectly impassive, I never felt
quite sure whether this was for the benefit of myself or
of the astounded footman ; or whether it was the genuine
expression of an absent mind. He was a great friend of

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 79

my mother's, and of Mr. EUice's, but his fits of abstraction
were notorious.

He himself records the fact. ' I knocked at a door in

London, asked, "Is Mrs. B at home? " "Yes, sir;

pray what name shall I say ? " I looked at the man's
face astonished. What name ? what name ? aye, that is
the question. What is my name? I had no more idea
who I was than if I had never existed. I did not know
whether I was a dissenter or a layman. I felt as dull as
Sternhold and Hopkins. At last, to my great relief, it
flashed across me that I was Sydney Smith.'

In the summer of the year 1848 Napier and I stayed
a couple of nights with Captain Marryat at Langham,
near Blakeney. He used constantly to come over to
Holkham to watch our cricket matches. His house was
a glorified cottage, very comfortable and prettily de-
corated. The dining and sitting-rooms were hung with
the original water-colour drawings — mostly by Stanfield,
I think — which illustrated his minor works. Trophies
from all parts of the world garnished the walls. The
only inmates beside us two were his son, a strange, but
clever young man with considerable artistic abilities, and
his talented daughter. Miss Florence, since so well known
to novel readers.

Often as I had spoken to Marryat, I never could quite
make him out. Now that I was his guest his habitual
reserve disappeared, and despite his failing health he was
geniality itself. Even this I did not fully understand at
first. At the dinner-table his amusement seemed, I won't
say to make a ' butt ' of me — his banter was too good-
natured for that — but he treated me as Dr. Primrose
treated his son aiter the bushel-of-green-spectacles
bargain. He invented the most wonderful stories, and
told them with imperturbable sedateness. Finding a
credulous listener in me, he drew all the more freely

80 TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

upon his invention. When, however, he gravely asserted
that Jonas was not the only man who had spent three
days and three nights in a whale's belly, but that he
himself had caught a whale with a man inside it who
had lived there for more than a year on blubber, which,
he declared, was better than turtle soup, it was impossible
to resist the fooling, and not forget that one was the
Moses of the extravaganza.

In the evening he proposed that his son and daughter
and I should act a charade. Napier was the audience,
and Marryat himself the orchestra — that is, he played on
his fiddle such tunes as a ship's fiddler or piper plays to
the heaving of the anchor, or for hoisting in cargo.
Everyone was in romping spirits, and notwithstanding
the cheery Captain's signs of fatigue and worn looks,
which he evidently strove to conceal, the evening had all
the freshness and spirit of an impromptu pleasure.

When I left, Marryat gave me his violin, with some
sad words about his not being likely to play upon it more.
Perhaps he knew better than we how prophetically he
was speaking. Barely three weeks afterwards I learnt
that the humorous creator of ' Midshipman Easy ' would
never make us laugh again.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 81

CHAPTEE XII

I HAD completed my second year at the University, when,
in October 1848, just as I was about to return to Cam-
bridge after the long vacation, an old friend — William
Grey, the youngest of the ex-Prime-Minister's sons —
called on me at my London lodgings. He was attached
to the Vienna Embassy, where his uncle, Lord Ponsonby,
was then ambassador. Shortly before this there had been
serious insurrections both in Paris, Vienna, and Berlin.

Many may still be living who remember how Louis
Philippe fled to England ; how the infection spread over
this country ; how 25,000 Chartists met on Kennington
Common ; how the upper and middle classes of London
were enrolled as special constables, with the future
Emperor of the French amongst them ; how the prompti-
tude of the Iron Duke saved London, at least, from the
fate of the French and Austrian capitals.

This, however, was not till the following spring. Up
to October, no overt defiance of the Austrian Government
had yet asserted itself ; but the imminence of an outbreak
was the anxious thought of the hour. The hot heads
of Germany, France, and England were more than
meditating — they were threatening, and preparing for, a
European revolution. Bloody battles were to be fought ;
kings and emperors were to be dethroned and decapitated ;
mobs were to take the place of parliaments ; the leaders
of the ' people ' — i.e. the stump orators — were to rule the
world ; property was to be divided and subdivided down

G

82 TEACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

to the shirt on a man's — a rich man's — back; and every
' po'r ' man was to have his own, and — somebody else's.
This was the divine law of Nature, according to the
gospels of Saint Jean Jacques and Mr. Feargus O'Connor.
We were all naked under our clothes, which clearly proved
our equality. This was the simple, the beautiful pro-
gramme ; once carried out, peace, fraternal and eternal
peace, would reign — till it ended, and the earthly Paradise
would be an accomplished fact.

I was an ultra-Eadical — a younger-son Eadical — in
those days. I was quite ready to share Vidth my elder
brother ; I had no prejudice in favour of my superiors ; I
had often dreamed of becoming a leader of the ' people ' —
a stump orator, i.e. — with the handsome emoluments of
ministerial office.

William Grey came to say good-bye. He was suddenly
recalled in consequence of the insurrection. ' It is a most
critical state of affairs,' he said. 'A revolution may
break out all over the Continent at any moment. There's
no saying where it may end. We are on the eve of a
new epoch in the history of Europe. I wouldn't miss it
on any account.'

' Most interesting ! most interesting ! ' I exclaimed.
' How I wish I were going with you ! '

' Come,' said he, with engaging brevity.

' How can I ? I'm just going back to Cambridge.'

' You are of age, aren't you ? '

I nodded.

' And your own master ? Come ; you'll never have
such a chance again.'

' When do you start ? '

' To-morrow morning early.'

' But it is too late to get a passport.'

' Not a bit of it. I have to go to the Foreign Office
for my despatches. Dine with me to-night at my

TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE 83

mother's — nobody else — and I'll bring your passport in
my pocket.'

' So be it, then. Billy Whistle [the irreverend nick-
name we undergraduates gave the Master of Trinity] will
rusticate me to a certainty. It can't be helped. The
cause is sacred. I'll meet you at Lady Grey's to-night.'

We reached our destination at daylight on October 9.
We had already heard, while changing carriages at
Breslau station, that the revolution had broken out at
Vienna, that the rails were torn up, the Bahn-hof burnt,
the military defeated and driven from the town. William
Grey's official papers, aided by his fluent German, enabled
us to pass the barriers, and find our way into the city.
He went straight to the Embassy, and sent me on to the
' Erzherzog Carl ' in the Karnthner Thor Strasse, at that
time the best hotel in Vienna. It being still nearly dark,
candles were burning in every window by order of the
insurgents.

The preceding day had been an eventful one. The
proletariate, headed by the students, had sacked the
arsenal, the troops having made but slight resistance.
They then marched to the War Office and demanded the
person of the War Minister, Count Latour, who was
most unpopular on account of his known appeal to
Jellachich, the Ban of Croatia, to assist, if required, in
putting down the disturbances. Some sharp fighting
here took place. The rioters defeated the small body of
soldiers on the spot, captured two guns, and took
possession of the building. The unfortunate minister was
found in one of the upper garrets of the palace. The
ruffians dragged him from his place of concealment, and
barbarously murdered him. They then flung his body
from the window, and in a few minutes it was hanging
from a lamp-post above the heads of the infuriated and
yelling mob.

o 2

84 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

In 1848 the inner city of Vienna was enclosed within
a broad and lofty bastion, fosse, and glacis. These were
levelled in 1857. As soon as the troops were expelled,
cannon were placed on the Bastei so as to command the
approaches from without. The tunnelled gateways were
built up, and barricades erected across every principal
thoroughfare. Immediately after these events Ferdinand I.
abdicated in favour of the present Emperor Francis
Joseph, who retired with the Court to Schonbrunn.
Foreigners at once took flight, and the hotels were
emptied. The only person left in the ' Archduke Charles '
beside myself was Mr. Bowen, afterwards Sir George,
Governor of New Zealand, with whom I was glad to
fraternise.

These humble pages do not aspire to the dignity of
History ; but a few words as to what took place are
needful for the writer's purposes. The garrison in Vienna
had been comparatively small ; and as the National
Guard had joined the students and proletariate, it was
deemed advisable by the Government to await the arrival
of reinforcements under Prince Windischgratz, who,
together with a strong body of Servians and Croats under
Jellachich, might overawe the insurgents; or, if not,
recapture the city without unnecessary bloodshed. The
rebels were buoyed up by hopes of support from the
Hungarians under Kossuth. But in this they were dis-
appointed. In less than three weeks from the day of the
outbreak the city was beleaguered. Fighting began outside
the town on the 24th. On the 25th the soldiers occupied
the Wieden and Nussdorf suburbs. Next day the
Gemeinderath (Municipal Council) sent a Parlementdr
to treat with Windischgratz. The terms were rejected,
and the city was taken by storm on October 30.

A few days before the bombardment, the Austrian
commander gave the usual notice to the Ambassadors to

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 85

quit the town. This they accordingly did. Before leaving,
Lord Ponsonby kindly sent his private secretary, Mr.
George Samuel, to warn me and invite me to join him at
Schonbrunn. I politely elected to stay and take my
chance. After the attack on the suburbs began I had
reason to regret the decision. The hotels were entered
by patrols, and all efficient waiters hommandiere' d to work
at the barricades, or carry arms. On the fourth day I
settled to change sides. The constant banging of big
guns, and rattle of musketry, with the impossibility of
getting either air or exercise without the risk of being
indefinitely deprived of both, was becoming less amusing
than I had counted on. I was already provided with a
Passierschem, which franked me inside the town, and up
to the insurgents' outposts. The difficulty was how to
cross the neutral ground and the two opposing hues.
Broad daylight was the safest time for the purpose ; the
officious sentry is not then so apt to shoot his friend.
With much stalking and dodging I made a bolt ; and,
notwithstanding violent gesticulations and threats, got
myself safely seized and hurried before the nearest com-
manding officer.

He happened to be a general or a colonel. He was a
fierce looking, stout old gentleman with a very red face,
all the redder for his huge white moustache and well-
filled white uniform. He began by fuming and bluster-
ing as if about to order me to summary execution. He
spoke so fast, it was not easy to follow him. Probably
my amateur German was as puzzling to him. The
Passierschein, which I produced, was not in my favour ;
unfortunately I had forgotten my Foreign Office passport.
What further added to his suspicion was his inability to
comprehend why I had not availed myself of the notice,
duly given to all foreigners, to leave the city before active
hostilities began. How anyone, who had the choice,

86 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

could be fool enough to stay and be shelled or bayoneted,
was (from his point of view) no proof of respectability.
I assured him he was mistaken if he thought I had a
predilection for either of these alternatives.

' It was just because I desired to avoid both that I
had sought, not without risk, the protection I was so sure
of finding at the hands of a great and gallant soldier.'

' Dummes Zeug ! dummes Zeug ! ' (stuff o' nonsense),
he puffed. But a peppery man's good humour is often
as near the surface as his bad. I detected a pleasant
sparkle in his eye.

' Pardon me, Excellenz,' said I, ' my presence here is
the best proof of my sincerity.'

' That,' said he sharply, ' is what every rascal might
plead when caught with a rebel's pass in his pocket.
Geleitsbriefe fiir Schurken sind Steckbriefe fur die
Gerechtigkeit.' (Safe-conduct passes for knaves are writs
of capias to honest men.)

I answered : ' But an English gentleman is not a
knave ; and no one knows the difference better than your
Excellenz.' The term ' Schurken ' (knaves) had stirred
my fire ; and though I made a deferential bow, I looked
as indignant as I felt.

■ Well, well,' he said pacifically, ' you may go about
your business. But sehen Sie, young man, take my advice,
don't satisfy your curiosity at the cost of a broken head.
Dazu gehoren Kerle die eigens geschaffen sind.' As much
as to say : ' Leave halters to those who are born to be
hanged.' Indeed, the old fellow looked as if he had
enjoyed life too well to appreciate parting with it
gratuitously.

I had nothing with me save the clothes on my back.
When I should again have access to the ' Erzherzcg Carl '
was impossible to surmise. The only decent inn I knew

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 87

of outside the walls was the ' Golden Ldmm,' on the
suburb side of the Donau Canal, close to the Ferdinand
bridge which faces the Eothen Thurm Thor. Here I
entered, and found it occupied by a company of Nassau
jagers. A barricade was thrown up across the street
leading to the bridge. Behind it were two guns. One
end of the barricade abutted on the ' Golden Ld.mm.'
With the exception of the soldiers, the inn seemed to be
deserted; and I wanted both food and lodging. The
upper floor was full of jagers. The front windows over-
looked the Bastei. These were now blocked with mat-
tresses, to protect the men from bullets. The distance
from the ramparts was not more than 150 yards, and woe
to the student or the fat grocer, in his National Guard
uniform, who showed his head above the walls. While
I was in the attics a gun above the city gate fired at the
battery below. I ran down a few minutes later to see
the result. One artilleryman had been killed. He was
already laid under the gun-carriage, his head covered with
a cloak.

The storming took place a day or two afterwards.
One of the principal points of resistance had been at the
bottom of the Jagerzeile. The insurgents had a battery
of several guns here ; and the handsome houses at the
comers facing the Prater had been loop-holed and filled
with students. I walked round the town after all was
over, and was especially impressed with the horrors I
witnessed. The beautiful houses, with their gorgeous
furniture, were a mass of smoking ruins. Not a soul
was to be seen, not even a prowling thief. I picked my
way into one or two of them without hindrance. Here
and there were a heap of bodies, some burnt to cinders,
some with their clothes still smouldering. The smell
of the roasted flesh was a disgusting association for a

88 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

long time to come. But the whole was sickening to
look at, and still more so, if possible, to reflect upon ; for
this was the price which so often has been, so often will
be, paid for the alluring dream of liberty, and for the
pursuit of that mischievous will-o'-the-wisp — jealous
Equality.

TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE 89

CHAPTEE XIII

Vienna in the early part of the last century was looked
upon as the gayest capital in Europe. Even the frightful
convulsion it had passed through only checked for a
while its chronic pursuit of pleasure. The cynical
philosopher might be tempted to contrast this not in-
frequent accessory of paternal rule with the purity and
contentment so fondly expected from a democracy — or
shall we say a demagoguey ? The cherished hopes of
the so-called patriots had been crushed ; and many were
the worse for the struggle. But the majority naturally
subsided into their customary vocations — beer-drinking,
pipe-smoking, music, dancing, and play-going. Every
theatre and place of amusement was soon re-opened.
There was an excellent opera ; Strauss — the original —
presided over weekly balls and concerts. For my part,
being extremely fond of music, I worked industriously
at the violin, also at German. My German master,
Herr Mauthner by name, was a little hump-backed
Jew, who seemed to know every man and woman (especi-
ally woman) worth knowing in Vienna. Through him
I made the acquaintance of several families of the middle
class, — amongst them that of a veteran musician who
had been Beethoven's favourite flute-player. As my
veneration for Beethoven was unbounded, I listened with
awe to every trifling incident relating to the great master.
I fear the conviction left on my mind was that my idol,
though transcendent amongst musicians, was a bear"

90 TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

amongst men. Pride (according to his ancient associate)
was his strong point. This he vindicated by excessive
rudeness to everyone \7h0se social position v?as above
his own. Even those that did him a good turn were
suspected of patronising. Condescension was a pre-
rogative confined to himself. In this respect, to be sure,
there was nothing singular.

At the house of the old flutist we played family quar-
tets, — he, the father, taking the first violin part on his
flute, I the second, the son the 'cello, and his daughter
the piano. It was an atmosphere of music that we all
inhaled ; and my happiness on these occasions wauld
have been unalloyed, had not the young lady — a damsel
of six-and-forty — insisted on poisoning me (out of compli-
ment to my English tastes) VTith a bitter decoction
she was pleased to call tea. This delicate attention, I
must say, proved an effectual souvenir till we met again —
I dreaded it.

Now and then I dined at the Embassy. One night I
met there Prince Paul Esterhazy, so distinguished by his
diamonds when Austrian Ambassador at the coronation
of Queen Victoria. He talked to me of the Holkham
sheep-shearing gatherings, at which from 200 to 300
guests sat down to dinner every day, including crowned
heads, and celebrities from both sides of the Atlantic.
He had twice assisted at these in my father's time. He
also spoke of the shooting ; and promised, if I would visit
him in Hungary, he would show me as good sport as I
had ever seen in Norfolk. He invited Mr. Magenis — the
Secretary of Legation — to accompany me.

The following week we two hired a hritzcha, and
posted to Eisenstadt. The lordly grandeur of this last of
the feudal princes manifested itself soon after we crossed
the Hungarian frontier. The first sign of it was the
livery and badge worn by the postillions. Posting houses,

TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 91

horses and roads, were all the property of His Trans-
parency.

Eisenstadt itself, though not his principal seat, is a
large palace — three sides of a triangle. One wing is the
residence, that opposite the barrack, (he had his own
troops,) and the connecting base part museum and part
concert-hall. This last was sanctified by the spirit of
Joseph Haydn, for so many years Kapellmeister to the
Esterhazy family. The conductor's stand and his spinet
remained intact. Even the stools and desks in the
orchestra (so the Prince assured me) were ancient. The
very dust was sacred. Sitting alone in the dim space,
one could fancy the great little man still there, in his
snuff-coloured coat and ruffles, half buried (as on staie
occasions) in his ' a longen perriicke.' A tap of his magic
wand starts into life his quaint old-fashioned band, and
the powder flies from their wigs. Soft, distant, ghostly
harmonies of the Surprise Symphony float among the
rafters ; and now, as in a dream, we are listening to — nay,
beholding — the glorious process of Creation ; till suddenly
the mighty chord is struck, and we are startled from our
trance by the burst of myriad voices echoing the command
and its fulfilment, ' Let there be light : and there was light.'

Only a family party was assembled in the house. A
Baron something, and a Graf something — both rela-
tions, — and the son, afterwards Ambassador at St. Peters-
burg during the Crimean War. The latter was married
to Lady Sarah Villiers, who was also there. It is amus-
ing to think that the beautiful daughter of the proud
Lady Jersey should be looked upon by the Austrians as
somewhat of a misalliance for one of the chiefs of their
nobility. Certain it is that the young Princess was
received by them, till they knew her, with more conde-
scension than enthusiasm.

An air of feudal magnificence pervaded the palace :

92 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

spacious reception-rooms hung with armour and trophies
of the chase ; numbers of domestics in epauletted and
belaced, but ill-fitting, liveries ; the prodigal supply and
nationality of the comestibles — wild boar with marma-
lade, venison and game of all sorts with excellent
' Eingemachtes ' and 'Mehlspeisen ' galore — a feast for a
Gamache or a Gargantua. But then, all save three,
remember, were Germans — and Germans ! Noteworthy
was the delicious Chateau Y'quem, of which the Prince
declared he had a monopoly — meaning the best, I pre-
sume. After dinner the son, his brother-in-law, and I,
smoked our meerschaums and played pools of ecarU in the
young Prince's room. Magenis, who was much our
senior, had his rubber downstairs with the elders.

The life was pleasant enough, but there was one little
mediaeval peculiarity which almost made one look for
retainers in goat-skins and rushes on the floor, — there was
not a bath (except the Princess's) in the palace ! It was
with difficulty that my English servant foraged a tub
from the kitchen or the laundry. As to other sanitary
arrangements, they were what they doubtless had been
in the days of Almos and his son, the mighty Arped. In
keeping with these venerable customs, I had a sentry at
the door of my apartments ; to protect me, belike, from the
ghosts of predatory barons and marauders.

During the week we had two days' shooting ; one in
the coverts, quite equal to anything of the kind in Eng-
land, the other at wild boar. Eor the latter, a tract of the
Carpathian Mountains had been driven for some days
before into a wood of about a hundred acres. At certain
points there were sheltered stands, raised four or five feet
from the ground, so that the sportsmen had a command-
ing view of the broad alley or clearing in front of him,
across which the stags or boar were driven by an army of
beaters.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 93

I had my own double-barrelled rifle ; but besides this,
a man with a rack on his back bearing three rifles of the
prince's, a loader, and a Forster, with a hunting knife
or short sword to despatch the wounded quarry. Out of
the first rush of pigs that went by I knocked over two ;
and, in my keenness, jumped out of the stand with the
Forster who ran to finish them off. I was immediately
collared and brought back ; and as far as I could make
out, was taken for a lunatic, or at least for a ' duffer,' for
my rash attempt to approach unarmed a wounded tusker.
When we all met at the end of the day, the bag of the
five guns was forty-five wild boars. The biggest — and he
was a monster — fell to the rifle of the Prince, as was of
course intended.

The old man took me home in his carriage. It was a
beautiful drive. One's idea of an English park — even
such a park as Windsor's — dwindled into that of a pleasure
ground, when compared with the boundless territory we
drove through. To be sure, it was no more a park than is
the New Forest ; but it had all the character of the best
English scenery — miles of fine turf, dotted with clumps of
splendid trees, and gigantic oaks standing alone in. their
majesty. Now and then a herd of red deer were startled
in some sequestered glade ; but no cattle, no sheep, no
sign of domestic care. Struck with the charm of this
primeval wilderness, I made some remark about the rich-
ness of the pasture, and wondered there were no sheep to
be seen. ' There,' said the old man, with a touch of pride,
as he pointed to the blue range of the Carpathians ; ' that
is my farm. I will tell you. All the celebrities of the
day who were interested in farming used to meet at
Holkham for what was called the sheep-shearing. I once
told your father I had more shepherds on my farm than
there were sheep on his.'

94 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XIV

It was with a sorry heart that I bade farewell to my
Vienna friends, my musical comrades, the Legation hospi-
talities, and my faithful little Israelite. But the colt
frisks over the pasture from sheer superfluity of energy ;
and between one's second and third decades instinctive
restlessness— spontaneous movement — is the law of one's
being. 'Tis then that ' Hope builds as fast as knowledge
can destroy.' The enjoyment we abandon is never so
sweet as that we seek. ' Pleasure never is at home.'
Happiness means action for its own sake, change, inces-
sant change.

I sought and found it in Bavaria, Bohemia, Russia,
all over Germany, and dropped anchor one day in Cracow ;
a week afterwards in Warsaw. These were out-of-the-
way places then ; there were no tourists in those days ; I
did not meet a single compatriot either in the Polish or
Russian town.

At Warsaw I had an adventure not unlike that which
befell me at Vienna. The whole of Europe, remember,
was in a state of political ferment. Poland was at least
as ready to rise against its oppressor then as now ; and
the police was proportionately strict and arbitrary. An
army corps was encamped on the right bank of the
Vistula, ready for expected emergencies. Under these cir-
cumstances, passports, as may be supposed, were carefully
inspected ; except in those of British subjects, the person
of the bearer was described — his height, the colour of his

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 95

hair (if he had any), or any mark that distinguished
him.

In my passport, after my name, was added ' et son
domestique.' The inspector who examined it at the fron-
tier pointed to this, and, in indifferent German, asked me
where that individual was. I repUed that I had sent him
with my baggage to Dresden, to await my arrival there.
A consultation thereupon took place with another official,
in a language I did not understand ; and to my dismay I
was informed that I was — in custody. The small port-
manteau I had with me, together with my despatch-box,
was seized ; the latter contained a quantity of letters and
my journal. Money only was I permitted to retain.

Quite by the way, but adding greatly to my discom-
fort, was the fact that since leaving Prague, where I had
relinquished everything I could dispense with, I had had
much night travelling amongst native passengers, who
so valued cleanliness that they economised it with
religious care. By the time I reached Warsaw, I may
say, without metonymy, that I was itching (all over) for
a bath and a change of linen. My irritation, indeed, was
at its height. But there was no appeal ; and on my
arrival I was haled before the authorities.

Again, their head was a general officer, though not
the least like my portly friend at Vienna. His business
was to sit in judgment upon delinquents such as I. He
was a spare, austere man, surrounded by a sharp-looking
aide-de-camp, several clerks in uniform, and two or three
men in mufti, whom I took to be detectives. The
inspector who arrested me was present with my open
despatch box and journal. The journal he handed to the
aide, who began at once to look it through while his
chief was disposing of another case.

To be suspected and dragged before this tribunal
was, for the time being (as I afterwards learnt) almost

96 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

tantamount to condemnation. As soon as the General had
sentenced my predecessor, I was accosted as a self-con-
victed criminal. Fortunately he spoke French like a
Frenchman ; and, as it presently appeared, a few words of
English.

' What country do you belong to ? ' he asked, as if
the question was but a matter of form, put for decency's
sake — a mere prelude to committal.

' England, of course ; you can see that by my passport.'
I was determined to fence him with his own weapons.
Indeed, in those innocent days of my youth, I enjoyed a
genuine British contempt for foreigners — in the lump —
which, after all, is about as impartial a sentiment as its
converse, that one's own country is always in the wrong.
' Where did you get it ? ' (with a face of stone).
Prisoner (naively) : ' Where did I get it ? I do not
follow you.' (Don't forget, please, that said prisoner's
apparel was unvaleted, his hands unwashed, his linen
unchanged, his hair unkempt, and his face unshaven).

General (stonily) : '"Where did you get it?" was
my question.'

Prisoner (quietly) : ' From Lord Palmerston.'
General (glancing at that Minister's signature) : ' It
says here, " et son domestique " — you have no
domestique.'

Prisoner (calmly) : ' Pardon me, I have a domestic'
General (with severity), ' Where is he ? '
Prisoner : ' At Dresden by this time, I hope.'
General (receiving journal from aide-de-camp, who
points to a certain page) : ' You state here you were caught
by the Austrians in a pretended escape from the Viennese
insurgents ; and add, " They evidently took me for a
spy " [returning journal to aide]. What is your explana-
tion of this ? '

Prisoner (shrugging shoulders disdainfully) : ' In the

TRACKS OF A EOLLINa STONE 97

first place, the word " pretended " is not in my journal.
In the second, although of course it does not follow,
if one takes another person for a man of sagacity or a
gentleman — it does not follow that he is either. Still,
when '

General (with signs of impatience) : ' I have here a
Passierschein, found amongst your papers and signed by
the rebels. They would not have given you this, had you
not been on friendly terms with them. You will be
detained until I have further particulars.'

Prisoner (angrily) : ' I will assist you, through Her
Britannic Majesty's Consul, with whom I claim the
right to communicate. I beg to inform you that I am
neither a spy nor a socialist, but the son of an English
peer ' (heaven help the relevancy ! ). 'An Englishman has
yet to learn that Lord Palmerston's signature is to be
set at naught and treated with contumacy.'

The General beckoned to the inspector to put an end
to the proceedings. But the aide, who had been studying
the journal, again placed it in his chief's hands. A
colloquy ensued, in which I overheard the name of
Lord Ponsonby. The enemy seemed to waver, so I
charged with a renewed request to see the English Consul.
A pause ; then some remarks in Eussian from the aide ;
then the General (in suaver tones) : ' The English Consul,
I find, is absent on a month's leave. If what you state is
true, you acted unadvisedly in not having your passport
altered and revise when you parted with your servant.
How long do you wish to remain here ? '

Said I, ' Vous avez bien raison, Monsieur. Je suis
evidemment dans mon tort. Ma visite a Varsovie etait
une aberration. As to my stay, je suis deja tout ce qu'il
y a de plus ennuye. I have seen enough of Warsaw to
last for the rest of my days.'

Eventually my portmanteau and despatch-box were

98 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

restored to me ; and I took up my quarters in the filthiest
inn (there was no hetter, I beheve) that it was ever my
misfortune to lodge at. It was ancient, dark, dirty, and
dismal. My sitting-room (I had a cupboard besides to
sleep in) had but one window, looking into a gloomy
courtyard. The furniture consisted of two wooden chairs
and a spavined horsehair sofa. The ceiling was low and
lamp-blacked ; the stained paper fell in strips from the
sweating walls ; fortunately there was no carpet ; but if
anything could have added to the occupier's depression it
was the sight of his own distorted features in a shattered
glass, which seemed to watch him like a detective and
take notes of his movements— a real Russian mirror.

But the resources of one-and-twenty are not easily
daunted, even by the presence of the cimex lectularius or
the pulex irritans. I inquired for a laquais de place, —
some human being to consort with was the most pressing
of immediate wants. As luck would have it, the very
article was in the dreary courtyard, lurking spider-like
for the innocent traveller just arrived. Elective affinity
brought us at once to friendly intercourse. He was of
the Hebrew race, as the larger half of the Warsaw popu-
lation still are. He was a typical Jew (all Jews are
typical), though all are not so thin as was Beninsky. His
eyes were sunk in sockets deepened by the sharpness of
his bird-of-prey beak ; a single corkscrew ringlet dropped
tearfully down each cheek ; and his one front tooth
seemed sometimes in his upper, sometimes in his lower
jaw. His skull-cap and his gabardine might have been
heirlooms from the Patriarch Jacob ; and his poor hands
seemed made for clawing. But there was a humble and
contrite spirit in his sad eyes. The history of his race
was written in them ; but it was modern history that one
read in their hopeless and appealing look.

His cringing manner and his soft voice (we conversed

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 99

in German) touched my heart. I have always had a
liking for the Jews. Who shall reckon how much some
of us owe them ! They have always interested me as
a peculiar people — admitting sometimes, as in poor
Beninsky's case, of purifying, no doubt ; yet, if occasion-
ally zealous (and who is not ?) of interested works —
cent, per cent, works, often — -yes, more often than we
Christians — zealous of good works, of open-handed, large-
hearted munificence, of charity in its democratic and
noblest sense. Shame upon the nations which despise
and persecute them for faults which they, the persecutors,
have begotten ! Shame on those who have extorted both
their money and their teeth ! I think if I were a Jew I
should chuckle to see my shekels furnish all the wars in
which Christians cut one another's Christian weasands.

And who has not a tenderness for the ' beautiful and
well-favoured ' Eachels, and the ' tender-eyed ' Leahs,
and the tricksy little Zilpahs, and the Eebekahs, from
the wife of Isaac of Gerar to the daughter of Isaac of
York ? Who would not love to sit with Jessica where
moonlight sleeps, and watch the patines of bright gold
reflected in her heavenly orbs ? I once knew a Jessica, a

Polish Jessica, who but that was in Vienna, more

than half a century ago.

Beninsky's orbs brightened visibly when I bade him
break his fast at my high tea. I ordered everything they
had in the house I think, — a cold Pomeranian Gansebrust,
a garlicky Wurst, and geraucherte Lacks. 1 had a packet
of my own Fortnum and Mason's Souchong ; and when
the stove gave out its glow, and the samovar its music,
Beninsky's gratitude and his himger passed the limits of
restraint. Late into the night we smoked our meer-
schaums.

When I spoke of the Eussians, he got up nervously to
see the door was shut, and whispered with bated breath.

H 2

100 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

"What a relief it was to him to meet a man to whom he
could pour out his griefs, his double griefs, as Pole and
Israelite. Before we parted I made him put the remains
of the sausage (!) and the goose-breast under his petti-
coats. I bade him come to me in the morning and show
me all that was worth seeing in Warsaw. When he left,
with tears in his eyes, I was consoled to think that for
one night at any rate he and his Gdnsebrust and sausage
would rest peacefully in Abraham's bosom. What Abraham
would say to the sausage I did not ask ; nor perhaps did
my poor Beninsky.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 101

CHAPTEE XV

The remainder of the year '49 has left me nothing
to tell. For me, it was the inane life of that draff of
Society — the young man-about-town : the tailor's, the
haberdasher's, the bootmaker's, and trinket-maker's, young
man ; the dancing and ' hell '-frequenting young man ;
the young man of the ' Cider Cellars ' and Piccadilly
saloons ; the valiant dove-slayer, the park-lounger, the
young lady's young man — who puts his hat into mourn-
ing, and turns up his trousers because — because the other
young man does ditto, ditto.

I had a share in the Guards' omnibus box at Covent
Garden, with the privilege attached of going behind the
scenes. Ah ! that was a real pleasure. To listen night
after night to Grisi and Mario, Alboni and Lablache,
Viardot and Eonconi, Persiani and Tamburini, — and
Jenny Lind too, though she was at the other house.
And what an orchestra was Costa's — with Sainton leader,
and Lindley and old Dragonetti, who together but alone,
accompanied the recitative with their harmonious chords
on 'cello and double-bass. Is singing a lost art ? Or is
that but a tenvporis acti question ? We who heard those
now silent voices fancy there are none to match them
nowadays. Certainly there are no dancers like Taglioni,
and Cerito, and Fanny Elsler, and Carlotta Grisi.

After the opera and the ball, one finished the night at
Vauxhall or Eanelagh ; then as gay, and exactly the same,

102 TKAOKS OF A EOLLING STONE

as they were when Miss Becky Sharpe and fat Jos supped
there only five-and-thirty years before.

Except at the Opera, and the Philharmonic, and
Exeter Hall, one rarely heard good music. Monsieur
Jullien, that prince of musical mountebanks — the ' Prince
of Waterloo,' as John Ella called him, was the first to
popularise classical music at his promenade concerts, by
tentatively introducing a single movement of a sjrmphony
here and there in the programme of his quadrilles and
waltzes and music-hall songs.

Mr. Ella, too, furthered the movement with his
Musical Union and quartett parties at Willis's Rooms,
where Sainton and Cooper led alternately, and the in-
comparable Piatti and Hill made up the four. Here
Ernst, Sivori, Vieuxtemps, and Bottesini, and Mesdames
Schumann, Dulcken, Arabella Goddard, and all the
famous virtuosi played their solos.

Great was the stimulus thus given by Ella's energy
and enthusiasm. As a proof of what he had to contend
with, and what he triumphed over. Hallo's ' Life ' may
be quoted, where it says : ' When Mr. Ella asked me
[this was in 1848] what I wished to play, and heard that
it was one of Beethoven's pianoforte sonatas, he ex-
claimed " Impossible ! " and endeavoured to demonstrate
that they were not works to be played in public' What
seven-league boots the world has stridden in within the
memory of living men !

John Ella himself led the second violins in Costa's
band, and had begun life (so I have been told) as a pastry-
cook. I knew both him and the wonderful little French-
man, ' at home.' According to both, in their different
ways, Beethoven and Mozart would have been lost to
fame but for their heroic efforts to save them.

I used occasionally to play with Ella at the house of
a lady who gave musical parties. He was always attuned

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 103

to the highest pitch, — most good-natured, but most ex-
citable where music was to the fore. "We were rehearsing
a quintett, the pianoforte part of which was played by
the young lady of the house — a very pretty girl, and not
a bad musician, but nervous to the point of hysteria.
Ella himself was in a hypercritical state ; nothing would
go smoothly ; and the piano was always (according to
him) the peccant instrument. Again and again he made
us restart the movement. There were a good many friends
of the family invited to this last rehearsal, which made
it worse for the poor girl, who was obviously on the
brink of a breakdown. Presently Ella again jumped off
his chair, and shouted : ' Not E flat ! There's no E flat
there ; E natural ! E natural ! I never in my life knew
a young lady so prolific of flats as you.' There was a
pause, then a giggle, then an explosion ; and then the
poor girl, bursting into tears, rushed out of the room.

It was at Ella's house that I first heard Joachim, then
about sixteen, I suppose. He had not yet performed in
London. All the musical celebrities were present to hear
the youthful prodigy. Two quartetts were played, Ernst
leading one and Joachim the other. After it was over
everyone was enraptured, but no one more so than Ernst,
who unhesitatingly predicted the fame which the great
artist has so eminently achieved.

104 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XVI

Peoeablt the most important historical event of the year
'49 was the discovery of gold in California, or rather, the
great Western Exodus in pursuit of it. A restless desire
possessed me to see something of America, especially of
the Far West. I had an hereditary love of sport, and had
read and heard wonderful tales of bison, and grisly bears,
and wapitis. No books had so fascinated me, when a boy,
as the ' Deer-slayer,' the ' Pathfinder,' and the beloved
' Last of the Mohicans.' Here then was a new field for
adventure. I would go to California, and hunt my way
across the continent. Euxton's ' Life in the Far West '
inspired a belief in self-reliance and independence only
rivalled by Eobinson Crusoe. If I could not find a com-
panion, I would go alone. Little did I dream of the
fortune which was in store for me, or how nearly I missed
carrying out the scheme so wildly contemplated, or indeed,
any scheme at all.

The only friend I could meet with both willing and
able to join me was the last Lord Durham. He could not
undertake to go to California ; but he had been to New
York during his father's reign in Canada, and liked the
idea of revisiting the States. He proposed that we should
spend the winter in the West Indies, and after some
buffalo-shooting on the plains, return to England in the
autumn.

The notion of the West Indies gave rise to an off-
shoot. Both Durham and I were members of the old

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 105

Garrick, then but a small club in Covent Garden.
Amongst our mutual friends was Andrew Arcedeckne —
pronounced Archdeacon — a character to whom attaches a
peculiar literary interest, of which anon. Arcedeckne —
Archy, as he was commonly called — was about a couple of
years older than we were. He was the owner of Glever-
ing Hall, Suffolk, and nephew of Lord Huntingfield.
These particulars, as well as those of his person, are note-
worthy, as it will soon appear.

Archy — 'Merry Andrew,' as I used to call him, — owned
one of the finest estates in Jamaica — Golden Grove.
When he heard of our intended trip, he at once volun-
teered to go with us. He had never seen Golden Grove,
but had often wished to visit it. Thus it came to pass
that we three secured our cabins in one of the West India
mailers, and left England in December 1849.

To return to our little Suffolk squire. The description
of his figure, as before said, is all-important, though the
world is familiar with it, as drawn by the pencil of a master
caricaturist. Arcedeckne was about five feet three inches,
round as a cask, with a small singularly round face and
head, closely cropped hair, and large soft eyes, — in a word,
so like a seal, that he was as often called ' Phoca ' as Archy.

Do you recognise the portrait ? Do you need the help
of ' Glevering Hall ' (how curious the suggestion !). And
would you not like to hear him talk ? Here is a specimen
in his best manner. Surely it must have been taken down
by a shorthand vnriter, or a phonograph :

Mr. Harry Foker loquitur : ' He inquired for Bincer
and the cold in his nose, told Mrs. Eincer a riddle, asked
Miss Eincer when she would be prepared to marry him,
and paid his compliments to Miss Brett, another young
lady in the bar, all in a minute of time, and with a liveli-
ness and facetiousness which set all these young ladies
in a giggle. " Have a drop. Pen : it's recommended by the

106 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

faculty, &c. Give the young one a glass, E., and score it
up to yours truly." '

I fancy the great man who recorded these words was
more afraid of Mr. Harry Phoca than of any other man
in the Garrick Club — possibly for the reason that honest
Harry was not the least bit afraid of him. The shy, the
proud, the sensitive satirist would steal quietly into the
room, avoiding notice as though he wished himself in-
visible. Phoca would be warming his back at the fire,
and calling for a glass of ' Poker's own.' Seeing the giant
enter, he would advance a step or two, with a couple of
extended fingers, and exclaim, quite affably, ' Ha ! Mr.
Thackry ! litary cove ! Glad to see you, sir. How's
Major Dobbings ? ' and likely enough would turn to the
waiter, and bid him, ' Give this gent a glass of the same,
and score it up to yours truly ! ' We have his biographer's
word for it, that he would have winked at the Duke of
Wellington, with just as little scruple.

Yes, Andrew Arcedeckne was the original of Harry
Foker; and, from the cut of his clothes to his family
connection, and to the comicaUty, the simplicity, the
sweetness of temper (though hardly doing justice to the
loveableness of the httle man), the famous caricature fits
him to a T.

The night before we left London we had a convivial
dinner at the Garrick — we three travellers, with Albert
Smith, his brother, and John Leech. It was a merry
party, to which all contributed good fellowship and
innocent jokes. The latest arrival at the Zoo was the
first hippopotamus that had reached England, — a present
from the Khedive. Someone wondered how it had been
caught. I suggested a trout-fly ; which so tickled John
Leech's fancy that he promised to draw it for next
week's ' Punch.' Albert Smith went with us to South-
ampton to see us off.

TEACKS OF A KOLLING STONE 107

On our way to Jamaica we stopped a night at Barba-
does to coal. Here I had the honour of making the
acquaintance of the renowned Caroline Lee ! — Miss
Car'line, as the negroes called her. She was so pleased
at the assurance that her friend Mr. Peter Simple had
spread her fame all the world over, that she made us a
bowl of the most deUcious iced sangaree ; and speedily got
up a ' dignity ball ' for our entertainment. She was rather
too much of an armful to dance with herself, but there
was no lack of dark beauties, (not a white woman or white
man except ourselves in the room.) We danced pretty
nearly from daylight to daylight. The blending of rigid
propriety, of the severest ' dignity,' with the sudden
guffaw and outburst of wildest spirits and comic humour,
is beyond description, and is only to be met with
amongst these ebullient children of the sun.

On our arrival at Golden Grove, there was a great
turn-out of the natives to welcome their young lord and
' massa.' Archy was touched and amused by their frantic
loyalty. But their mode of exhibiting it was not so
entirely to his taste. Notonly the young, but the old women
wanted to hug him. ' Eigh ! Dat you, Massa ? Dat
you, sar ? Me no believe him. Out o' de way, you
trash ! Eigh ! me too much pleased like devil.' The one
constant and spontaneous ejaculation was, ' Yah ! Massa
too muchy handsome ! Garamighty ! Buckra berry
fat ! ' The latter attribute was the source of genuine
admiration ; but the object of it hardly appreciated its
recognition, and waved off his subjects with a mixture of
impatience and alarm.

We had scarcely been a week at Golden Grove, when
my two companions and Durham's servant were down
with yellow fever. Being 'salted,' perhaps, I escaped
scot-free, so helped Archy's valet and Mr. Forbes, his
factor, to nurse and to carry out professional orders. As

.108 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

we were thirty miles from Kingston the doctor could only
come every other day. The responsibility, therefore, of
attending three patients smitten with so deadly a disease
was no light matter. The factor seemed to think discre-
tion the better part of valour, and that Jamaica rum was
the best specific for keeping his up. All physicians were
Sangrados in those days, and when the Kingston doctor
decided upon bleeding, the hysterical state of the darky
girls (we had no men in the bungalow except Durham's
and Archy's servants) rendered them worse than useless.
It fell to me, therefore, to hold the basin while Archy's
man was attending to his master.

Durham, who had nerves of steel, bore his lot with
the grim stoicism which marked his character. But at
one time the doctor considered his state so serious that he
thought his lordship's family should be informed of it.
Accordingly I wrote to the last Lord Grey, his uncle and
guardian, stating that there was little hope of his re-
covery. Poor Phoca was at once tragic and comic. His
medicine had to be admininistered every two hours.
Each time, he begged and prayed in lacrymose tones to
be let off. It was doing him no good. He might as
well be allowed to die in peace. If we would only spare
him the beastliness this once, on his honour he would
take it next time ' like a man.' We were inexorable, of
course, and treated him exactly as one treats a child.

At last the crisis was over. Wonderful to relate, all
three began to recover. During their convalescence, I
amused myself by shooting alligators in the mangrove
swamps at Holland Bay, which was within half an hour's
ride of the bungalow. It was curious sport. The great
saurians would lie motionless in the pools amidst the
snake-like tangle of mangrove roots. They would float
with just their eyes and noses out of water, but so still
that, without a glass, (which I had not,) it was difficult

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 109

to distinguish their heads from the countless roots and
rotten logs around them. If one fired by mistake, the
sport was spoiled for an hour to come.

I used to sit watching by the hour for one of them to
show itself, or for something to disturb the glassy surface
of the dark waters. Overhead the foliage was so dense
that the heat was not oppressive. All Nature seemed
asleep. The deathlike stillness was rarely broken by the
faintest sound, — though unseen life, amidst the heat and
moisture, was teeming everywhere ; life feeding upon life.
For what purpose ? To what end ? Is this a primary law
of Nature ? Does cannibalism prevail in Mars ? Sometimes
a mocking-bird would pipe its weird notes, deepening
silence by the contrast. But besides pestilent mosquitos,
the only living things in sight were humming-birds of
every hue, some no bigger than a butterfly, fluttering over
the blossoms of the orchids, or darting from flower to
flower like flashes of prismatic rays.

I killed several alligators ; but one day, while stalking
what seemed to be an unusual monster, narrowly escaped
an accident. Under the excitement, my eye was so in-
tently fixed upon the object, that I rather felt than saw
my way. Presently over I went, just managed to save
my rifle, and, to my amazement, found I had set my foot
on a sleeping reptile. Fortunately the brute was as
much astonished as I was, and plunged with a splash into
the adjacent pool.

A Cambridge friend, Mr. Walter Shirley, owned an
estate at Trelawny, on the other side of Jamaica ; while
the invalids were recovering, I paid him a visit ; and was
initiated into the mysteries of cane-growing and sugar-
making. As the great split between the Northern and
Southern States on the question of slavery was pending,
the life, condition, and treatment of the negro was of
the greatest interest. Mr. Shirley was a gentleman of

110 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

exceptional ability, and full of valuable information on these
subjects. He passed me on to other plantations ; and I
made the complete round of the island before returning
to my comrades at Golden Grove. A few v^eeks after-
wards I stayed with a Spanish gentleman, the Marquis
d'Iznaga, who owned six large sugar plantations in Cuba ;
and rode with his son from Casilda to Cienfuegos, from
which port I got a steamer to the Havana. The ride
afforded abundant opportunities of comparing the slave
with the free negro. But, as I have written on the
subject elsewhere, I will pass to matters more enter-
taining.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 111

CHAPTEE XVII

On my arrival at the Havana I found that Durham, who
was still an invalid, had taken up his quarters at Mr.
Crauford's, the Consul-G-eneral. Phoca, who was nearly
well again, was at the hotel, the only one in the town.
And who should I meet there but my old Cambridge ally,
Fred, the last Lord Calthorpe. This event was a fruitful
one, — it determined the plans of both of us for a year or
more to come.

Fred — as I shall henceforth call him — had just re-
turned from a hunting expedition in Texas, with another
sportsman whom he had accidentally met there. This
gentleman ultimately became of even more importance to
me than my old friend. I purposely abstain from giving
either his name or his profession, for reasons which will
become obvious enough by-and-by ; the outward man may
be described. He stood well over six feet in his socks ;
his frame and limbs were those of a gladiator; he could
crush a horseshoe in one hand ; he had a small head with
a bull-neck, purely Grecian features, thick curly hair with
crisp beard and silky moustache. He so closely resembled
a marble Hercules that (as he must have a name) we will
call him Samson.

Before Fred stumbled upon him, he had spent a winter
camping out in the snows of Canada, bear and elk shoot-
ing. He was six years or so older than either of us — i.e.
about eight-and-twenty.

As to Fred Calthorpe, it would be difficult to find a

112 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

more 'manly' man. He was unacquainted with fear.
Yet his courage, though sometimes reckless, was by no
means of the brute kind. He did not run risks unless he
thought the gain would compensate them ; and no one was
more capable of weighing consequences than he. His
temper was admirable, his spirits excellent ; and for any
enterprise where danger and hardship were to be en-
countered few men could haA^e been better qualified. By
the end of a week these two had agreed to accompany me
across the Eocky Mountains.

Before leaving the Havana, I witnessed an event which,
though disgusting in itself, gives rise to serious reflections.
Every thoughtful reader is conversant enough with them ;
if, therefore, he should find them out of place or trite,
apology is needless, as he wiH pass them by without the
asking.

The circumstance referred to is a public execution.
Mr. Sydney Smith, the vice-consul, informed me that a
criminal was to be garrotted on the following morning ;
and asked me whether I cared to look over the pri *n
and see the man in his cell that afternoon. We went
together. The poor vrretch bore the stamp of innate
brutality. His crime was the most revolting that a
human being is capable of — the violation and murder
of a mere child. When we were first admitted he was
sullen, merely glaring at us ; but, hearing the warder
describe his crime, he became furiously abusive, and
worked himself into such a passion that, had he not been
chained to the wall, he would certainly have attacked us.

At half-past six next morning I went with Mr. Smith
to the Campo del Marte, the principal square. The crowd
had already assembled, and the tops of the houses were
thronged vfith spectators. The women, dressed as if
for a bull-fight or a ball, occupied the front seats. By
squeezing and pushing we contrived to get within eight

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 113

or nine yards of the machine, where I had not long been
before the procession was seen moving up the Passeo.
A few mounted troops were in front to clear the road ;
behind them came the Host, with a number of priests and
the prisoner on foot, dressed in white ; a large guard
brought up the rear. The soldiers formed an open square.
The executioner, the culprit, and one priest ascended the
steps of the platform.

The garrotte is a short stout post, at the top of which
is an iron crook, just wide enough to admit the neck of
a man seated in a chair beneath it. Through the post,
parallel with the crook, is the loop of a rope, whose ends
are fastened to a bar held by the executioner. The loop,
being round the throat of the victim, is so powerfully
tightened from behind by half a turn of the bar, that an
extra twist would sever a man's head from his body.

The murderer showed no signs of fear; he quietly
seated himself, but got up again to adjust the chair
and make himself comfortable ! The executioner then
arranged the rope round his neck, tied his legs and his
arms, and retired behind the post. At a word or a look
from the priest the wrench was turned. For a single
instant the limbs of the victim were convulsed, and all
was over.

No exclamation, no whisper of horror escaped from
the lookers on. Such a scene was too familiar to excite
any feehng but morbid curiosity ; and, had the execution
taken place at the usual spot instead of in the town, few
would have given themselves the trouble to attend it.

It is impossible to see or even to think of what is here
described without gravely meditating on its suggestions.
Is capital punishment justifiable ? This is the question I
purpose to consider in the following chapter.

114 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEK XVIII

All punishments or penal remedies for crime, except
capital punishment, may be considered from two points
of view : First, as they regard Society ; secondly, as they
regard the offender.

Where capital punishment is resorted to, the sole end
in view is the protection of Society. The malefactor
being put to death, there can be no thought of his amend-
ment. And so far as this particular criminal is concerned.
Society is henceforth in safety.

But (still looking to the individual), as equal security
could be obtained by his imprisonment for life, the ex-
treme measure of putting him to death needs justifica-
tion. This is found in the assumption that death being
the severest of all punishments now permissible, no other
penalty is so efficacious in preventing the crime or crimes
for which it is inflicted. Is the assumption borne out by
facts, or by inference ?

For facts we naturally turn to statistics. Switzerland
abolished capital punishment in 1874 ; but cases of
premeditated murder having largely increased during
the next five years, it was restored by Federal legis-
lation in 1879. Still there is nothing conclusive to be
inferred from the fact. We must seek for guidance
elsewhere.

Eeverting to the above assumption, we must ask :
First, Is the death punishment the severest of all evils,
and to what extent does the fear of it act as a preven-

TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 115

tive ? Secondly, Is it true that no other punishment would
serve as powerfully in preventing murder by intimi-
dation ?

Is punishment by death the most dreaded of all
evils ? ' This assertion,' says Bentham, ' is true with
respect to the majority of mankind ; it is not true with
respect to the greatest criminals.' It is pretty certain that
a malefactor steeped in crime, living in extreme want,
misery and apprehension, must, if he reflects at all, con-
template a violent end as an imminent possibility. He
has no better future before him, and may easily come to
look upon death with brutal insensibility and defiance-
The indifference exhibited by the garrotted man getting
up to adjust his chair is probably common amongst
criminals of his type.

Again, take such a crime as that of the Cuban's : the
passion which leads to it is the fiercest and most un-
governable which man is subject to. Sexual jealousy
also is one of the most frequent causes of murder. So
violent is this passion that the victim of it is often quite
prepared to sacrifice life rather than forego indulgence, or
allow another to supplant him ; both men and women
will gloat over the murder of a rival, and gladly accept
death as its penalty, rather than survive the possession of
the desired object by another.

Further, in addition to those who yield to fits of
passion, there is a class whose criminal promptings are
hereditary : a large number of unfortunates of whom it
may almost be said that they were destined to commit
crimes. 'It is unhappily a fact,' says Mr. Francis
Galton (' Inquiries into Human Faculty '), ' that fairly
distinct types of criminals breeding true to their kind
have become established.' And he gives extraordinary
examples, which fully bear out his affirmation. We may
safely say that, in a very large number of cases, the worst

I 2

116 TEACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

crimes are perpetrated by beings for whom the death
penalty has no preventive terrors.

But it is otherwise with the majority. Death itself,
apart from punitive aspects, is a greater evil to those for
whom life has greater attractions. Besides this, the
permanent disgrace of capital punishment, the lasting
injury to the criminal's family and to all who are dear to
him, must be far more cogent incentives to self-control
than the mere fear of ceasing to live.

With the criminal and most degraded class — with
those who are actuated by violent passions and hereditary
taints, the class by which most murders are committed —
the death punishment would seem to be useless as an in-
timidation or an example.

With the majority it is more than probable that it
exercises a strong and beneficial influence. As no mere
social distinction can eradicate innate instincts, there
must be a large proportion of the majority, the better-to-
do, who are both occasionally and habitually subject to
criminal propensities, and who shall say how many of
these are restrained from the worst of crimes by fear of
capital punishment and its consequences ?

On these grounds, if they be not fallacious, the reten-
tion of capital punishment may be justified.

Secondly. Is the assumption tenable that no other
penalty makes so strong an impression or is so pre-
eminently exemplary? Bentham thus answers the
question : ' It appears to me that the contemplation of
perpetual imprisonment, accompanied with hard labour
and occasional solitary confinement, would produce a deeper
impression on the minds of persons in whom it is more
eminently desirable that that impression should be pro-
duced than even death itself. . . . All that renders death
less formidable to them renders laborious restraint pro-
portionably more irksome.' There is doubtless a certain

TRA.CKS OF A ROLLING STONE 117

measure of truth in these remarks. But Bentham is
here speaking of the degraded class ; and is it likely that
such would reflect seriously upon what they never see
and only know by hearsay ? Think how feeble are their
powers of imagination and reflection, how little they
would be impressed by such additional severities as
' occasional solitary confinement,' the occurrence and the
effects of which would be known to no one outside the jail.

As to the ' majority,' the higher classes, the fact that
men are often imprisoned for offences — political and others —
which they are proud to suffer for, would always attenuate
the ignominy attached to 'imprisonment.' And were this
the only penalty for all crimes, for first-class misde-
meanants and for the most atrocious of criminals alike,
the distinction would not be very finely drawn by the
interested ; at the most, the severest treatment as an
alternative to capital punishment would always savour of
extenuating circumstances.

There remain two other points of view from which
the question has to be considered : one is what may be
called the Vindictive, the other, directly opposed to it, the
Sentimental argument. The first may be dismissed with
a word or two. In civilised countries torture is for ever
abrogated ; and with it, let us hope, the idea of judicial
vengeance.

The lex talionis — the Levitic law — ' Eye for eye, tooth
for tooth,' is befitting only for savages. Unfortunately
the Christian religion still promulgates and passionately
clings to the belief in Hell as a place or state of everlast-
ing torment — that is to say, of eternal torture inflicted for
no ultimate end save that of implacable vengeance. Of all
the miserable superstitions ever hatched by the brain of
man this, as indicative of its barbarous origin, is the most
degrading. As an ordinance ascribed to a Being wor-
shipped as just and beneficent, it is blasphemous.

118 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

The Sentimental argument, like all arguments based
upon feeling rather than reason, though not without merit,
is fraught with mischief which far outweighs it. There
are always a number of people in the world who refer to
their feelings as the highest human tribunal. When
the reasoning faculty is not very strong, the process of
ratiocination irksome, and the issue perhaps unacceptable,
this course affords a convenient solution to many a com-
plicated problem. It commends itself, moreover, to those
who adopt it, by the sense of chivalry which it involves.
There is something generous and noble, albeit quixotic,
in siding with the weak, even if they be in the wrong.
There is something charitable in the judgment, ' Oh ! poor
creature, think of his adverse circumstances, his ignor-
ance, his temptation. Let us be merciful and forgiving.'
In practice, however, this often leads astray. Thus in
most cases, even where premeditated murder is proved to
the hilt, the sympathy of the sentimentalist is invariably
with the murderer, to the complete oblivion of the victim's
family.

Bentham, speaking of the humanity plea, thus words
its argument : ' Attend not to the sophistries of reason,
which often deceive, but be governed by your hearts,
which will always lead you right. I reject without hesi-
tation the punishment you propose : it violates natural
feelings, it harrows up the susceptible mind, it is tyran-
nical and cruel.' Such is the language of your sentimental
orators.

' But abolish any one penal law merely because it is
repugnant to the feelings of a humane heart, and, if con-
sistent, you abolish the whole penal code. There is not
one of its provisions that does not, in a more or less
painful degree, wound the sensibility.'

As this writer elsewhere observes : ' It is only a virtue
when justice has done its work, &c. Before this, to forgive

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 119

injuries is to invite their perpetration — is to be, not the
friend, but the enemy of society. What could wicked-
ness desire more than an arrangement by which offences
should be always followed by pardon ? '

Sentiment is the ultima ratio feminarum, and of men
whose natures are of the epicene gender. It is a luxury
we must forego in the face of the stern duties which evil
compels us to encounter.

There is only one other argument against capital
punishment that is worth considering.

The objection so strenuously pleaded by Dickens in
his letters to the ' Times ' — viz. the brutalising effects
upon the degraded crowds which witnessed public execu-
tions — is no longer apposite. But it may still be urged
with no little force that the extreme severity of the
sentence induces all concerned in the conviction of the
accused to shirk the responsibility. Informers, pro-
secutors, witnesses, judges, and jurymen are, as a rule,
liable to ' reluctance as to the performance of their re-
spective parts in the melancholy drama.' The consequence
is that 'the benefit of the doubt,' while salving the con-
sciences of these servants of the law, not unfrequently
turns a real criminal loose upon society ; whereas, had
any other penalty than death been feasible, the same
person would have been found guilty.

Much might be said on either side, but on the whole
it would seem wisest to leave things — in this country —
as they are ; and, for one, I am inclined to the belief that,

Mercy murders, pardoning those that kill.

120 TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XIX

We were nearly six weeks in the Havana, being detained
by Lord Durham's illness. I provided myself with a
capital Spanish master, and made the most of him.
This, as it turned out, proved very useful to me in the
course of my future travels. About the middle of March
we left for Charlestown in the steamer Isabel, and thence
on to New York. On the passage to Charlestown, we
were amused one evening by the tricks of a conjuror. I
had seen the man and his wife perform at the Egyptian
Hall, Piccadilly. She was called the ' Mysterious Lady.'
The papers were full of speculations as to the nature of
the mystery. It was the town talk and excitement of the
season.

This was the trick. The lady sat in the corner of a
large room, facing the wall, with her eyes bandaged. The
company were seated as far as possible from her. Any-
one was invited to write a few words on a slip of paper,
and hand it to the man, who walked amongst the
spectators. He would simply say to the woman ' What
has the gentleman (or lady) written upon this paper?'
Without hesitation she would reply correctly. The man
was always the medium. One person requested her,
through the man, to read the number on his watch, the
figures being, as they always are, very minute. The man
repeated the question : ' What is the number on this
watch ? ' The woman, without hesitation, gave it cor-
rectly. A friend at my side, a young Guardsman, took a

TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE ] 21

cameo ring from his finger, and asked for a description of
the figures in relief. There was a pause. The woman
was evidently perplexed. She confessed at last that she
was unable to answer. The spectators murmured. My
friend began to laugh. The conjuror's bread was at
stake, but he was equal to the occasion. He at once
explained to the company that the cameo represented
' Leeder and the Swan in a hambigious position, which
the lady didn't profess to know nothing about.' This
apology, needless to say, completely re-established the
lady's character.

Well, recognising my friend of the Egyptian Hall,
I reminded him of the incident. He remembered it per-
fectly ; and we fell to chatting about the wonderful
success of the 'mystery,' and about his and the lady's
professional career. He had begun life when a boy as a
street acrobat, had become a street conjuror, had married
the ' mysterious lady ' out of the ' saw-dust,' as he ex-
pressed it — meaning out of a travelling circus. After that,
' things had gone 'ard ' with them. They had exhausted
their resources in every sense. One night, lying awake,
and straining their brains to devise some means of sub-
sistence, his wife suddenly exclaimed, ' How would it be
if we were to try so and so ? ' explaining the trick just
described. His answer was : ' Oh ! that's too silly. They'd
see through it directly.' This was all I could get out of
him : this, and the fact that the trick, first and last, had
made them fairly comfortable for the rest of their days.

Now mark what follows, for it is the gist and moral
of my little story about this conjuror, and about two other
miracle workers whom I have to speak of presently.

Once upon a time, I was discussing with an acquaint-
ance the not unfamiliar question of Immortality. I
professed Agnosticism — strongly impregnated with in-
credulity. My friend had no misgivings, no doubts on

122 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

the subject whatever. Absolute certainty is the preroga-
tive of the orthodox. He had taken University honours,
and was a man of high position at the Bar. I was curious
to learn upon what grounds such an one based his belief.
His answer was : ' Upon the phenomena of electro-biology,
and the psychic phenomena of mesmerism.' His ' first
convictions were established by the manifestations of the
soul as displayed through a woman called " The Mysterious
Lady," who, &c., &c.'

When we have done with our thaumaturgist on board
the Isabel, I will give another instance, precisely similar
to this, of the simple origin of religious beliefs.

The steamer was pretty full ; and the conjuror begged
me to obtain the patronage of my noble friend and the
rest of our party for an entertainment he proposed to give
that evening. This was easily secured, and a goodly sum
was raised by dollar tickets. The sleight-of-hand was
excellent. But the special performance of the evening
deserves description in full. It was that of a whist-playing
dog. Three passengers — one of us taking a hand — played
as in dummy whist, dummy's hand being spread in a
long row upon the deck of the saloon cabin. The conjuror,
as did the other passengers, walked about behind the
players, and saw all the players' hands, but not a word
was spoken. The dog played dummy's hand. When it
came to his turn he trotted backwards and forwards,
smelling each card that had been dealt to him. He some-
times hesitated, then comically shaking his head, would
leave it to smell another. The conjuror stood behind the
dog's partner, and never went near the animal. There
was no table — the cards were thrown on the deck. They
were dealt by the players; the conjuror never touched
them. When the dog's mind was made up, he took his card
in his mouth and laid it on the others. His play was
infallible. He and his partner won the rubber with ease.

TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 123

Now, to those ignorant of the solution, this must,
I think, seem inexplicable. How was collusion managed
between the animal and its master ? One of the condi-
tions insisted upon by the master himself was silence.
He certainly never broke it. I bought the trick — must I
confess it? for twenty dollars. How transparent most
things are, when seen through ! When the dog smelt at
the right card, the conjuror, who saw all four hands, and
had his own in his pocket, clicked his thumb-nail against
a finger-nail. The dog alone could hear it, and played the
card accordingly.

The other story : A few years after my return to
England, a great friend called upon me, and, in an excited
state, described a sSance he had had with a woman who
possessed the power of ' invoking ' spirits. These spirits
had correctly replied to questions, the answers to which
were only known to himself. The woman was an
American. I am sorry to say I have forgotten her name,
but I think she was the first of her tribe to visit this
country. As in the case spoken of, my friend was much
affected by the results of the sSance. He was a well-
educated and intelligent man. Born to wealth, he had
led a somewhat wildish life in his youth. Henceforth he
became more serious, and eventually turned Eoman
Catholic. He entreated me to see the woman, which I
did.

I wrote to ask for an appointment. She lived in
Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square; but on the day after
the morrow she was to change her lodgings to Queen
Anne Street, where she would receive me at 11 a.m. I
was punctual to a minute, and was shown into an ordi-
nary furnished room. The maid informed me that Mrs.

had not yet arrived from Charlotte Street, but she

was sure to come before long, as she had an engagement
(so she said) with a gentleman.

124 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Nothing could have suited me better. I immediately
set to work to examine the room and the furniture with
the greatest care. I looked under and moved the sofa,
tables, and armchairs. I looked behind the curtains,
under the rug, and up the chimney. I could discover
nothing. There was not the vestige of a spirit anywhere.
At last the medium entered — a plain, middle-aged miatron
with nothing the least spiritual about her. She seated
herself opposite to me at the round table in the centre of
the room, and demurely asked what I wanted. ' To com-
municate with the spirits,' I replied. She did not know
whether that was possible. It depended upon the person
who sought them. She would ask the spirits whether
they would confer with me. Whereupon, she put the
question : ' Will the spirits converse with this gentle-
man ? ' At all events, thought I, the term ' gentleman '
applies to the next world, which is a comfort. She
listened for the answer. Presently three distinct raps on
the table signified assent. She then took from her reticule
a card whereon were printed the alphabet, and numerals
up to 10. The letters were separated by transverse lines.
She gave me a pencil with these instructions : I was to
think, not utter, my question, and then put the pencil on
each of the letters in succession. When the letters were
touched which spelt the answer, the spirits would rap,
and the words could be written down.

My friend had told me this much, so I came prepared.
I began by politely begging the lady to move away from
the table at which we were seated, and take a chair in the
furthest corner of the room. She indignantly complied,
asking if I suspected her. I replied that ' all ladies were
dangerous, when they were charming,' which put us on
the best of terms. I placed my hat so as to intercept her
view of my operations, and thus pursued them.

Thinking the matter over beforehand, I concluded that

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 125

when the questioner, of either sex, was young, love would
very probably be the topic ; the flesh, not the spirit, would
be the predominant interest. Being an ingenuous young
man of the average sort, and desperately in love with
Susan, let us say, I should naturally assist the super-
natural being, if at a loss, to understand that the one
thing wanted was information about Susan. I therefore
mentally asked the question : ' Who is the most lovely
angel without wings, and with the means of sitting
down ? ' and proceeded to pass the pencil over the letters,
pausing nowhere. I now and then got a doubtful rap
on or under the table, — how delivered I know not — but
signifying nothing. It was clear the spirits needed a cue.
I put the pencil on the letter S, and kept it there. I
got a tentative rap. I passed at once to U. I got a
more confident rap. Then to S. Eap, rap, without
hesitation. A and N were assented to almost before I
touched them. Susan was an angel —the angel. What
more logical proof could I have of the immortality of the
soul?

Mrs. asked me whether I was satisfied. I said it

was miraculous ; so much so indeed, that I could hardly
believe the miracle, until corroborated by another. Would
the spirits be kind enough to suspend this pencil in the
air ? ' Oh ! that was nonsense. The spirits never lent
themselves to mere frivolity.' ' I beg the spirits' pardon,
I am sure,' said I. ' I have heard that they often move
heavy tables. I thought perhaps the pencil would save
them trouble. Will they move this round table up to
this little one ? ' I had, be it observed, when alone,
moved and changed the relative positions of both tables ;
and had determined to make this my crucial test. To my

astonishment, Mrs. replied that she could not say

whether they would or not. She would ask them. She
did so, and the spirits rapped ' Yes.'

126 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

I drew my chair aside. The woman remained seated
in the corner. I watched everything. Nothing happened.
After a while, I took out my watch, and said : ' I fear
the spirits do not intend to keep their word. I have an
appointment twenty minutes hence, and can only give
them ten minutes more.' She calmly replied she had
nothing to do with it. I had heard what the spirits
said. I had better wait a little longer. Scarcely were
the words out of her mouth, when the table gave a dis-
tinct crack, as if about to start. The medium instantly
called my attention to it. I jumped out of my seat,
passed between the two tables, when of a sudden the
large table moved in the direction of the smaller one, and
did not stop till it had pushed the little one over. I make
no comments. No explanation to me is conceivable.
I simply narrate what happened as accurately as I am
able.

One other case deserves to be added to the above.
I have connected both of the foregoing with religious
persuasions. The stance I anl about to speak of was for
the express purpose of bringing a brokenhearted and
widowed mother into communication with the soul of her
only son — a young artist of genius whom I had known,
and who had died about a year before. The occasion was,
of course, a solemn one. The interest of it was enhanced
by the presence of the great apostle of Spiritualism — Sir
William Crookes. The medium was Miss Kate Fox,
again an American. The sSaiice took place in the house
of a very old friend of mine, the late Dr. George Bird.
He had spiritualistic tendencies, but was supremely honest
and single-minded ; utterly incapable of connivance with
deception of any kind. As far as I know, the medium had
never been in the room before. The company present
were Dr. Bird's intimate friend Sir William Crookes —
future President of the Eoyal Society — Miss Bird, Dr.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 127

Bird's daughter, and her husband — Mr. lonides — and

Mrs. , the mother of the young artist. The room, a

large one, was darkened ; the last light being extinguished
after we had taken our places round the dining-table.
We were strenuously enjoined to hold one another's
hands. Unless we did so the siance would fail.

Before entering the room, I secretly arranged with
Mr. lonides, who shared my scepticism, that we should
sit side by side ; and so each have one hand free. It is
not necessary to relate what passed between the unhappy
mother and the medium, suffice it to say that she put
questions to her son ; and the medium interpreted the
rappings which came in reply. These, I believe, were all
the poor lady could wish for. To the rest of us, the
astounding events of the seance were the dim lights,
accompanied by faint sounds of an accordion, which
floated about the room over our heads. And now comes,
to me, the strangest part of the whole performance. All
the while I kept my right arm extended under the table,
moving my hand to and fro. Presently it touched some-
thing. I make a grab, and caught, but could not hold for
an instant, another hand. It was on the side away from
Mr. lonides. I said nothing, except to him, and the
seance was immediately broken up.

It may be thought by some that this narration is a
biassed one. But those acquainted with the charlatanry
in these days of what is called ' Christian Science,' and
know the extent to which crass ignorance and predisposed
credulity can be duped by childish delusions, may have
some idea how acute was the spirit-rapping epidemic some
forty or fifty years ago. ' At this moment,' writes Froude,
in ' Fraser's Magazine,' 1863, ' we are beset with reports
of conversations with spirits, of tables miraculously lifted,
of hands projecting out of the world of shadows into this
mortal life. An unusually able, accomplished person.

128 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

accustomed to deal with common-sense facts, a celebrated
political economist, and notorious for business-like habits,
assured this writer that a certain mesmerist, who was my
informer's intimate friend, had raised a dead girl to life.'

Can we wonder that miracles are still believed in ?
Ah ! no. The need, the dire need, of them remains, and
will remain with us for ever.

TRACKS OF A KOLLING STONE 129

CHAPTEK XX

We must move on ; we have a long and rough journey
before us. Durham had old friends in New York, Fred
Calthorpe had letters to Colonel Fremont, who was then
a candidate for the Presidency, and who had discovered
the South Pass ; and Mr. EUice had given me a letter to
John Jacob Astor — th^ American millionaire of that day.
We were thus well provided with introductions ; and
nothing could exceed the kindness and hospitality of our
American friends.

But time was precious. It was already mid May, and
we had everything to get — wagons, horses, men, mules, and
provisions. So that we were anxious not to waste a day,
but huny on to St. Louis as fast as we could. Durham
was too ill to go with us. Phoca had never intended to
do so. Fred, Samson, and I, took leave of our com-
panion^, and travelling vi4 the Hudson to Albany, Buffalo,
down Lake Erie, and across to Chicago, we reached St.
Louis in about eight days. As a single illustration of
what this meant before railroads, Samson and I, having
to stop a day at Chicago, hired a buggy and drove into
the neighbouring woods, or wilderness, to hunt for wild
turkeys.

Our outfit, the whole of which we got at St. Louis,
consisted of two heavy wagons, nine mules, and eight
horses. We hired eight men, on the nominal under-
standing that they were to go with us as far as the Eocky
Mountains on a hunting expedition. In reality all seven

K

130 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

of them, before joining us, had separately decided to go to
California.

Having published in 1852 an account of our journey,
entitled 'A Eide over the Eocky Mountains,' I shall not
repeat the story, but merely give a summary of the under-
taking, with a few of the more striking incidents to show
what travelling across unknown America entailed fifty or
sixty years ago.

A steamer took us up the Missouri to Omaha. Here
we disembarked on the confines of occupied territory.
From near this point, where the Platte river empties into
the Missouri, to the mouth of the Columbia, on the
Pacific — which we ultimately reached — is at least 1,500
miles as the crov/ flies ; for us (as we had to follow water-
courses and avoid impassable ridges) it was very much
more. Some five-and-forty miles from our starting-place
we passed a small village called Savannah. Between it
and Vancouver there was not a single white man's abode,
with the exception of three trading stations — mere mud
buildings — Fort Laramie, Fort Hall, and Fort Boise.

The vast prairies on this side of the Eocky Mountains
were grazed by herds of countless bison, wapiti, antelope,
and deer of various species. These were hunted by
moving tribes of Indians — Pawnees, Omahaws, Cheyennes,
Ponkaws, Sioux, &c. On the Pacific side of the great
range, a due west course — which ours was as near as we
could keep it — lay across a huge rocky desert of volcanic
debris, where hardly any vegetation was to be met with,
save artemisia — a species of wormwood — scanty blades of
gramma grass, and occasional osiers by river-banks. The
rivers themselves often ran through canons or gulches, so
deep that one might travel for days within a hundred feet
of water yet perish (some of our animals did so) for the
want of a drop to drink. Game was here very scarce — a
few antelope, wolves, and abundance of rattlesnakes, were

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE ]31

nearly the only living things we saw. The Indians were
mainly fishers of the Shoshone — or Great Snake Eiver —
tribe, feeding mostly on salmon, which they speared with
marvellous dexterity ; and Eoot-diggers, who live upon
wild roots. When hard put to it, however, in winter,
the latter miserable creatures certainly, if not the former,
devoured their own children. There was no map of the
country. It was entirely unexplored ; in fact, Bancroft
the American historian, in his description of the Indian
tribes, quotes my account of the Eoot-diggers ; which
shows how little was known of this region up to this date.
I carried a small compass fastened round my neck. That
and the stars (we travelled by night when in the vicinity
of Indians) were my only guides for hundreds of dreary
miles.

Such then was the task we had set ourselves to grapple
with. As with life itself, nothing but the magic powers
of youth and ignorance could have cajoled us to face it
with heedless confidence and eager zest. These conditions
given, with health — the one essential of all enjoyment —
added, the first escape from civilised restraint, the first
survey of primordial nature as seen in the boundless
expanse of the open prairie, the habitat of wild men and
wild animals, — exhilarate one with emotions akin to the
schoolboy's rapture in the playground, and the thoughtful
man's contemplation of the stars. Freedom and change,
space and the possibilities of the unknown, these are
constant elements of our day-dreams ; now and then
actual life dangles visions of them before our eyes, alas !
only to teach us that the aspirations which they inspire
are, for the most part, illusory.

Brief indeed, in our case, were the pleasures of novelty.
For the first few days the business was a continuous
picnic for all hands. It was a pleasure to be obliged to
help to set up the tents, to cut wood, to fetch water, to

B %

132 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

harness the mules, and work exactly as the paid men
worked. The equality in this respect — that everything
each wanted done had to be done with his own hands —
was perfect ; and never, from first to last, even when
starvation left me bare strength to lift the saddle on
to my horse, did I regret the necessity, or desire to be
dependent on another man. But the bloom soon wore
off the plum ; and the pleasure consisted not in doing but
in resting when the work was done.

For the reason already stated, a sample only of the
daily labour will be given. It may be as well first to
bestow a few words upon the men ; for, in the long run,
our fellow beings are the powerful factors, for good or ill,
in all our worldly enterprises.

We had two ordinary mule-drivers — Potter and Morris,
a little acrobat out of a travelling circus, a metif or
half-breed Indian named Jim, two French Canadians —
Nelson and Louis (the latter spoke French only) ; Jacob,
a Pennsylvanian auctioneer whose language was a mixture
of Dutch, Yankee, and German ; and (after we reached
Fort Laramie) another Nelson — ' William ' as I shall call
him — who offered his services gratis if we would allow him
to go with us to California.

Jacob the Dutch Yankee was the most intelligent and
the most useful of the lot, and was unanimously elected
cook for the party. The Canadian Nelson was a hard-
working good young fellow, with a passionate temper.
Louis was a hunter by profession, Gallic to the tip of his
moustache — fond of slapping his breast and telling of the
mighty deeds of nous autres en haut. Jim, the half-breed,
was Indian by nature — idle, silent, treacherous, but a
crafty hunter. William deserves special mention, not
from any idiosyncrasy of the man, but because he was
concerned soon after he joined us in the most disastrous
of my adventures throughout the expedition.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 133

To look at, William Nelson might have sat for the
portrait of Leatherstocking. He was a tall gaunt
man who had spent his youth bringing rafts of timber
down the Wabash river, from Fort Wayne to Maumee,
in Ohio. For the last six years (he was three-and-thirty)
he had been trapping musk rats and beaver, and dealing in
pelts generally. At the time of our meeting he was
engaged to a Miss Mary something — the daughter of an
English immigrant, who would not consent to the marriage
imtil William was better off. He was now bound for
California, where he hoped to make the required fortune.
The poor fellow was very sentimental about his Mary ;
but, despite his weatherbeaten face, hardy-looking frame,
and his ' longue carabine,' he was scarcely the hero which,
no doubt. Miss -Mary took him for.

Yes, the novelty soon wore off. We had necessaries
enough to last to California. We also had enough
unnecessaries to bring us to grief in a couple of weeks.
Our wagons were loaded to the roof. And seeing there
was no road nor so much as a track, that there were
frequent swamps and small rivers to be crossed, that our
Comanche mules were wilder than the Indians who had
owned them, it may easily be believed that our rate of
progress did not average more than six or seven miles a
day ; sometimes it took from dawn to dusk to cross a
stream by ferrying our packages, and emptied wagons, on
such rafts as could be extemporised. Before the end of a
fortnight, both wagons were shattered, wheels smashed,
and axles irreparable. The men, who were as refractory
as the other animals, helped themselves to provisions,
tobacco and whisky, at their own sweet will, and treated
our remonstrances with resentment and contempt.

Heroic measures were exigent. The wagons were
broken up and converted into pack saddles. Both tents,
masses of provisions, 100 lbs. of lead for bullets, kegs of

134 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

powder, warm clothing, mackintoshes, waterproof sheet-
ing, tarpaulins, medicine chest, and bags of sugar, were
flung aside to waste their sweetness on the desert soil.
Not one of us had ever packed a saddle before ; and cer-
tainly not one of the mules had ever carried, or to all
appearances, ever meant to carry, a pack. It was a fight
between man and beast every day — twice a day indeed,
for we halted to rest and feed, and had to unpack and repack
our remaining impedimenta in payment for the indulgence.

Let me cite a page from my diary. It is a fair specimen
of scores of similar entries.

'June 2^th. — My morning watch. Up at 1 A.M.
Eoused the men at 3.30. Off at 7.30. Eained hard
all day. Packs slipped or kicked off eighteen times before
halt. Men grumbling. Nelson and Jim both too ill
to work. When adjusting pack. Nelson and Louis had
a desperate quarrel. Nelson drew his knife and nearly
stabbed Louis. I snatched a pistol out of my holster,
and threatened to shoot Nelson unless he shut up. Fred,
of course, laughed incontinently at the notion of my com-
mitting murder, which spoilt the dramatic effect.

' Oh ! these devils of mules ! After repacking, they
rolled, they kicked and bucked, they screamed and bit,
as though we were all in Hell, and didn't know it. It
took four men to pack each one ; and the moment their
heads were loosed, away they went into the river, over
the hills, and across country as hard as they could lay
legs to ground. It was a cheerful sight ! — the flour and
biscuit stuff swimming about in the stream, the hams in
a ditch full of mud, the trailed pots and pans bumping
and rattling on the ground until they were as shapeless
as old wide-awakes. And, worst of all, the pack-saddles,
which had delayed us a week to make— nothing now but
a bundle of splinters.

' 2Mh. — What a night ! A fearful storm broke over us.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 135

All round was like a lake. Fred and I sat, back to back,
percbed on a flour bag till daylight, with no covering
but our shooting jackets, our feet in a pool, and bodies
streaming like cascades. Eepeated lightning seemed to
strike the ground within a few feet of us. The animals,
wild with terror, stampeded in all directions. In the
morning, lo and behold ! Samson on his back in the
water, insensibly drunk. At first I thought he was dead ;
but he was only dead drunk. We can't move till he
can, unless we bequeath him to the wolves, which are
plentiful. This is the third time he has served us the same
trick. I took the liberty to ram my heel through the
whisky keg (we have kept a small one for emergencies)
and put it empty under his head for a pillow.'

There were plenty of days and nights to match these,
but there were worse in store for us.

One evening, travelling along the North Platte river,
before reaching Laramie, we overtook a Mormon family
on their way to Salt Lake city. They had a light covered
wagon with hardly anything in it but a small supply of
flour and bacon. It was drawn by four oxen and two
cows. Four milch cows were driven. The man's name
was Blazzard — a Yorkshireman from the Wolds, whose
speech was that of Learoyd. He had only his wife and
a very pretty daughter of sixteen or seventeen with him.
We asked him how he became a Mormon. He answered :
' From conviction,' and entreated us to be baptized in
the true faith at his hands. The offer was tempting,
for the pretty little milkmaid might have become one of
one's wives on the spot. In truth the sweet nymph urged
conversion more persuasively than her papa — though
with what views who shall say ? The old farmer's ac-
quaintance with the Bible was remarkable. He quoted it
at every sentence, and was eloquent upon the subject
of the meaning and the origin of the word ' Bible.' He

136 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

assured us the name was given to the Holy Book from
the circumstance of its contents having passed a synod of
prophets, just as an Act of Parliament passes the House
of Commons — hy Bill. Hence its title. It was this
historical fact that guaranteed the authenticity of the
sacred volume. There are various reasons for believing —
this is one of them.

The next day, being Sunday, was spent in sleep. In
the afternoon I helped the Yorkshire lassie to herd her
cattle, which had strayed a long distance amongst the
rank herbage by the banks of the Platte. The heat was
intense, well over 120 in the sun ; and the mosquitos rose
in clouds at every step in the wet grass. It was an easy
job for me, on my little grey, to gallop after the cows and
drive them home, (it would have been a wearisome one
for her,) and she was very grateful, and played Dorothea
to my Hermann. None of our party wore any upper
clothing except a flannel shirt ; I had cut off the sleeves
of mine at the elbow. This was better for rough work,
but the broiling sun had raised big blisters on my arms
and throat which were very painful. When we got back to
camp, Dorothea laved the burns for me with cool milk.
Ah ! she was very pretty ; and, what ' blackguard ' Heine,
as Carlyle dubs him, would have called ' naive schmutzig.'
When we parted next morning I thought with a sigh
that before the autumn was over, she would be in the
seraglio of Mr. Brigham Young; who, Artemus Ward
used to say, was ' the most married man he ever knew.'

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 137

CHAPTEB XXI

Spoet had been the final cause of my trip to America —
sport and the love of adventure. As the bison — buffalo, as
they are called — are now extinct, except in preserved dis-
tricts, a few words about them as they then were may
interest game hunters of the present day.

No description could convey an adequate conception
of the numbers in which they congregated. The admirable
illustrations in Catlin's great work on the North American
Indians, afford the best idea to those who have never seen
the wonderful sight itself. The districts they frequented
were vast sandy uplands sparsely covered with the tufty
buffalo or gramma grass. These regions were always within
reach of the water-courses ; to which morning and even-
ing the herds descended by paths, after the manner of
sheep or cattle in a pasture. Never shall I forget the
first time I witnessed the extraordinary event of the even-
ing drink. Seeing the black masses galloping down
towards the river, by the banks of which our party were
travelling, we halted some hundred yards short of the
tracks. To have been caught amongst the animals would
have been destruction ; for, do what they would to get out
of one's way, the weight of the thousands pushing on
would have crushed anything that impeded them. On
the occasion I refer to we approached to within safe
distance, and fired into them till the ammunition in our
pouches was expended.

As examples of our sporting exploits, three days taken

138 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

almost at random will suffice. The season was so far ad-
vanced that, unless we were to winter at Fort Laramie, it
was necessary to keep going. It was therefore agreed that
whoever left the line of march — that is, the vicinity of
the North Platte — for the purpose of hunting should take
his chance of catching up the rest of the party, who were
to push on as speedily as possible. On two of the days
which I am about to record this rule nearly brought me
into trouble. I quote from my journal :

' Left camp to hunt by self. Got a shot at some deer
lying in long grass on banks of a stream. While stalking,
I could hardly see or breathe for mosquitos ; they were in
my eyes, nose, and mouth. Steady aim was impossible ;
and, to my disgust, I missed the easiest of shots. The
neck and flanks of my little grey are as red as if painted.
He is weak from loss of blood. Fred's head is now so
swollen he cannot wear his hard hat ; his eyes are
bunged up, and his face is comic to look at. Several
deer and antelopes ; but ground too level, and game too
wild to let one near. Hardly caring what direction I
took, followed outskirts of large wood, four or five miles
away from the river. Saw a good many summer lodges ;
but knew, by the quantity of game, that the Indians had
deserted them. In the afternoon came suddenly upon
deer ; and singling out one of the youngest fawns, tried to
run it down. The country being very rough, I found it
hard work to keep between it and the wood. First, my
hat blew off ; then a pistol jumped out of the holster ; but
I was too near to give up, — meaning to return for these
things afterwards. Two or three times I ran right over
the fawn, which bleated in the most piteous manner, but
always escaped the death-blow from the grey's hoofs. By
degrees we edged nearer to the thicket, when the fawn
darted down the side of a bluff, and was lost in the long
grass and brushwood. I followed at full speed ; but,

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 139

unable to arrest the impetus of the horse, we dashed
headlong into the thick scrub, and were both thrown with
violence to the ground. I was none the worse ; but the
poor beast had badly hurt his shoulder, and for the time
was dead lame.

' For an hour at least I hunted for my pistol. It was
much more to me than my hat. It was a huge horse
pistol, that threw an ounce ball of exactly the calibre of
my double rifle. I had shot several buffaloes with it, by
riding close to them in a chase ; and when in danger of
Indians I loaded it with slugs. At last I found it. It
was getting late ; and I didn't rightly know where I was.
I made for the low country. But as we camped last
night at least two miles from the river, on account of the
swamps, the difficulty was to find the tracks. The poor
little grey and I hunted for it in vain. The wet ground
was too wet, the dry ground too hard, to show the tracks
in the now imperfect light.

' The situation was a disagreeable one : it might be
two or three days before I again fell in with my friends.
I had not touched food since the early morning, and was
rather done. To return to the high ground was to give
up for the night ; but that meant another day behind
the cavalcade, with diminished chance of overtaking it.
Through the dusk I saw what I fancied was something
moving on a mound ahead of me which arose out of the
surrounding swamp. I spurred on, but only to find the
putrid carcase of a buffalo, with a wolf supping on it.
The brute was gorged, and looked as sleek as " die schone
Frau Giermund " ; but, unlike Isegrim's spouse, she was
free to escape, for she wasn't worth a bullet. I was so
famished, that I examined the carcase with the hope of
finding a cut that would last for a day or two ; my nose
wouldn't have it. I plodded on, the water up to the
saddle-girths. The mosquitos swarmed in millions, and

140 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

the poor little grey could hardly get one leg before the
other. I, too, was so feverish that, ignorant of bacteria,
I filled my round hat with the filthy stagnant water, and
drank it at a draught.

' At last I made for higher ground. It was too dark to
hunt for tracks, so I began to look out for a level bed.
Suddenly my beast, who jogged along with his nose to
the ground, gave a loud neigh. We had struck the trail.
I threw the reins on his neck, and left matters to his
superior instincts. In less than half an hour the joyful
light of a camp fire gladdened my eyes. Fred told me
he had halted as soon as he was able, not on my account
only, but because he, too, had had a severe fall, and was
suffering great pain from a bruised knee.'

Here is an ordinary example of buffalo shooting :
' July 2nd. — Fresh meat much wanted. With Jim the
half-breed to the hills. No sooner on high ground than
we sighted game. As far as eye could reach, right away
to the horizon, the plain was black with buffaloes, a truly
astonishing sight. Jim was used to it. I stopped to spy
them with amazement. The nearest were not more than
half a mile off, so we picketed our horses under the sky
line ; and choosing the hollows, walked on till crawling
became expedient. As is their wont, the outsiders were
posted on bluffs or knolls in a commanding position ;
these were old bulls. To my inexperience, our chance of
getting a shot seemed small ; for we had to cross the
dipping ground under the brow whereon the sentinels
were lying. Three extra difficulties beset us — the prairie
dogs (a marmot, so called from its dog-like bark when
disturbed) were all round us, and bolted into their holes
like rabbits directly they saw us coming ; two big grey
wolves, the regular camp followers of a herd, were
prowling about in a direct line between us and the bulls ;
lastly, the cows, though up and feeding, were iucon-

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 141

veniently out of reach. (The meat of the young cow is
much preferred to that of the bull.) Jim, however, was
confident. I followed my leader to a wink. The only
instruction I didn't like when we started crawling on the
hot sand was " Look out for rattlesnakes."

' The wolves stopped, examined us suspiciously, then
quietly trotted off. What with this and the alarm of the
prairie dogs, an old bull, a patriarch of the tribe, jumped
up and walked with majestic paces to the top of the
knoll. We lay flat on our faces, till he, satisfied with the
result of his scrutiny, resumed his recumbent posture ;
but with his head turned straight towards us. Jim, to
my surprise, stealthily crawled on. In another minute or
two we had gained a point whence we could see through
the grass without being seen. Here we rested to recover
breath. Meanwhile, three or four young cows fed to
within sixty or seventy yards of us. Unluckily we both
selected the same animal, and both fired at the same
moment. Off went the lot belter skelter, all save the old
bull, who roared out his rage and trotted up close to our
hiding place.

' " Look out for a bolt," whispered Jim, " but don't
show yourself nohow till I tell you."

' For a minute or two the suspense was exciting. One
hardly dared to breathe. But his majesty saw us not, and
turned again to his wives. We instantly reloaded ; and
the startled herd, which had only moved a few yards, gave
us the chance of a second shot. The first cow had fallen
dead almost where she stood. The second we found at
the foot of the hill, also with two bullet wounds behind
the shoulder. The tongues, humps, and tender loins, with
some other choice morsels, were soon cut off and packed,
and we returned to camp with a grand supply of beef for
Jacob's larder.'

142 TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XXII

At the risk of being tedious, I will tell of one more day's
buffalo hunting, to show the vicissitudes of this kind of
sport. Before doing so we will glance at another im-
portant feature of prairie life, a camp of Sioux Indians.

One evening, after halting on the banks of the Platte,
we heard distant sounds of tomtoms on the other side of
the river. Jim, the half-breed, and Louis differed as to
the tribe, and hence the friendUness or hostility, of our
neighbours. Louis advised saddling up and putting the
night between us ; he regaled us to boot with a few
blood-curdling tales of Indian tortures, and of nous autres
en haut. Jim treated these with scorn, and declared he
knew by the ' tunes ' (!) that the pow-wow was Sioux.
Just now, he asserted, the Sioux were friendly, and this
' village ' was on its way to Fort Laramie to barter ' robes '
(buffalo skins) for blankets and ammunition. He was
quite willing to go over and talk to them if we had no
objection.

Fred, ever ready for adventure, would have joined him
in a minute ; but the river, which was running strong,
was full of nasty currents, and his injured knee disabled
him from swimming. No one else seemed tempted ; so,
following Jim's example, I stripped to my flannel shirt
and moccasins, and crossed the river, which was easier to
get into than out of, and soon reached the ' village.' Jim
was right, — they were Sioux, and friendly. They offered
us a pipe of kinik (the dried bark of the red willow), and

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 143

jabbered away with their kinsman, who seemed almost
more at home with them than with us.

Seeing one of their ' braves ' with three fresh scalps at
his belt, I asked for the history of them. In Sioux
gutturals the story was a long one. Jim's translation
amounted to this : The scalps were ' lifted ' from two
Crows and a Ponkaw. The Crows, it appeared, were the
Sioux' natural enemies ' anyhow,' for they occasionally
hunted on each other's ranges. But the Ponkaw, whom
he would not otherwise have injured, was casually met by
him on a horse which the Sioux recognised for a white
man's. Upon being questioned how he came by it, the
Ponkaw simply replied that it was his own. Whereupon
the Sioux called him a liar ; and proved it by sending an
arrow through his body.

I didn't quite see it. But then, strictly speaking, I
am no collector of scalps. To preserve my own, I kept
the hair on it as short as a tooth-brush.

Before we left, our hosts fed us on raw buffalo meat.
This, cut in slices, and dried crisp in the sun, is excellent.
Their lodges were very comfortable, most of them large
enough to hold a dozen people. The ground inside was
covered with buffalo robes ; and the sewn skins, spread
tight upon the converging poles, formed a tent stout
enough to defy all weathers. In winter the lodge can be
entirely closed ; and when a lire is kindled in the centre,
the smoke escaping at a small hole where the poles join,
the snugness is complete.

At the entrance of one of these lodges I watched a
squaw and her child prepare a meal. When the fuel was
collected, a fat puppy, playing with the child, was seized
by the squaw, and knocked on the throat — not head —
with a stick. The puppy was then returned, kick-
ing, to the tender mercies of the infant ; who exerted
its small might to add to the animal's miseries, while the

144 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

mother fed the fire and filled a kettle for the stew. The
puppy, much more alive than dead, was held by the hind
leg over the flames as long as the squaw's fingers could
stand them. She then let it fall on the embers, where it
struggled and squealed horribly, and would have wriggled
off, but for the little savage, who took good care to pro-
vide for the satisfactory singeing of its playmate.

Considering the length of its lineage, how remarkably
hale and well preserved is our own barbarity !

We may now take our last look at the buffaloes, for
we shall see them no more. Again I quote my journal :

'July 5th. — Men sulky because they have nothing to
eat but rancid ham, and biscuit dust which has been so often
soaked that it is mouldy and sour. They are a dainty lot !
Samson and I left camp early with the hopes of getting
meat. While he was shooting prairie dogs his horse made
off, and cost me nearly an hour's riding to catch. Then,
accidentally letting go of my mustang, he too escaped ;
and I had to run him down with the other. Towards
evening, spied a small band of buffaloes, which we ap-
proached by leading our horses up a hollow. They got
our wind, however, and were gone before we were aware of
it. They were all young, and so fast, it took a twenty
minutes' gallop to come up with them. Samson's horse
put his foot in a hole, and the cropper they both got
gave the band a long start, as it became a stern chase,
and no heading off.

' At length I managed to separate one from the herd by
firing my pistol into the " brown," and then devoted my
efforts to him alone. Once or twice he turned and glared
savagely through his mane. When quite isolated he
pulled up short, so did I. We were about sixty yards
apart. I flung the reins upon the neck of the mustang,
who was too blown to stir, and handling my rifle, waited
for the bull to move so that I might see some-

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 145

thing more than the great shaggy front, which screened
his body. But he stood his ground, tossing up the sand
with his hoofs. Presently, instead of turning tail, he put
his head down, and bellowing with rage, came at me as
hard as he could tear. I had but a moment for decision,
— to dig spurs into the mustang, or risk the shot. I chose
the latter ; paused till I was sure of his neck, and fired
when he was almost under me. In an instant I was sent
flying ; and the mustang was on his back with all four
legs in the air.

' The bull was probably as much astonished as we were.
His charge had carried him about thirty yards, at most,
beyond us. There he now stood; facing me, pawing
the ground and snorting as before. Badly wounded I
knew him to be, — that was the worst of it ; especially as
my rifle, with its remaining loaded barrel, lay right
between us. To hesitate for a second only, was to lose the
game. There was no time to think of bruises ; I crawled,
eyes on him, straight for my weapon : got it — it was
already cocked, and the stock unbroken — raised my knee
for a rest. We were only twenty yards apart (the shot
meant death for one of the two), and just catching a
a glimpse of his shoulder-blade, I pulled. I could hear the
thud of the heavy bullet, and — what was sweeter music —
the ugh ! of the fatal groan. The beast dropped on his
knees, and a gush of blood spurted from his nostrils.

' But the wild devil of a mustang ? that was my first
thought now. Whenever one dismounted, it was
necessary to loosen his long lariat, and let it trail on the
ground. Without this there was no chance of catching
him. I saw at once what had happened : by the greatest
good fortune, at the last moment, he must have made an
instinctive start, which probably saved his life, and mine
too. The bull's horns had just missed his entrails and
my leg, — we were broadside on to the charge, — and had

L

146 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

caught him in the thigh, below the hip. There was a
big hole, and he was bleeding plentifully. For all that,
he wouldn't let me catch him. He could go faster on
three legs than I on two.

' It was getting dark, I had not touched food since
starting, nor had I wetted my lips. My thirst was now
intolerable. The travelling rule, about keeping on, was an
ugly incubus. Samson would go his own ways — he had
sense enough for that — but how, when, where, was I to
quench my thirst ? Oh ! for the tip of Lazarus' finger —
or for choice, a bottle of Bass — to cool my tongue ! Then
too, whither would the mustang stray in the night if I
rested or fell asleep ? Again and again I tried to stalk
him by the starlight. Twice I got hold of his tail, but he
broke away. If I drove him down to the river banks the
chance of catching him would be no better, and I should
lose the dry ground to rest on.

' It was about as unpleasant a night as I had yet passed.
Every now and then I sat down, and dropped off to sleep
from sheer exhaustion. Every time this happened I
dreamed of sparkUng drinks ; then woke with a start to a
lively sense of the reality, and anxious searches for the
mustang.

' Directly the day dawned I drove the animal, now
very stiff, straight down for the Platte. He wanted
water fully as much as his master ; and when we sighted
it he needed no more driving. Such a hurry was he in
that, in his rush for the river, he got bogged in the muddy
swamp at its edge. I seized my chance, and had him fast
in a minute. We both plunged into the stream ; I, clothes
and all, and drank, and drank, and drank.'

That evening I caught up the cavalcade.

How curious it is to look back upon such experiences
from a different stage of life's journey ! How would it
have fared with me had my rifle exploded with the fall ?

TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 147

It was knocked out of my hands at full cock. How if the
stock had been broken ? It had been thrown at least ten
yards. How if the horn had entered my thigh instead of
the horse's ? How if I had fractured a limb, or had been
stunned, or the bull had charged again while I was creep-
ing up to him ? Any one, or more than one, of these
contingencies were more likely to happen than not. But
nothing did happen, save — the best.

Not a thought of the kind ever crossed my mind,
either at the time or afterwards. Yet I was not a
thoughtless man, only an average man. Nine Englishmen
out of ten with a love of sport — as most Englishmen are
— would have done, and have felt, just as I did. I was
bruised and stiff ; but so one is after a run with hounds. I
had had many a nastier fall hunting in Derbyshire. The
worst that could happen did not happen ; but the worst
never — well, so rarely does. One might shoot oneself
instead of the pigeon, or be caught picking forbidden
fruit. Narrow escapes are as good as broad ones. The
truth is, when we are young, and active, and healthy,
whatever happens, of the pleasant or lucky kind, we
accept as a matter of course.

Ah ! youth ! youth ! If we only knew when we were
well off, when we were happy, when we possessed all
that this world has to give ! If we but knew that love is
only a matter of course so long as youth and its bounteous
train is ours, we might perhaps make the most of it, and
give up looking for — something better. But what then ?
Give up the ' something better ' ? Give up pursuit, — the
effort that makes us strong ? Give up the sweets of
hope ? No ! 'tis better as it is, perhaps. The kitten
plays with its tail, and the nightingale sings ; but they
think no more of happiness than the rose-bud of its
beauty. May be happiness comes not of too much
knowing, or too much thinking either.

L 2

148 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XXIII

FoET Labamib was a military station and trading post
combined. It was a stone building in wbat tbey called a
' compound ' or open space, enclosed by a palisade. "When
we arrived there, it was occupied by a troop of mounted
riflemen under canvas, outside the compound. The officers
lived in the fort ; and as we had letters to the Colonel —
Somner — and to the Captain — Ehete, they were very
kind and very useful to us.

We pitched our camp by the Laramie river, four miles
from the fort. Nearer than that there was not a blade
of grass. The cavalry horses and military mules needed
all there was at hand. Some of the mules we were
allowed to buy, or exchange for our own. We accordingly
added six fresh ones to our cavalcade, and parted with
two horses ; which gave us a total of fifteen mules and
six horses. Government provisions were not to be had,
so that we could not replenish our now impoverished
stock. This was a serious matter, as will be seen before
long. Nor was the evil lessened by my being laid up with
a touch of fever — the effect, no doubt, of those drenches
of stagnant water. The regimental doctor was absent.
I could not be taken into the fort. And, as we had no
tent, and had thrown away almost everything but the
clothes we wore, I had to rough it and take my chance.
Some relics of our medicine chest, together with a tough
constitution, pulled me through. But I was much
weakened, and by no means fit for the work before us.
Fred did his best to persuade me from going further. He

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 149

confessed that he was utterly sick of the expedition ; that
his injured knee prevented him from hunting, or from
being of any use in packing and camp work ; that the
men were a set of ruffians who did just as they chose —
they grumbled at the hardships, yet helped themselves to
the stores without restraint ; that we had the Eocky
Mountains yet to cross ; after that, the country was un-
known. Colonel Somner had strongly advised us to turn
back. Forty of his men had tried two months ago to carry
despatches to the regiment's headquarters in Oregon.
Only five had got through ; the rest had been killed and
scalped. Finally, that we had something like 1,200 miles
to go, and were already in the middle of August. It would
be folly, obstinacy, madness, to attempt it. He would
stop and hunt where we were, as long as I liked ; or he
would go back with me. He would hire fresh good men,
and buy new horses ; and, now that we knew the country,
we could get to St. Louis before the end of September,

and ' . There was no reasonable answer to be made.

I simply told him I had thought it over, and had decided
to go on. Like the plucky fellow and staunch friend that
he was, he merely shrugged his shoulders, and quietly
said, ' Very well. So be it.'

Before leaving Fort Laramie a singular incident
occurred, which must seem so improbable, that its narration
may be taken for fiction. It was, however, a fact. There
was plenty of game near our camping ground ; and though
the weather was very hot, one of the party usually took
the trouble to bring in something to keep the pot sup-
plied. The sage hens, the buffalo or elk meat were handed
over to Jacob, who made a stew with bacon and rice,
enough for the evening meal and the morrow's break-
fast. After supper, when everyone had filled his stomach,
the large kettle, covered with its lid, was taken off the fire,
and this allowed to bum itself out.

150 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

For four or five mornings running the kettle was
found nearly empty, and all hands had to put up with a cup
of coffee and mouldy biscuit dust. There was a good deal
of unparliamentary language. Everyone accused every-
one else of filthy greediness. It was disgusting that after
eating all he could, a man hadn't the decency to wait till
the morning. The pot had been full for supper, and, as
every man could see, it was never half emptied — enough
was always left for breakfast. A resolution was accord-
ingly passed that each should take his turn of an hour's
watch at night, till the glutton was caught in the act.

My hour happened to be from 11 to 12 p.m. I strongly
suspected the thief to be an Indian, and loaded my big
pistol with slugs on the chance. It was a clear moonlight
night. I propped myself comfortably with a bag of hams ;
and concealed myself as well as I could in a bush of
artemisia, which was very thick all round. I had not long
been on the look-out when a large grey wolf prowled
slowly out of the bushes. The night was bright as day ;
but every one of the men was sound asleep in a circle
round the remains of the camp fire. The wolf passed
between them, hesitating as it almost touched a covering
blanket. Step by step it crept up to the kettle, took the
handle of the lid between its jaws, lifted it off, placed it
noiselessly on the ground, and devoured the savoury
stew.

I could not fire, because of the men. I dared not
move, lest I should disturb the robber. I was even afraid
the click of cocking the pistol would startle him and pre-
vent my getting a quiet shot. But patience was rewarded.
When satiated, the brute retired as stealthily as he had
advanced ; and as he passed within seven or eight yards
of me I let him have it. Great was my disappointment
to see him scamper off. How was it possible I could
have missed him ? I must have fired over his back. The

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 151

men jumped to their feet and clutched their rifles; but,
though astonished at my story, were soon at rest again.
After this the kettle was never robbed. Four days later
we were annoyed with such a stench that it was a ques-
tion of shifting our quarters. In hunting for the nuisance
amongst the thicket of wormwood, the dead wolf was
discovered not twenty yards from our centre.

The reader would not thank me for an account of the
monotonous drudgery, the hardships, the quarrellings,
which grew worse from day to day after we left Fort
Laramie. Fred and I were about the only two who were
on speaking terms ; we clung to each other, as a sort of
forlorn security against coming disasters. Gradually it
was dawning on me that, under the existing circumstances,
the fulfilment of my hopes would be (as Fred had pre-
dicted) an impossibility ; and that to persist in the attempt
to realise them was to court destruction. As yet, I said
nothing of this to him. Perhaps I was ashamed to.
Perhaps I secretly acknowledged to myself that he had
been wiser than I, and that my stubbornness was respon-
sible for the life itself of every one of the party.

Doubtless thoughts akin to these must often have
haunted the mind of my companion; but he never
murmured ; only uttered a hasty objurgation when
troubles reached a climax, and invariably ended with a
burst of cheery laughter which only the sulkiest could
resist. It was after a day of severe trials he proposed
that we should go off by ourselves for a couple of nights
in search of game, of which we were much in need. The
men were easily persuaded to halt and rest. Samson had
become a sort of nonentity. Dysentery had terribly
reduced his strength, and with it such intelligence as he
could boast of. We started at daybreak, right glad to be
alone together and away from the penal servitude to
which we were condemned. We made for the Sweet-

152 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

water, not very far from the foot of the South Pass, where
antelope and black-tailed deer abounded. We failed,
however, to get near them — stalk after stalk miscarried.

Disappointed and tired, we were looking out for some
snug little hollow where we could light a fire without its
being seen by the Indians, when, just as we found what
we wanted, an antelope trotted up to a brow to inspect us.
I had a fairly good shot at him and missed. This dis-
heartened us both. Meat was the one thing we now sorely
needed to save the rapidly diminishing supply of hams.
Fred said nothing, but I saw by his look how this trifling
accident helped to depress him. I was ready to cry with
vexation. My rifle was my pride, the staff of my life —
my alter ego. It was never out of my hands ; every day
I practised at prairie dogs, at sage hens, at a mark even
if there was no game. A few days before we got to
Laramie I had killed, right and left, two wild ducks, the
second on the wing ; and now, when so much depended on
it, I could not hit a thing as big as a donkey. The fact
is, I was the worse for illness. I had constant returns of
fever, with bad shivering fits, which did not improve the
steadiness of one's hand. However, we managed to get a
supper. While we were examining the spot where the
antelope had stood, a leveret jumped up, and I knocked
him over with my remaining barrel. We fried him in
the one tin plate we had brought with us, and thought it
the most delicious dish we had had for weeks.

As we lay side by side, smoke curling peacefully from
our pipes, we chatted far into the night, of other days — of
Cambridge, of our college friends, of London, of the opera,
of balls, of women — the last a fruitful subject — and of
the future. I was vastly amused at his sudden outburst
as some start of one of the horses picketed close to us
reminded us of the actual present. ' If ever I get out of
this d d mess,' he exclaimed, ' I'll never go anywhere

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 163

without my own French cook.' He kept his word, to the
end of his life, I believe.

It was a delightful repose, a complete forgetting, for a
night at any rate, of all impending care. Each was cheered
and strengthened for the work to come. The spirit of
enterprise, the love of adventure restored for the moment,
believed itself a match for come what would. The very
animals seemed invigorated by the rest and the abundance
of rich grass spreading as far as we could see. The morn-
ing was bright and cool. A delicious bath in the Sweet-
water, a breakfast on fried ham and coffee, and once more
in our saddles on the way back to camp, we felt (or fancied
that we felt) prepared for anything.

That is just what we were not. Samson and the men,
meeting with no game where we had left them, had moved
on that afternoon in search of better hunting grounds.
The result was that when we overtook them, we found five
mules up to their necks in a muddy creek. The packs
were sunk to the bottom, and the animals nearly drowned
or strangled. Fred and I rushed to the rescue. At once
we cut the ropes which tied them together ; and, setting
the men to pull at tails or heads, succeeded at last in
extricating them.

Our new-born vigour was nipped in the bud. We
were all drenched to the skin. Two packs containing the
miserable remains of our wardrobe, Fred's and mine,
were lost. The catastrophe produced a good deal of bad
language and bad blood. Translated into English it came
to this : ' They had trusted to us, taking it for granted we
knew what we were about. What business had we to
" boss " the party if we were as ignorant as the mules ?
We had guaranteed to lead them through to California [!]
and had brought them into this " almighty fix " to slave
like niggers and to starve.' There was just truth enough
in the Jeremiad to make it sting. It would not have been

154 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

prudent, nay, not very safe, to return curse for curse.
But the breaking point was reached at last. That night
I, for one, had not much sleep. I was soaked from head
to foot, and had not a dry rag for a change. Alternate
fits of fever and rigor would alone have kept me awake ;
but renewed ponderings upon the situation, confirmed
convictions of the peremptory necessity of breaking up
the party, forced me to the conclusion that this was the
right, the only, course to adopt.

For another twenty-four hours I brooded over my
plans. Two main difficulties confronted me : the an-
nouncement to the men, who might mutiny ; and the
parting with Fred, which I dreaded far the most of the
two. Would he not think it treacherous to cast him off
after the sacrifices he had made for me ? Implicitly we
were as good as pledged to stand by each other to the
last gasp. Was it not mean and dastardly to run away
from the battle because it was dangerous to fight it out '?
Had friendship no claims superior to personal safety ?
Was not my decision prompted by sheer selfishness ?
Could anything be said in its defence ?

Yes ; sentiment must yield to reason. To go on was
certain death for all. It was not too late to return, for
those who wished it. And when I had demonstrated, as
I could easily do, the impossibility of continuance, each
one could decide for himself. The men were as reckless
as they were ignorant. However they might execrate
us, we were still their natural leaders : their blame,
indeed, implied they felt it. No sentimental argument
could obscure this truth, and this conviction was decisive.

The next night and the day after were, from a moral
point of view, the most trying perhaps, of the whole
journey. We had halted on a wide, open plain. Due
west of us in the far distance rose the snowy peaks of
the mountains. And the prairie on that side terminated

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 155

in bluffs, rising gradually to higher spurs of the range.
When the packs were thrown off, and the men had
turned, as usual, to help themselves to supper, I drew
Fred aside and imparted my resolution to him. He
listened to it calmly — much more so than I had expected.
Yet it was easy to see by his unusual seriousness that he
fully weighed the gravity of the purpose. All he said at
the time was, ' Let us talk it over after the men are
asleep.'

We did so. We placed our saddles side by side —
they were our regular pillows — and, covering ourselves
with the same blanket, well out of ear-shot, discussed the
proposition from every practical aspect. He now com-
bated my scheme, as I always supposed he would, by laying
stress upon our bond of friendship. This was met on my
part by the arguments already set forth. He then pro-
posed an amendment, which almost upset my decision.
' It is true,' he admitted, ' that we cannot get through
as we are going now ; the provisions will not hold out
another month, and it is useless to attempt to control the
men. But there are two ways out of the difficulty : we
can reach Salt Lake City and winter there ; or, if you
are bent on going to California, why shouldn't we take
Jacob and Nelson (the Canadian), pay off the rest of the
brutes, and travel together, — us four ? '

Whether ' das ewig Wirkende ' that shapes our ends
be beneficent or malignant is not easy to tell, till after
the event. Certain it is that sometimes we seem impelled
by latent forces stronger than ourselves — if by self be
meant one's will. We cannot give a reason for all we
do ; the infinite chain of cause and effect, which has had
no beginning and will have no end, is part of the reckon-
ing, — with this, finite minds can never grapple.

It was destined (my stubbornness was none of my
making) that I should remain obdurate. Fred's last

156 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

resource was an attempt to persuade me (he really believed :
I, too, thought it likely) that the men would show fight,
annex beasts and provisions, and leave us to shift for
ourselves. There were six of them, armed as we were,
to us three, or rather us two, for Samson was a negligible
quantity. ' We shall see,' said I ; and by degrees we
dropped asleep.

TEACKS OF A KOLLING STONE 157

CHAPTER XXIV

Bepoee the first streak of dawn I was up and off to hunt
for the horses and mules, which were now allowed to
roam in search of feed. On my return, the men were
afoot, taking it easy as usual. Some artemisia bushes
were ablaze for the morning's coffee. No one but Fred
had a suspicion of the coming crisis. I waited till each
one had lighted his pipe ; then quietly requested the lot
to gather the provision packs together, as it was desirable
to take stock, and make some estimate of demand and
supply. Nothing loth, the men obeyed. ' Now,' said I,
' turn all the hams out of their bags, and let us see how
long they will last.' When done : ' What ! ' I exclaimed,
with well-feigned dismay, ' that's not all, surely ? There
are not enough here to last a fortnight. Where are the
rest ? No more ? Why, we shall starve.' The men's
faces fell ; but never a murmur, nor a sound. ' Turn out
the biscuit bags. Here, spread these empty ham sacks,
and pour the biscuit on to them. Don't lose any of the
dust. We shall want every crumb, mouldy or not.' The
gloomy faces grew gloomier. ' What's to be done ? '
Silence. ' The first thing, as I think all will agree, is to
divide what is left into nine equal shares — that's our
number now — and let each one take his ninth part, to do
what he likes with. You yourselves shall portion out the
shares, and then draw lots for choice.'

This presentation of the inevitable compelled submis-
sion. The whole, amounting to twelve light mule packs (it

158 TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

had been fifteen fairly heavy ones after our purchases at
Fort Laramie), was still a goodly bulk to look at. The
nine peddling dividends, when seen singly, were not
quite what the shareholders had anticipated.

Why were they still silent ? Why did they not rebel,
and visit their wrath upon the directors ? Because they
knew in their hearts that we had again and again pre-
dicted the catastrophe. They knew we had warned them
scores and scores of times of the consequences of their
wilful and reckless improvidence. They were stupefied,
aghast, at the ruin they had brought upon themselves.
To turn upon us, to murder us, and divide our three
portions between them, would have been suicidal. In the
first place, our situation was as desperate as theirs. We
should fight for our lives ; and it was not certain, in fact
it was improbable, that either Jacob or William would
side against us. Without our aid — they had not a compass
among them — they were helpless. The instinct of self-
preservation bade them trust to our good will.

So far, then, the game was won. Almost humbly
they asked what we advised them to do. The answer
was prompt and decisive : ' Get back to Fort Laramie as
fast as you can.' ' But how ? Were they to walk ? They
couldn't carry their packs.' ' Certainly not ; we were
English gentlemen, and would behave as such. Each
man should have his own mule ; each, into the bargain,
should receive his pay according to agreement.' They
were agreeably surprised. I then very strongly counselled
them not to travel together. Past experience proved how
dangerous this must be. To avoid the temptation, even
the chance, of this happening, the surest and safest plan
would be for each party to start separately, and not leave
till the last was out of sight. For my part I had resolved
to go alone.

It was a melancholy day for everyone. And to fill the

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 159

cup of wretchedness to overflowing, the rain, beginning
with a drizzle, ended with a downpour. Consultations
took place between men who had not spoken to one
another for weeks. Fred offered to go on, at all events to
Salt Lake City, if Nelson the Canadian and Jacob would
go with him. Both eagerly closed with the offer. They
would be so much nearer to the ' diggings,' and were,
moreover, fond of their leader. Louis would go back to
Fort Laramie. Potter and Morris would cross the moun-
tains, and strike south for the Mormon city if their
provisions and mules threatened to give out. William
would try his luck alone in the same way. And there
remained no one but Samson, undecided and unprovided
for. The strong weak man sat on the ground in the
steady rain, smoking pipe after pipe ; watching first the
preparations, then the departures, one after the other,
at intervals of an hour or so. First the singles, then
the pair; then, late in the afternoon, Fred and his two
henchmen.

It is needless to depict our separation. I do not think
either expected ever to see the other again. Yet we
parted after the manner of trueborn Britons, as if we
should meet again in a day or two. ' Well, good-bye, old
fellow. Good luck. What a beastly day, isn't it ? ' But
emotions are only partially suppressed by subduing their
expression. The hearts of both were full.

I watched the gradual disappearance of my dear friend,
and thought with a sigh of my loss in Jacob and Nelson,
the two best men of the band. It was a comfort to reflect
that they had joined Fred. Jacob especially was full of
resource ; Nelson of energy and determination. And the
courage and cool judgment of Fred, and his presence of
mind in emergencies, were all pledges for the safety of
the trio.

As they vanished behind a distant bluff, I turned to the

160 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

sodden wreck of the deserted camp, and began actively to
pack my mules. Samson seemed paralysed by imbecility.

' What had I better do ? ' he presently asked, gazing
with dull eyes at his two mules and two horses.

' I don't care what you do. It is nothing to me. You
had better pack your mules before it is dark, or you may
lose them.'

' I may as well go with you, I think. I don't care
much about going back to Laramie.'

He looked miserable. I was so. I had held out under
a long and heavy strain. Parting with Fred had, for the
moment, staggered my resolution. I was sick at heart.
The thought of packing two mules twice a day, single-
handed, weakened as I was by illness, appalled me. And
though ashamed of the perversity which had led me to
fling away the better and accept the worse, I yielded.

' Very well then. Make haste. Get' your traps to-
gether. I'll look after the horses.'

It took more than an hour before the four mules were
ready. Like a fool, I left Samson to tie the led horses in
a string, while I did the same with the mules. He started,
leading the horses. I followed with the mule train some
minutes later. Our troubles soon began. The two spare
horses were nearly as wild as the mules. I had not got
far when I discerned through the rain a kicking and
plunging and general entanglement of the lot ahead of
me. Samson had fastened the horses together with slip
knots ; and they were all doing their best to strangle one
another and themselves. To leave the mules was danger-
ous, yet two men were required to release the maddened
horses. At last the labour was accomplished ; and once
more the van pushed on with distinct instructions as to
the line of march, it being now nearly dark. The mules
naturally vanished in the gloom ; and by the time I was
again in my saddle, Samson was — I knew not where. On
and on I travelled, far into the night. But failing to

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 161

overtake my companion, and taking for granted that he
had missed his way, I halted when I reached a stream,
threw off the packs, let the animals loose, rolled myself in
my blanket, and shut my eyes upon a trying day.

Nothing happens but the unexpected. Daylight woke
me. Samson, still in his rugs, was but a couple of
hundred yards further up the stream. In the afternoon
of the third day we fell in with William. He had cut
himself a long willow wand and was fishing for trout, of
which he had caught several in the upper reaches of the
Sweetwater. He threw down his rod, hastened to welcome
our arrival, and at once begged leave to join us. He was
already sick of solitude. He had come across Potter and
Morris, who had left him that morning. They had been
visited by wolves in the night, (I too had been awakened
by their bowlings,) and poor William did not relish the
thought of the mountains alone, with his one little white
mule — which he called ' Cream.' He promised to do his
utmost to help with the packing, and 'not cost us a cent.'
I did not tell him how my heart yearned towards him,
and how miserably my courage had oozed away since we
parted, but made a favour of his request, and granted it.
The gain, so long as it lasted, was incalculable.

The summit of the South Pass is between 8000 and
9000 feet above the level of the Gulf of Mexico. The
Pass itself is many miles broad, undulating on the sur-
face, but not abruptly. The peaks of the Wind Eiver
Chain, immediately to the north, are covered with snow ;
and as we gradually got into the misty atmosphere we
felt the cold severely. The lariats — made of raw hide —
became rods of ice ; and the poor animals, whose backs
were masses of festering raws, suffered terribly from
exposure. It was interesting to come upon proofs of the
' divide ' within a mile of the most elevated point in the
pass. From the Hudson to this spot, all waters had

M

162 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

flowed eastward ; now suddenly every little rivulet was
making for the Pacific.

The descent is as gradual as the rise. On the first day
of it we lost two animals, a mule and Samson's spare horse.
The latter, never equal to the heavy weight of its owner,
could go no further ; and the dreadful state of the mule's
back rendered packing a brutality. Morris and Potter,
who passed us a few days later, told us they had seen the
horse dead, and partially eaten by wolves ; the mule they
had shot to put it out of its misery.

In due course we reached Fort Hall, a trading post
of the Hudson's Bay Company, some 200 miles to the
north-west of the South Pass. Sir George Simpson,
Chairman of that Company, had given me letters, which
ensured the assistance of its servants. It was indeed a
rest and a luxury to spend a couple of idle days here, and
revive one's dim recollection of fresh eggs and milk. But
we were already in September. Our animals were in a
deplorable condition ; and with the exception of a little
flour, a small supply of dried meat, and a horse for
Samson, Mr. Grant, the trader, had nothing to sell us.
He told us, moreover, that before we reached Fort Boise,
their next station, 300 miles further on, we had to
traverse a great rocky desert, where we might travel four-
and-twenty hours alter leaving water, before we met with
it again. There was nothing for it but to press onwards.
It was too late now to cross the Sierra Nevada range,
which lay between us and California; and with the
miserable equipment left to us, it was all we could hope
to do to reach Oregon before the passage of the Blue
Mountains was blocked by the winter's snow.

Mr. Grant's warnings were verified to the foot of the
letter. Great were our sufferings, and almost worse were
those of the poor animals, from the want of water.
Then, too, unlike the desert of Sahara, where the pebbly

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 163

sand affords a solid footing, the soil here is the calcined
powder of volcanic debris, so fine that every step in it is
up to one's ankles ; while clouds of it rose, choking the
nostrils, and covering one from head to heel. Here is a
passage from my journal :

' Eoad rocky in places, but generally deep in the finest
floury sand. A strong and biting wind blew dead in
our teeth, filling every pore, smothering us in dust.
William presented such a ludicrous appearance that
Samson and I went into fits over it. An old felt hat,
fastened on by a red cotton handkerchief, tied under his
chin, partly hid his lantern-jawed visage ; this, naturally
of a dolorous cast, was screwed into wrinkled contortions
by its efforts to resist the piercing gale. The dust, as
white as flour, had settled thick upon him, the extremity
of his nasal organ being the only rosy spot left ; its
pearly drops lodged upon a chin almost as prominent.
His shoulders were shrugged to a level with his head, and
his long legs dangled from the back of little " Cream " till
they nearly touched the ground.'

We laughed at him, it is true, but he was so good-
natured, so patient, so simple-minded, and, now and then,
when he and I were alone, so sentimental and confidential
about Mary, and the fortune he meant to bring her back,
that I had a sort of maternal liking for him ; and even a
vicarious affection for Mary herself, the colour of whose
eyes and hair — nay, whose weight avoirdupois — I was now
accurately acquainted with. No, the honest fellow had
not quite the sang-froid of a 'Leatherstocking.'

One night, when we had halted after dark, he went
down to a gully (we were not then in the desert) to look for
water for our tea. Samson, armed with the hatchet, was
chopping wood. I stayed to arrange the packs, and
spread the blankets. Suddenly I heard a voice from the
bottom of the ravine, crying out, ' Bring the guns for

M 2

164 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

God's sake ! Make haste ! Bring the guns ! ' I rushed
about in the dark, tumbling over the saddles, but could
nowhere lay my hands on a rifle. Still the cry was for
' Guns ! ' My own, a muzzle-loader, was discharged, but
a rifle none the less. Snatching up this, and one of my
pistols, which, by the way, had fallen into the river a few
hours before, I shouted for Samson, and ran headlong
to the rescue. Before I got to the bottom of the hill I
heard groans, which sounded like the last of poor William.
I holloaed to know where he was, and was answered in
a voice that discovered nothing worse than terror.

It appeared that he had met a grizzly bear drinking at
the very spot where he was about to fill his can ; that he
had bolted, and the bear had pursued him ; but that he
had ' cobbled the bar with rocks,' had hit it in the eye,
or nose, he was not sure which, and thus narrowly
escaped with his life. I could not help laughing at his
story, though an examination of the place next morning
so far verified it, that his footprints and the bear's were
clearly intermingled on the muddy shore of the stream.
To make up for his fright, he was extremely courageous
when restored by tea and a pipe. ' If we would follow
the trail with him, he'd go right slick in for her anyhow.
If his rifle didn't shoot plum, he'd a bowie as 'ud rise her
hide, and no mistake. He'd be darn'd if he didn't make
meat of that bar in the morning.'

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 165

CHAPTER XXV

We were now steering by compass. Our course was
nearly north-west. This we kept, as well as the formation
of the country and the watercourses would permit. After
striking the great Shoshone, or Snake Eiver, which even-
tually becomes the Columbia, we had to follow its banks
in a southerly direction. These are often supported by
basaltic columns several hundred feet in height. Where
that was the case, though close to water, we suffered most
from want of it. And cold as were the nights — it was the
middle of September — the sun was intensely hot. Every
day, every mile, we were hoping for a change — not merely
for access to the water, but that we might again pursue our
westerly course. The scenery was sometimes very striking.
The river hereabouts varies from one hundred to nearly
three hundred yards in width ; sometimes rushing through
narrow gorges, sometimes descending in continuous rapids,
sometimes spread out in smooth shallow reaches. It was
for one of these that we were in search, for only at such
points was the river passable.

It was night-time when we came to one of the great
falls. We were able here to get at water ; and having
halted through the day, on account of the heat, kept on
while our animals were refreshed. We had to ascend the
banks again, and wind along the brink of the precipice.
From this the view was magnificent. The moon shone
brightly upon the dancing waves hundreds of feet below
us, and upon the rapids which extended as far as we could

166 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

see. The deep shade of the high cUffs contrasted in its
impenetrable darkness with the brilliancy of the silvery-
foam. The vast plain which we overlooked, fading in the
soft light, rose gradually into a low range of distant hills.
The incessant roar of the rapids, and the desert stillness
of all else around, though they lulled one's senses, yet awed
one with a feeling of insignificance and impotence in the
presence of such ruthless force, amid such serene and cold
indifference. Unbidden, the consciousness was there, that
for some of us the coming struggle with those mighty
waters was fraught with life or death.

At last we came upon a broad stretch of the river
which seemed to offer the possibilities we sought for.
Rather late in the afternoon we decided to cross here,
notwithstanding William's strong reluctance to make the
venture. Part of his unwillingness was, I knew, due to
apprehension, part to his love of fishing. Ever since we
came down upon the Snake Eiver we had seen quantities
of salmon. He persisted in the belief that they were to
be caught with the rod. The day before, all three of us
had waded into the river, and flogged it patiently for a
couple of hours, while heavy fish were tumbling about
above and below us. We caught plenty of trout, but
never pricked a salmon. Here the broad reach was alive
with them, and William begged hard to stop for the after-
noon and pursue the gentle sport. It was not to be.

The tactics were as usual. Samson led the way,
holding the lariat to which the two spare horses were
attached. In crossing streams the mules would always
follow the horses. They were accordingly let loose, and
left to do so. William and I brought up the rear, driving
before us any mule that lagged. My journal records the
sequel :

' At about equal distances from each other and the
main land were two small islands. The first of these we

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 167

reached without trouble. The second was also gained ;
but the packs were wetted, the current being exceedingly
rapid. The space remaining to be forded was at least two
hundred yards ; and the stream so strong that I was
obliged to turn my mare's head up it to prevent her being
carried off her legs. While thus resting, William with
difficalty, — the water being over his knees, — sidled up to
me. He wanted to know if I still meant to cross. For
all answer, I laughed at him. In truth I had not the
smallest misgiving. Strong as was the current, the
smooth rocky bottom gave a good foothold to the
animals ; and, judging by the great width of the river,
there was no reason to suppose that its shallowness would
not continue.

' We paused for a few minutes to observe Samson, who
was now within forty or fifty yards of the opposite bank ;
and, as I concluded, past all danger. Suddenly, to the
astonishment of both of us, he and his horse and the led
animals disappeared under water ; the next instant they
were struggling and swimming for the bank. Tied together
as they were, there was a deal of snorting and plunging ;
and Samson (with his habitual ingenuity) had fastened
the lariat either to himself or his saddle ; so that he was
several times dragged under before they all got to the bank
in safety.

' These events were watched by William with intense
anxiety. With a pitiable look of terror he assured me he
could not swim a yard ; it was useless for him to try to cross ;
he would turn back, and find his way to Salt Lake City.

' "But," I remonstrated, "if you turn back, you will
certainly starve ; everything we possess is over there with
the mules ; your blanket, even your rifle, are with the
packs. It is impossible to get the mules back again.
Give little Cream her head, sit still in your saddle, and
she'll carry you through that bit of deep water with ease."

168 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

' " I can live by fishing," he plaintively answered. He
still held his long rod, and the incongruity of it added to
the pathos of his despair. I reminded him of a bad river
we had before crossed, and how his mule had swum it
safely with him on her back. I promised to keep close
to him, and help him if need were, though I was con-
fident if he left everything to Cream there would be no
danger. " Well, if he must, he must. But, if anything
happened to him, would I write and tell Mary ? I
knew her address ; leastways, if I didn't, it was in his
bag on the brown mule. And tell her I done my
best."

' The water was so clear one could see every crack in
the rock beneath. Fortunately, I took the precaution to
strip to my shirt ; fastened everything, even my socks, to
the saddle ; then advanced cautiously ahead of William
to the brink of the chasm. We were, in fact, upon the
edge of a precipice. One could see to an inch where
the gulf began. As my mare stepped into it I slipped
off my saddle ; when she rose I laid hold of her tail,
and in two or three minutes should have been safe
ashore.

' Looking back to see how it had fared with William,
I at once perceived his danger. He had clasped his mule
tightly round the neck with his arms, and round the body
with his long legs. She was plunging violently to get
rid of her load. Already the pair were forty or fifty yards
below me. Instantly I turned and swam to his assist-
ance. The struggles of the mule rendered it dangerous
to get at him. When I did so he was partially dazed ;
his hold was relaxed. Dragging him away from the hoofs
of the animal, I begged him to put his hands on my
shoulders or hips. He was past any effort of the kind.
I do not think he heard me even. He seemed hardly
conscious of anything. His long wet hair plastered over

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 169

the face concealed his features. Beyond stretching out
his arms, Hke an infant imploring help, he made no effort
to save himself.

' I seized him firmly by the collar, — unfortunately, with
my right hand, leaving only my left to stem the torrent.
But hov/ to keep his face out of the water ? At every
stroke I was losing strength ; we were being swept away,
for him, to hopeless death. At length I touched bottom,
got both hands under his head, and held it above the
surface. He still breathed, still puffed the hair from his
lips. There was still a hope, if I could but maintain my
footing. But, alas ! each instant I was losing ground —
each instant I was driven back, foot by foot, towards the
gulf. The water, at first only up to my chest, was now
up to my shoulders, now up to my neck. My strength
was gone. My arms ached till they could bear no more.
They sank involuntarily. William glided from my hands.
He fell like lead till his back lay stretched upon the rock.
His arms were spread out, so that his body formed a
cross. I paddled above it in the clear, smooth water,
gazing at his familiar face, till two or three large bubbles
burst upon the surface ; then, hardly knowing what I was
doing, floated mechanically from the trapper's grave.

'My turn was now to come. At first, the right, or
western, bank being within sixty or seventy yards, being
also my proper goal, I struck out for it with mere eager^
ness to land as soon as possible. The attempt proved
unsuccessful. Very well, then, I would take it quietly —
not try to cross direct, but swim on gently, keeping my
head that way. By degrees I got within twenty yards of
the bank, was counting joyfully on the rest which a few
more strokes would bring me, when — wsh — came a current,
and swept me right into the middle of the stream again.

' I began to be alarmed. I must get out of this some-

170 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

how or another ; better on the wrong side than not at all.
So I let myself go, and made for the shore we had started
from.

' Same fate. When well over to the left bank I was
carried out again. What ! was I too to be drowned ?
It began to look Hke it. I was getting cold, numb,
exhausted. And — Hsten ! What is that distant sound ?
Eapids? Yes, rapids. My flannel shirt stuck to, and
impeded me ; I would have it off. I got it over my head,
but hadn't unbuttoned the studs — it stuck, partly over my
head. I tugged to tear it off. Got a drop of water into
my windpipe ; was choking ; tugged till I got the shirt
right again. Then tried floating on my back — to cough
and get my breath. Heard the rapids much louder. It
was getting dark now. The sun was setting in glorious
red and gold. I noticed this, noticed the salmon rolling
like porpoises around me, and thought of Wilham with
his rod. Strangest of all, for I had not noticed her before,
little Cream was still struggling for dear life not a hundred
yards below me ; sometimes sinking, sometimes reappear-
ing, but on her way to join her master, as surely as I
thought that I was.

' In my distress, the predominant thought was the lone-
liness of my fate, the loneliness of my body after death.
There was not a living thing to see me die.

'For the first time I felt, not fear, but loss of hope.
I could only beat the water with feeble and futile splashes.
I was completely at its mercy. And — as we all then
do — I prayed — prayed for strength, prayed that I might
be spared. But my strength was gone. My legs dropped
powerless in the water. I could but just keep my nose
or mouth above it. My legs sank, and my feet — touched
bottom.

' In an instant, as if from an electric shock, a flush of
energy suffused my brain and limbs. I stood upright in

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 171

an almost tranquil pool. An eddy had lodged me on a
sandbank. Between it and the land was scarcely twenty
yards. Through this gap the stream ran strong as ever.
I did not want to rest ; I did not pause to think. In I
dashed ; and a single spurt carried me to the shore. I fell
on my knees, and with a grateful heart poured out gratitude
for my deliverance.

' I was on the wrong side, the side from which we started.
The river was yet to cross. I had not tasted food since
our early meal. How long I had been swimming I know
not, but it was dark now, starlight at least. The nights
were bitterly cold, and my only clothing a wet flannel
shirt. And oh ! the craving for companionship, someone
to talk to — even Samson. This was a stronger need than
warmth, or food, or clothing ; so strong that it impelled
me to try again.

' The poor sandy soil grew nothing but briars and small
cactuses. In the dark I kept treading on the little prickly
plants, but I hurried on till I came in sight of Samson's
fire. I could see his huge form as it intercepted the com-
fortable blaze. I pictured him making his tea, broiling
some of William's trout, and spreading his things before
the fire to dry. I could see the animals moving around
the glow. It was my home. How I yearned for it !
How should I reach it, if ever ? In this frame of mind
the attempt was irresistible. I started as near as I could
from opposite the two islands. As on horseback, I got
pretty easily to the first island. Beyond this I was taken
off my feet by the stream ; and only with difficulty did I
once more regain the land.

My next object was to communicate with Samson.
By putting both hands to my mouth and shouting with
all my force I made him hear. I could see him get up
and come to the water's edge ; though he could not see

172 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

me, his stentorian voice reached me plainly. His first
words were :

' " Is that you, WiUiam ? Coke is drowned."

' I corrected him, and thus replied :

' " Do you remember a bend near some willows, where
you wanted to cross yesterday? "

' " Yes."

' " About two hours higher up the river ? "

'"I remember."

' " Would you know the place again ? "

' " Yes."

' " Are you sure ? "

' "Yes, yes."

' " You will see me by daylight in the morning. When
I start, you will take my mare, my clothes, and some
food ; make for that place and wait till I come. I will
cross there."

' " All right."

' " Keep me in sight as long as you can. Don't forget
the food."

'It will be gathered from my words that definite
instructions were deemed necessary ; and the inference —
at least it was mine — will follow, that if a mistake were
possible Samson would avail himself of it. The night
was before me. The river had yet to be crossed. But,
strange as it now seems to me, I had no misgivings ! My
heart never failed me. My prayer had been heard. I had
been saved. How, I knew not. But this I knew, my
trust was complete. I record this as a curious psycho-
logical occurrence ; for it supported me with unfailing
energy through the severe trial which I had yet to undergo.'

TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 173

CHAPTBE XXVI

Our experiences are little worth unless they teach us to
reflect. Let us then pause to consider this hourly experi-
ence of human beings — this remarkable efficacy of prayer.
There can hardly be a contemplative mind to which, with
all its difficulties, the inquiry is not familiar.

To begin with, ' To pray is to expect a miracle.'
' Prayer in its very essence,' says a thoughtful writer,
' implies a belief in the possible intervention of a power
which is above nature.' How was it in my case ? What
was the essence of my belief ? Nothing less than this :
that God would have permitted the laws of nature,
ordained by His infinite wisdom to fulfil His omniscient
designs and pursue their natural course in accordance
with His will, had not my request persuaded Him to
suspend those laws in my favour.

The very belief in His omniscience and omnipotence
subverts the spirit of such a prayer. It is on the perfection
of God that Malebranche bases his argument that ' Dieu
n'agit pas par des volont6s particuliferes.' Yet every
prayer affects to interfere with the divine purposes.

It may here be urged that the divine purposes are
beyond our comprehension. God's purposes may, in spite
of the inconceivability, admit the efficacy of prayer as a
link in the chain of causation ; or, as Dr. Mozely holds, it
may be that ' a miracle is not an anomaly or irregularity,
but part of the system of the universe.' We will not
entangle ourselves in the abstruse metaphysical problem

174 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

which such hypotheses involve, but turn for our answer
to what we do know — to the history of this world, to the
daily life of man. If the sun rises on the evil as well as
on the good, if the wicked ' become old, yea, are mighty
in power,' still, the lightning, the plague, the falling
chimney-pot, smite the good as well as the evil. Even
the dumb animal is not spared. ' If,' says Huxley, ' our
ears were sharp enough to hear all the cries of pain that
are uttered in the earth by man and beasts we should be
deafened by one continuous scream.' ' If there are any
marks at all of special design in creation,' writes John
Stuart Mill, ' one of the things most evidently designed
is that a large proportion of all animals should pass their
existence in tormenting and devouring other animals.
They have been lavishly fitted out with the instruments
for that purpose.' Is it credible, then, that the Almighty
Being who, as we assume, hears this continuous
scream — animal-prayer, as we may call it — and not only
pays no heed to it, but lavishly fits out animals with
mstruments for tormenting and devouring one another,
that such a Being should suspend the laws of gravitation
and physiology, should perform a miracle equal to that of
arresting the sun — for all miracles are equipollent — simply
to prolong the brief and useless existence of such a thing
as man, of one man out of the myriads who shriek, and —
shriek in vain ?

To pray is to expect a miracle. Then comes the
further question : Is this not to expect what never yet
has happened ? The only proof of any miracle is the in-
terpretation the witness or witnesses put upon what they
have seen. (Traditional miracles — miracles that others
have been told, that others have seen — we need not trouble
our heads about.) What that proof has been worth hitherto
has been commented upon too often to need attention
here. Nor does the weakness of the evidence for miracles

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 175

depend solely on the fact that it rests, in the first instance,
on the senses, which may be deceived ; or upon inference,
which may be erroneous. It is not merely that the
infallibility of human testimony discredits the miracles of
the past. The impossibility that human knowledge, that
science, can ever exhaust the possibilities of Nature, pre-
cludes the immediate reference to the Supernatural for
all time. It is pure sophistry to argue, as do Canon
Bow and other defenders of miracles, that ' the laws of
Nature are no more violated by the performance of a
miracle than they are by the activities of a man.' If
these arguments of the special pleaders had any force at
all, it would simply amount to this : ' The activities of
man ' being a part of nature, we have no evidence of a
supernatural being, which is the sole raison d'etre of
miracle.

Yet thousands of men in these days who admit the
force of these objections continue, in spite of them, to
pray. Huxley, the foremost of ' agnostics,' speaks with
the utmost respect of his friend Charles Kingsley's con-
viction from experience of the efficacy of prayer. And
Huxley himself repeatedly assures us, in some form or
other, that ' the possibilities of " may be " are to me
infinite.' The puzzle is, in truth, on a par with that
most insolvable of all puzzles — ^Free Will or Determinism.
Beason and the instinct of conscience are in both cases
irreconcilable. We are conscious that we are always free
to choose, though not to act ; but reason will have it that
this is a delusion. There is no logical clue to the impasse.
Still, reason notwithstanding, we take our freedom
(within limits) for granted, and with like inconsequence
we pray.

It must, I think, be admitted that the belief, delusive
or warranted, is efficacious in itself. Whether generated
in the brain by the nerve centres, or whatever may be its

176 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

origin, a force coincident with it is diffused throughout
the nervous system, which converts the subject of it, just
paralysed by despair, into a vigorous agent, or, if you will,
automaton.

Now, those who admit this much argue, with no little
force, that the efficacy of prayer is limited to its reaction
upon ourselves. Prayer, as already observed, implies
belief in supernatural intervention. Such belief is com-
petent to beget hope, and with it courage, energy, and
effort. Suppose contrition and remorse induce the sufferer
to pray for Divine aid and mercy, suppose suffering is
the natural penalty of his or her own misdeeds, and sup-
pose the contrition and the prayer lead to resistance of
similar temptations, and hence to greater happiness, —
can it be said that the power to resist temptation or endure
the penalty are due to supernatural aid ? Or must we
not infer that the fear of the consequences of vice or
folly, together with an earnest desire and intention to
amend, were adequate in themselves to account for the
good results ?

Eeason compels us to the latter conclusion. But what
then ? Would this prove prayer to be delusive ? Not
necessarily. That the laws of Nature (as argued above)
are not violated by miracle, is a mere perversion of the
accepted meaning of ' miracle,'an ignoratio elenchi. But
in the case of prayer that does not ask for the abrogation
of Nature's laws, it ceases to be a miracle that we pray
for or expect : for are not the laws of the mind also laws
of Nature ? And can we explain them any more than we
can explain physical laws ? A psychologist can formulate
the mental law of association, but he can no more ex-
plain it than Newton could explain the laws of attraction
and repulsion which pervade the world of matter. We
do not know, we cannot know, what the conditions of
our spiritual being are. The state of mind induced by

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 177

prayer may, in accordance with some mental law, be
essential to certain modes of spiritual energy, specially
conducive to the highest of all moral or spiritual results :
taken in this sense, prayer may ask, not the suspension,
but the enactment, of some natural law.

Let it, however, be granted, for argument's sake, that
the belief in the efficacy of prayer is delusive, and that
the beneficial effects of the belief — the exalted state
of mind, the enhanced power to endure suffering and
resist temptation, the happiness inseparable from the
assurance that God hears, and can and will befriend us —
let it be granted that all this is due to sheer hallucina-
tion, is this an argument against prayer? Surely not.
For, in the first place, the incontestable fact that belief
does produce these effects is for us an ultimate fact as
little capable of explanation as any physical law whatever ;
and may, therefore, for aught we know, or ever can know,
be ordained by a Supreme Being. Secondly, all the
beneficial effects, including happiness, are as real in them-
selves as if the belief were no delusion.

It may be said that a ' fool's paradise ' is liable to be
turned into a hell of disappointment ; and that we pay
the penalty of building happiness on false foundations.
This is true in a great measure ; but it is absolutely with-
out truth as regards our belief in prayer, for the simple
reason that if death dispel the delusion, it at the same time
dispels the deluded. However great the mistake, it can
never be found out. But they who make it will have
been the better and the happier while they lived.

For my part, though immeasurably preferring the
pantheism of Goethe, or of Eenan (without his pessim-
ism), to the anthropomorphic God of the Israelites, or of
their theosophic legatees, the Christians, however incon-
sistent, I still believe in prayer. I should not pray that
I may not die ' for want of breath ' ; nor for rain, while

178 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

' the wind was in the wrong quarter.' My prayers would
not be hke those overheard, on his visit to Heaven, by
Lucian's Menippus : ' Jupiter, let me become a king ! '
' Jupiter, let my onions and my garlic thrive ! ' '0
Jupiter, let my father soon depart from hence ! ' But
when the workings of my moral nature were concerned,
when I needed strength to bear the ills which could not
be averted, or do what conscience said was right, then I
should pray. And, if I had done my best in the same
direction, I should trust in the Unknowable for help.

Then too, is not gratitude to Heaven the best of
prayers ? Unhappy he who has never felt it ! Unhappier
still, who has never had cause to feel it !

It may be deemed unwarrantable thus to draw the
lines between what, for want of better terms, we call
Material and Spiritual. Still, reason is but the faculty of a
very finite being ; and, as in the enigma of the will, utterly
incapable of solving any problems beyond those whose data
are furnished by the senses. Reason is essentially realis-
tic. Science is its domain. But science demonstratively
proves that things are not what they seem ; their pheno-
menal existence is nothing else than their relation to our
special intelligence. We speak and think as if the dis-
coveries of science were absolutely true, true in them-
selves, not relatively so for us only. Yet, beings with
senses entirely different from ours would have an entirely
different science. For them, our best established axioms
would be inconceivable, would have no more meaning
than that ' Abracadabra is a second intention.'

Science, supported by reason, assures us that the laws
of nature — the laws of realistic phenomena — are never
suspended at the prayers of man. To this conclusion the
educated world is now rapidly coming. If, nevertheless,
men thoroughly convinced of this still choose to believe
in the efficacy of prayer, reason and science are incom-

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 179

petent to confute them. The belief must be tried
elsewhere, — it must be transferred to the tribunal of con-
science, or to a metaphysical court, in which reason has
no jurisdiction.

This by no means implies that reason, in its own pro-
vince, is to yield to the ' feeling ' which so many cite as
the infallible authority for their ' convictions.'

We must not be asked to assent to contradictory pro-
positions. We must not be asked to believe that injustice,
cruelty, and implacable revenge, are not execrable because
the Bible tells us they were habitually manifested by the
tribal god of the Israelites. The fables of man's fall and
of the redemption are fraught with the grossest violation
of our moral conscience, and will, in time, be repudiated
accordingly. It is idle to say, as the Church says, ' these
are mysteries above our human reason.' They are fictions,
fabrications which modern research has traced to their
sources, and which no unperverted mind would entertain
for a moment. Fanatical belief in the truth of such
dogmas based upon ' feeling ' have confronted all who have
gone through the severe ordeal of doubt. A couple of
centuries ago, those who held them would have burnt alive
those who did not. Now, they have to console themselves
with the comforting thought of the fire that shall never
be quenched. But even Job's patience could not stand
the self-sufficiency of his pious reprovers. The sceptic
too may retort : ' No doubt but ye are the people, and
wisdom shall die with you.'

Conviction of this kind is but the convenient substitute
for knowledge laboriously won, for the patient pursuit of
truth at all costs — a plea in short, for ignorance, indolence,
incapacity, and the rancorous bigotry begotten of them.

The distinction is not a purely sentimental one — not a
belief founded simply on emotion. There is a physical
world — the world as known to our senses, and there

a 2

180 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

is a psychical world —the world of feeling, consciousness,
thought, and moral life.

Granting, if it pleases you, that material phenomena
may be the causes of mental phenomena, that ' la pensee
est le produit du corps entier,' still the two cannot be
thought of as one. Until it can be proved that ' there is
nothing in the world but matter, force, and necessity,' —
which will never be, till we know how we lift our hands
to our mouths, — there remains for us a world of mystery,
which reason never can invade.

It is a pregnant thought of John Mill's, apropos of
material and mental interdependence or identity, ' that
the uniform co-existence of one fact with another does
not make the one fact a part of the other, or the same
with it.'

A few words of Eenan's may help to support the argu-
ment. ' Ce qui revile le vrai Dieu, c'est le sentimeni
moral. Si I'humanite n'6tait qu'intelligente, elle serait
athee. Le devoir, le devouement, le sacrifice, toutes choses
dont I'histoire est pleine, sont inexplicables sans Dieu.'
For all these we need help. Is it foolishness to pray for
it ? Perhaps so. Yet, perhaps not ; for ' Tout est pos-
sible, meme Dieu.'

Whether possible, or impossible, this much is abso-
lutely certain : man must and will have a religion as long
as this world lasts. Let us not fear truth. Criticism will
change men's dogmas, but it will not change man's
nature.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 181

CHAPTEE XXVII

My confidence was restored, and with it my powers of
endurance. Sleep was out of the question. The night
was bright and frosty ; and there was not heat enough in
my body to dry my flannel shirt. I made shift to pull up
some briar bushes ; and, piling them round me as a screen,
got some little shelter from the light breeze. For hours I
lay watching Alpha Centauri — the double star of the Great
Bear's pointers — dipping under the Polar star like the
hour hand of a clock. My thoughts, strange to say, ran
little on the morrow; they dwelt almost solely upon
William Nelson. How far was I responsible, to what
extent to blame, for leading him, against his will, to death ?
I re-enacted the whole event. Again he was in my hands,
still breathing when I let him go, knowing, as I did so,
that the deed consigned him living to his grave. In this
way I passed the night.

Just as the first streaks of the longed-for dawn broke
in the East, I heard distant cries which sounded like the
whoops of Indians. Then they ceased, but presently
began again much nearer than before. There was no
mistake about them now, — they were the yappings of a
pack of wolves, clearly enough, upon our track of yester-
day. A few minutes more, and the light, though still dim,
revealed their presence coming on at full gallop. In vain
I sought for stick or stone. Even the river, though I
took to it, would not save me if they meant mischief.
When they saw me they slackened their pace. I did not

182 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

move. They then halted, and forming a half -moon some
thirty yards off, squatted on their haunches, and began at
intervals to throw up their heads and howl.

My chief hope was in the coming daylight. They were
less likely to attack a man then than in the dark. I had
often met one or two together when hunting ; these had
always bolted. But I had never seen a pack before ; and I
knew a pack meant that they were after food. All depended
on their hunger.

When I kept still they got up, advanced a yard or
two, then repeated their former game. Every minute the
light grew stronger ; its warmer tints heralded the rising
sun. Seeing, however, that my passivity encouraged
them, and convinced that a single step in retreat would
bring the pack upon me, I determined in a moment of
inspiration to run amuck, and trust to Providence for the
consequences. Flinging my arms wildly into the air, and
frantically yelling with all my lungs, I dashed straight in
for the lot of them. They were, as I expected, taken by
surprise. They jumped to their feet and turned tail, but
again stopped — this time further off, and howled with
vexation at having to wait till their prey succumbed.

The sun rose. Samson was on the move. I shouted
to him, and he to me. Finding me thus reinforced the
enemy slunk off, and I was not sorry to see the last of my
ugly foes. I now repeated my instructions about our
trysting place, waited patiently till Samson had break-
fasted (which he did with the most exasperating delibera-
tion), saw him saddle my horse and leave his camp. I then
started upon my travels up the river, to meet him. After
a mile or so, the high ground on both banks obliged us to
make some little detour. We then lost sight of each other ;
nor was he to be seen when I reached the appointed spot.

Long before I did so I began to feel the effects of my
labours. My naked feet were in a terrible state from the

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 183

cactus thorns, which I had been unable to avoid in the
dark ; occasional stones, too, had bruised and made them
very tender. Unable to shuffle on at more than two miles
an hour at fastest, the happy thought occurred to me of
tearing up my shirt and binding a half round each foot.
This enabled me to get on much better ; but when the
September sun was high, my unprotected skin and head
paid the penalty. I waited for a couple of hours, I dare
say, hoping Samson would appear. But concluding at
length that he had arrived long before me, through the
slowness of my early progress, and had gone further up
the river — thinking perhaps that I had meant some other
place — I gave him up ; and, full of internal ' d — n ' at his
incorrigible consistency, plodded on and on for — I knew
not where.

Why, it may be asked, did I not try to cross where I
had intended ? I must confess my want of courage.
True, the river here was not half, not a third, of the width
of the scene of my disasters ; but I was weak in body and
in mind. Had anything human been on the other side to
see me — to see how brave I was, (alas ! poor human
nature !) — I could have plucked up heart to risk it. It
would have been such a comfort to have some one to see
me drown ! But it is difficult to play the hero with no
spectators save oneself. I shall always have a fellow-
feeling with the Last Man : practically, my position was
about as uncomfortable as his will be.

One of the worst features of it was, what we so often
suffered from before — the inaccessibility of water. The
sun was broiling, and the arid soil reflected its scorching
rays. I was feverish from exhaustion, and there was
nothing, nothing to look forward to. Mile after mile I
crawled along, sometimes half disposed to turn back, and
try the deep but narrow passage ; then that inexhaustible
fountain of last hopes — the Unknown — tempted me to go

184 TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

forward. I persevered ; when behold ! as I passed a rock ,
an Indian stood before me.

He was as naked as I was. Over his shoulder he
carried a spear as long as a salmon rod. Though neither
had foreseen the other, he was absolutely unmoved,
showed no surprise, no curiosity, no concern. He stood
still, and let me come up to him. My only, or rather my
uppermost, feeling was gladness. Of course the thought
crossed me of what he might do if he owed the white
skins a grudge. If any white man had ever harmed one
of his tribe, I was at his mercy ; and it was certain that
he would show me none. He was a tall powerful man, and
in my then condition he could have done what he pleased
with me. Friday was my model; the red man was
Bobinson Crusoe. I kneeled at his feet, and touched the
ground with my forehead. He did not seem the least
elated by my humility : there was not a spark of vanity in
him. Indeed, except for its hideousness and brutality,
his face was without expression.

I now proceeded to make a drawing, with my finger,
in the sand, of a mule in the water ; while I imitated by
pantomime the struggles of the drowning. I then pointed
to myself ; and, using my arms as in swimming, shook my
head and my finger to signify that I could not swim.
I worked an imaginary paddle, and made him understand
that I wanted him to paddle me across the river. Still he
remained unmoved ; till finally I used one argument
which interested him more than all the rest of my story.
I untied a part of the shirt round one foot and showed
him three gold studs. These I took out and gave to him.
I also made a drawing of a rifle in the sand, and signified
that he would get the like if he went with me to my
camp. Whereupon he turned in the direction I was
going ; and, though unbidden by a look, I did not hesitate
to follow.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 185

I thought I must have dropped before we reached his
village. This was an osier-bed at the water's side, where
the whole river rushed through a rocky gorge not more
than fifty to sixty yards broad. There were perhaps
nearly a hundred Indians here, two-thirds of whom were
women and children. Their habitations were formed by
interlacing the tops of the osiers. Dogs' skins spread
upon the ground and numerous salmon spears were their
only furniture. In a few minutes my arrival created a
prodigious commotion. The whole population turned
out to stare at me. The children ran into the bushes to
hide. But feminine curiosity conquered feminine timidity.
Although I was in the plight of the forlorn Odysseus after
his desperate swim, I had no ' blooming foliage ' to wind
■n-spl xpo^' A"?S£a (ficoTos. Unlike the Phaaacian maidens,
however, the tawny nymphs were all as brave as Princess
Nausicaa herself. They stared, and pointed, and buzzed,
and giggled, and even touched my skin with the tips of
their fingers — to see, I suppose, if the white would come off.

But ravenous hunger turned up its nose at flirtation.
The fillets of drying salmon suspended from every bough
were a million times more seductive than the dark Naiads
who had dressed them. Slice after slice I tore down and
devoured, as though my maw were as compendious as
Jack the Giant Killer's. This so astonished and delighted
the young women that they kept supplying me, — with
the expectation, perhaps, that sooner or later I must
share the giant's fate.

While this was going on, a conference was being held ;
and I had the satisfaction of seeing some men pull up a
lot of dead rushes, dexterously tie them into bundles, and
truss these together by means of spears. They had no
canoes, for the very children were amphibious, living, so
it seemed, as much in the water as out of it. When the
raft was completed, I was invited to embark. My

186 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

original friend, who had twisted a tow-rope, took this
between his teeth, and led the way. Others swam behind
and beside me to push and to pull. The force of the
water was terrific ; but they seemed to care no more for
that than fish. My weight sunk the rush bundles a
good bit below the surface ; and to try my nerves, my
crew every now and then with a wild yell dived simulta-
neously, dragging the raft and me under water. But I
sat tight ; and with genuine friendliness they landed me
safely on the desired shore.

It was quite dark before we set forth. Eobinson
Crusoe walked on as if he knew exactly where my camp
was. Probably the whole catastrophe had by this time
been bruited for miles above and below the spot. Five
other stalwart young fellows kept us company, each with
salmon spear in hand. The walk seemed interminable ;
but I had shipped a goodly cargo of latent energy.

When I got home, instead of Samson, I found the
camp occupied by half a dozen Indians. They were
squatted round a fire, smoking. Each one, so it seemed,
had appropriated some article of our goods. Our blankets
were over their shoulders. One had William's long rifle
in his lap. Another was sitting upon mine. A few
words were exchanged with the new-comers, who seated
themselves beside their friends ; but no more notice was
taken of me than of the mules which were eating rushes
close to us. How was I, single-handed, to regain posses-
sion ? That was the burning question. A diplomatic course
commended itself as the only possible one. There were
six men who expected rewards, but the wherewithal was
held in seisin by other six. The fight, if there were
one, should be between the two parties. I would hope
to prove, that when thieves fall out honest men come by
their own.

There is one adage whose truth I needed no further

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 187

proof of. Its first line apostrophises the ' Gods and little
fishes.' My chief need was for the garment which com-
pletes the rhyme. Indians, having no use for corduroy
small clothes, I speedily donned mine. Next I quietly
but quickly snatched up William's rifle, and presented it
to Eobinson Crusoe, patting him on the back as if with
honours of knighthood. The dispossessed was not well
pleased, but Sir Eobinson was ; and, to all appearances,
he was a man of leading, if of darkness. While words
were passing between the two, I sauntered round to the
gentleman who sat cross-legged upon my weapon. He
was as heedless of me as I, outwardly, of him. When well
within reach, mindful that ' de I'audace ' is no bad motto,
in love and war, I suddenly placed my foot upon his chest,
tightened the extensor muscle of my leg, and sent him
heels over head. In an instant the rifle was mine, and
both barrels cocked. After yesterday's immersion it
might not have gone off, but the offended Indian, though
furious, doubtless inferred from the histrionic attitude
which I at once struck, that I felt confident it would.
With my rifle in hand, with my suite looking to me to
transfer the plunder to them, my position was now secure.
I put on a shirt — the only one left to me, by the way —
my shoes and stockings, and my shooting coat ; and pick-
ing out William's effects, divided these, with his ammuni-
tion, his carpet-bag, and his blankets, amongst my original
friends. I was beginning to gather my own things
together, when Samson, leading my horse, unexpectedly
rode into the midst of us. The night was far advanced.
The Indians took their leave ; and added to the obligation
by bequeathing us a large fresh salmon, which served us
for many a day to come.

As a postscript I may add that I found poor Mary's
address on one of her letters, and faithfully kept my
promise as soon as I reached pen and ink.

188 TRACKS or A EOLLING STONE

CHAPTBE XXVIII

What remains to be told will not take long. Hardships
naturally increased as the means of bearing them dimin-
ished. I have said the salmon held out for many days.
We cut it in strips, and dried it as well as we could ; but
the flies and maggots robbed us of a large portion of it.
At length we were reduced to two small hams ; nothing
else except a little tea. Guessing the distance we had
yet to go, and taking into account our slow rate of travel-
ling, I calculated the number of days which, with the
greatest economy, these could be made to last. Allowing
only one meal a day, and that of the scantiest, I scored
the hams as a cook scores a leg of roast pork, determined
under no circumstances to exceed the daily ration.

No little discipline was requisite to adhere to this
resolution. Samson broke down under the exposure and
privation ; superadded dysentery rendered him all but
helpless, and even affected his mind. The whole labour
of the camp then devolved on me. I never roused him
in the morning till the mules were packed — with all but
his blanket and the pannikin for his tea — and until I had
saddled his horse for him. Not till we halted at night
did we get our ration of ham. This he ate, or rather
bolted, raw, like a wild beast. My share I never touched
till after I lay down to sleep. And so tired have I been,
that once or twice I woke in the morning with my hand
at my mouth, the uns wallowed morsel between my teeth.
For three weeks we went on in this way, never ex-

TEACKS OF A EOLLING STONE 189

changing a word. I cannot say how I might have behaved
had Fred been in Samson's place. I hope I should have
been at least humane. But I was labouring for my life,
and was not over tender-hearted.

Certainly there was enough to try the patience of a
better man. Take an instance. Unable one morning to
find my own horse, I saddled his and started him off, so
as not to waste time, with his spare animal and the three
mules. It so happened that our line of march was rather
tortuous, owing to some hills we had to round. Still, as
there were high mountains in the distance which we were
making for, it seemed impossible that anyone could miss
his way. It was twenty minutes, perhaps, before I found
my horse ; this would give him about a mile or more
start of me. I hurried on, but failed to overtake him.
At the end of an hour I rode to the top of a hill which
commanded a view of the course he should have taken.
Not a moving speck was to be seen. I knew then that
he had gone astray. But in which direction ?

My heart sank within me. The provisions and blankets
were with him. I do not think that at any point of my
journey I had ever felt fear — panic that is— till now.
Starvation stared me in the face. My wits refused to
suggest a line of action. I was stunned. I felt then
what I have often felt since, what I still feel, that it is
possible to wrestle successfully with every difficulty that
man has overcome, but not with that supreme difficulty —
man's stupidity. It did not then occur to me to give a
name to the impatience that seeks to gather grapes of
thorns or figs of thistles.

I turned back, retraced my steps till I came to the
track of the mules. Luckily the ground retained the
footprints, though sometimes these would be lost for a
hundred yards or so. Just as I anticipated —Samson had
wound round the base of the very first hill he came to ;

190 TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

then, instead of correcting the deviation, and steering for
the mountains, had simply followed his nose, and was
now travelling due east, — in other words, was going back
over our track of the day before. It was past noon when
I overtook him, so that a precious day's labour was lost.

I said little, but that little was a sentence of death.

'After to-day,' I began, 'we will travel separately.'

At first he seemed hardly to take in my meaning. I
explained it.

'As well as I can make out, before we get to the
Dalles, where we ought to find the American outposts,
we have only about 150 miles to go. This should not
take more than eight or nine days. I can do it in a week
alone, but not with you. I have come to the conclusion
that with you I may not be able to do it at all. We have
still those mountains ' — pointing to the Blue Mountain
range in the distance — 'to cross. They are covered with
snow, as you see. We may find them troublesome. In
any case our food will only last eight or nine days more,
even at the present rate. You shall have the largest half
of what is left, for you require more than I do. But I
cannot, and will not, sacrifice my life for your sake. I
have made up my mind to leave you.'

It must always be a terrible thing for a judge to pass
the sentence of death. But then he is fulfilling a duty,
merely carrying out a law which is not of his making.
Moreover, he has no option — the responsibility rests with
the jury ; last of all, the sufferer is a criminal. Between
the judge's case and mine there was no analogy. My act
was a purely selfish one — justifiable I still think, though
certainly not magnanimous. I was quite aware of this
at the time, but a starving man is not burdened with
generosity.

I dismounted, and, without unsaddling the mules, took
off their packs, now reduced to a few pounds, which was

TRACKS OP A ROLLING STONE 191

all the wretched, raw-backed, and half-dead, animals could
stagger under ; and, putting my blanket, the remains of
a ham, and a little packet of tea — some eight or ten tea-
spoonfuls — on one mule, I again prepared to mount my
horse and depart.

I took, as it were, a sneaking glance at Samson. He
was sitting upon the ground, with his face between his
knees, sobbing.

At three-and-twenty the heart of a man, or of a woman
— if either has any, which, of course, may be doubtful — is
apt to play the dynamite with his or her resolves. Water-
drops have ever been formidable weapons of the latter, as
we all know ; and, not being so accustomed to them then
as I have become since, the sight of the poor devil's abject
woe and destitution, the thought that illness and suffering
were the causes, the secret whisper that my act was a
cowardly one, forced me to follow the lines of least resist-
ance, and submit to the decrees of destiny.

One more page from my ' Eide,' and the reader will,
I think, have a fair conception of its general character.
For the last two hours the ascent of the Blue Mountains
had been very steep. We were in a thick pine forest.
There was a track — probably made by Indians. Near
the summit we found a spring of beautiful water. Here
we halted for the night. It was a snug spot. But, alas !
there was nothing for the animals to eat except pine
needles. We lighted our fire against the great up-torn
roots of a fallen tree ; and, though it was freezing hard,
we piled on such masses of dead boughs that the huge
blaze seemed to warm the surrounding atmosphere.

I must here give the words of my journal, for one
exclamation in it has a sort of schoolboy ring that recalls
the buoyancy of youthful spirits, the spirits indeed to
which in early life we owe our enterprise and persever-
ance :

192 TRACKS OP A ROLLING STONE

' As I was dozing off, a pack of hungry wolves that had
scented us out set up the most infernal chorus ever heard.
In vain I pulled the frozen buffalo-robe over my head,
and tried to get to sleep. The demons drew nearer and
nearer, howling, snarling, fighting, moaning, and making
a row in the perfect stillness which reigned around, as if
hell itself were loose. For some time I bore it with
patience. At length, jumping up, I yelled in a voice that
made the valley ring : "You devils! will you be quiet? "
The appeal was immediately answered by silence ; but
hearing them tuning up for a second concert, I threw some
wood on the blazing fire and once more retired to my lair.
For a few minutes I lay awake to admire a brilliant Aurora
Borealis shooting out its streams of electric light. Then,
turning over on my side, I never moved again till dawn.'

The first objects that caught my eye were the animals.
They were huddled together within a couple of yards of
where we lay. It was a horrible sight. Two out of the
three mules, and Samson's horse, had been attacked by
the wolves. The flanks of the horse were terribly torn,
and the entrails of both the mules were partially hanging
out. Though all three were still standing with their
backs arched, they were rapidly dying from loss of blood.
My dear little ' Strawberry ' — as we called him to match
William's ' Cream ' — and my mare were both intact.

A few days after this, Samson's remaining horse gave
out. I had to surrender what remained of my poor beast
in order to get my companion through. The last fifty
miles of the journey I performed on foot ; sometimes
carrying my rifle to relieve the staggering little mule of a
few pounds extra weight. At long last the Dalles hove
in sight. And our cry, ' The tents ! the tents ! ' echoed
the joyous ' Thalassa ! Thalassa ! ' of the weary Greeks.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 193

CHAPTER XXIX

' Whbbe is the tent of the commanding officer ? ' I asked
of the first soldier I came across.

He pointed to one on the hillside. 'Ags for Major
Dooker,' was the Dutch-accented answer.

Bidding Samson stay where he was, I made my way
as directed. A middle-aged officer in undress uniform
was sitting on an empty packing-case in front of his tent,
whittling a piece of its wood.

'Pray sir,' said I in my best Louis Quatorze manner,
' have I the pleasure of speaking to Major Dooker ? '
' Tucker, sir. And who the devil are you ? '
Let me describe what the Major saw : A man wasted
by starvation to skin and bone, blackened, almost, by
months of exposure to scorching suns ; clad in the shreds
of what had once been a shirt, torn by every kind of
convict labour, stained by mud and the sweat and sores of
mules ; the rags of a shooting coat to match ; no head
covering ; hands festering with sores, and which for weeks
had not touched water — if they could avoid it. Such
an object, in short, as the genius of a Phil May could
alone have depicted as the most repulsive object he could
imagine.

' Who the devil are you ? '

' An English gentleman, sir, travelling for pleasure.'
He smiled. ' You look more like a wild beast.'
' I am quite tame, sir, I assure you — could even eat
out of your hand if I had a chance.'

194 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

' Is your name Coke ? '

' Yes,' was my amazed reply.

' Then come with me — I will show you something that
may surprise you.'

I followed him to a neighbouring tent. He drew
aside the flap of it, and there on his blanket lay Fred
Calthorpe, snoring in perfect bliss.

Our greetings were less restrained than our parting
had been. We were truly glad to meet again. He had
arrived just two days before me, although he had been at
Salt Lake City. But he had been able there to refit, had
obtained ample supplies and fresh animals. Curiously
enough, his Nelson — the French-Canadian — had also been
drowned in crossing the Snake Eiver. His place, how-
ever, had been filled by another man, and Jacob had
turned out a treasure. The good fellow greeted me
warmly. And it was no slight compensation for bygone
troubles to be assured by him that our separation had led
to the final triumphal success.

Fred and I now shared the same tent. To show what
habit will do, it was many days before I could accustom
myself to sleep under cover of a tent even, and in pre-
ference slept, as I had done for five months, under the
stars. The officers liberally furnished us with clothing.
But their excessive hospitality more nearly proved fatal
to me than any peril I had met with. One's stomach
had quite lost its discretion. And forgetting that

Famished people must be slowly nursed,
And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst,

one never knew when to leave off eating. For a few days
I was seriously ill.

An absurd incident occurred to me here which might
have had an unpleasant ending. Every evening, after
dinner in the mess tent, we played whist. One night,

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 195

quite by accident, Fred and I happened to be partners.
The Major and another officer made up the four. The
stakes were rather high. We two had had an extra-
ordinary run of luck. The Major's temper had been
smouldering for some time. Presently the deal fell to
me; and as bad luck would have it, I dealt myself a
handful of trumps, and — all four honours. As the last of
these was played, the now blazing Major dashed his cards
on the table, and there and then called me out. The
cooler heads of two or three of the others, with whom
Fred had had time to make friends, to say nothing of the
usual roar of laughter with which he himself heard the
challenge, brought the matter to a peaceful issue. The
following day one of the officers brought me a graceful
apology.

As may readily be supposed, we had no hankering for
further travels such as we had gone through. San Fran-
cisco was our destination ; but though as unknown to us
as Charles Lamb's ' Stranger,' we ' damned ' the overland
route ' at a venture ' ; and settled, as there was no alterna-
tive, to go in a trading ship to the Sandwich Islands;
thence, by the same means, to California.

On October 20 we procured a canoe large enough
for seven or eight persons ; and embarking with our light
baggage, Fred, Samson, and I, took leave of the Dalles.
For some miles the great river, the Columbia, runs
through the Cascade Mountains, and is confined, as here-
tofore, in a channel of basaltic rock. Further down it
widens, and is ornamented by groups of small wooded
islands. On one of these we landed to rest our Indians
and feed. Towards evening we again put ashore, at an
Indian village, where we camped for the night. The
scenery here is magnificent. It reminded me a little of
the Danube below Linz, or of the finest parts of the Elbe
in Saxon Switzerland. But this is to compare the full-

o 2

196 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

length portrait with the miniature. It is the grandeur of
the scale of the best of the American scenery that so
strikes the European. Variety, however, has its charms ;
and before one has travelled fifteen hundred miles on the
same river — as one may easily do in America — one begins
to sigh for the Ehine, or even for a trip from London to
Greenwich, with a white-bait dinner at the end of it.

The day after, we descended the Cascades. They are
the beginning of an immense fall in the level, and form a
succession of rapids nearly two miles long. The excite-
ment of this passage is rather too great for pleasure. It
is like being run away with by a ' motor ' down a steep
hill. The bow of the canoe is often several feet below
the stern, as if about to take a ' header.' The water, in
glassy ridges and dark furrows, rushes headlong, and
dashes itself madly against the reefs which crop up every-
where. There is no time, one thinks, to choose a course,
even if steerage, which seems absurd, were possible.
One is hurled along at railway speed. The upreared
rock, that a moment ago seemed a hundred yards off, is
now under the very bow of the canoe. One clenches
one's teeth, holds one's breath, one's hour is surely come.
But no — a shout from the Indians, a magic stroke of the
paddle in the bow, another in the stern, and the dreaded
crag is far above our heads, far, far behind ; and, for the
moment, we are gliding on — undrowned.

At the lower end of the rapids (our Indians refusing
to go further), we had to debark. A settler here was
putting up a zinc house for a store. Two others, with an
officer of the Mounted Eifles — the regiment we had left
at the Dalles — were staying with him. They welcomed
our arrival, and insisted on o\ir drinking half a dozen of
poisonous stuff they called champagne. There were no
chairs or table in the ' house,' nor as yet any floor ; and
only the beginning of a roof. We sat on the ground, so

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 197

that I was able surreptitiously to make libations with my
share, to the earth.

According to my journal : ' In a short time the party
began to be a noisy one. Healths were drunk, toasts pro-
posed, compliments to our respective nationalities paid in
the most flattering terms. The Anglo-Saxon race were
destined to conquer the globe. The English were the
greatest nation under the sun — that is to say, they had
been. America, of course, would take the lead in time to
come. We disputed this. The Americans were certain
of it, in fact this was already an accomplished fact. The
big officer — a genuine " heavy "—wanted to know where
the man was that would give him the lie ! Wasn't the
Mounted Eifles the crack regiment of the United States
army ? And wasn't the United States army the finest
army in the universe ? Who that knew anything of
history would compare the Peninsular Campaign to the
war in Mexico? Talk of Waterloo — Britishers were
mighty fond of swaggering about Waterloo ! Let 'em
look at Chepultapec. As for Wellington, he couldn't
shine nohow with General Scott, nor old Zack neither ! '

Then, we wished for a war, just to let them see
what our crack cavalry regiments could do. Mounted
Bifles forsooth ! Mounted costermongers ! whose trade
it was to sell ' nutmegs made of wood, and clocks that
wouldn't figure.' Then some pretty forcible profanity
was vented, fists were shaken, and the zinc walls were
struck, till they resounded like the threatened thunder of
artillery.

But Fred's merry laughter diverted the tragic end. It
was agreed that there had been too much tall talk.
Britishers and Americans were not such fools as to
quarrel. Let everybody drink everybody else's health.
A gentleman in the corner (he needed the support of both
walls) thought it wasn't good to ' liquor up ' too much

198 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

on an empty stomach ; he put it to the house that we
should have supper. The motion was carried nem. con.,
and a Dutch cheese was produced with much eclat.
Samson coupled the ideas of Dutch cheeses and Yankee
hospitality. This revived the flagging spirit of emulation.
On one side, it was thought that British manners were
susceptible of amendment. Confusion was then respec-
tively drunk to Yankee hospitality, English manners,
and — this was an addition of Fred's — to Dutch cheeses.
After which, to change the subject, a song was called
for, and a gentleman who shall be nameless, for there
was a little mischief in the choice, sang ' Kule Britannia.'
Not being encored, the singer drank to the flag that had
braved the battle and the breeze for nearly ninety years.
' Here's to Uncle Sam, and his stars and stripes.' The
mounted ofBcer rose to his legs (with difficulty) and de-
clared ' that he could not, and would not, hear his country
insulted any longer. He begged to challenge the " crowd."
He regretted the necessity, but his feelings had been
wounded, and he could not — no, he positively could not
stand it.' A slight push from Samson proved the fact—
the speaker fell, to rise no more. The rest of the com-
pany soon followed his example, and shortly afterwards
there was no sound but that of the adjacent rapids.

Early next morning the settler's boat came up, and
took us a mile down the river, where we found a larger
one to convey us to Fort Vancouver. The crew were a
Maltese sailor and a man who had been in the United
States army. Each had his private opinions as to her
management. Naturally, the Maltese should have been
captain, but the soldier was both supercargo and part
owner, and though it was blovring hard and the sails were
fully large, the foreigner, who was but a poor little
creature, had to obey orders.

As the river widened and grew rougher, we were

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 199

wetted from stem to stern at every plunge ; and when it
became evident that the soldier could not handle the sails
if the Maltese was kept at the helm, the heavy rifleman
who was on board, declaring that he knew the river, took
upon himself to steer us. In a few minutes the boat was
nearly swamped. The Maltese prayed and blasphemed
in language which no one understood. The oaths of the
soldier were intelligible enough. The ' heavy,' now
alarmed, nervously asked what had better be done. My
advice was to grease the bowsprit, let go the mast, and
splice the main brace. ' In another minute or two,' I
added, ' you'll steer us all to the bottom.'

Fred, who thought it no time for joking, called the
rifleman a ' damned fool,' and authoritatively bade him give
up the tiller ; saying that I had been in Her Majesty's
Navy, and perhaps knew a little more about boats than
he did. To this the other replied that ' he didn't want
anyone to learn him ; he reckon'd he'd been raised to
boating as well as the next man, and he'd be derned if he
was going to trust his life to anybody ! ' Samson, think-
ing no doubt of his own, took his pipe out of his mouth,
and towering over the steersman, flung him like a child on
one side. In an instant I was in his place.

It was a minute or two before the boat had way
enough to answer the helm. By that time we were
within a dozen yards of a reef. Having noticed, however,
that the little craft was quick in her stays, I kept her full
till the last, put the helm down, and round she spun in
a moment. Before I could thank my stars, the pintle,
or hook on which the rudder hangs, broke off. The
tiller was knocked out of my hand, and the boat's head
flew into the wind. ' Out with the sweeps,' I shouted.
But the sweeps were under the gear. All was confusion
and panic. The two men cursed in the names of their
respective saints. The ' heavy ' whined, ' I told you how

200 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

it w'd be.' Samson struggled valiantly to get at an oar,
while Fred, setting the example, begged all hands to be
calm, and be ready to fend the stern off the rocks with a
boathook. As we drifted into the surf I was wondering
how many bumps she would stand before she went to
pieces. Happily the water shallowed, and the men, by
jumping overboard, managed to drag the boat through
the breakers under the lee of the point. 'V{e afterwards
drew her up on to the beach, kindled a fire, got out some
provisions, and stayed till the storm was over.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 201

CHAPTEE XXX

What was then called Fort Vancouver was a station of
the Hudson's Bay Company. We took up our quarters
here till one of the company's vessels — the ' Mary Dare,'
a brig of 120 tons, was ready to sail for the Sandwich
Islands. This was about the most uncomfortable trip I
ever made. A sailing merchant brig of 120 tons, deeply
laden, is not exactly a pleasure yacht ; and 2,000 miles is
a long voyage. For ten days we lay at anchor at the
mouth of the Columbia, detained by westerly gales. A
week after we put to sea, all our fresh provisions were
consumed, and we had to live on our cargo — dried salmon.
We three and the captain more than filled the little hole
of a cabin. There wasn't even a hammock, and we had
to sleep on the deck, or on the lockers. The fleas, the
cockroaches, and the rats, romped over and under one all
night. Not counting the time it took to go down the river,
or the ten days we were kept at its mouth, we were just six
weeks at sea before we reached Woahoo, on Christmas Day.
How beautiful the islands looked as we passed between
them, with a fair wind and studding sails set alow and aloft.
Their tropical charms seemed more glowing, the water
bluer, the palm trees statelier, the vegetation more liber-
tine than ever. On the south the land rises gradually
from the shore to a range of lofty mountains. Immedi-
ately behind Honolulu — the capital — a valley with a road
winding up it leads to the north side of the island. This
valley is, or was then, richly cultivated, principally with

202 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

taro, a large root not unlike the yam. Here and there
native huts were dotted about, with gardens full of flowers,
and abundance of tropical fruit. Higher up, where it
becomes too steep for cultivation, growth of all kind is
rampant. Acacias, oranges, maples, bread-fruit, and
sandal- wood trees, rear their heads above the tangled ever-
greens. The high peaks, constantly in the clouds, arrest
the moisture of the ocean atmosphere, and countless rills
pour down the mountain sides, clothing everything in
perpetual verdure. The climate is one of the least
changeable in the world ; the sea breeze blows day and
night, and throughout the year the day temperature does
not vary more than five or six degrees, the average being
about eighty-three degrees Fahrenheit in the shade. In
1860 the town of Honolulu was little else than a native
village of grass and mat huts. Two or three merchants had
good houses. In one of these Fred and Samson were domi-
ciled ; there was no such thing as a hotel. I was the guest of
General Miller, the Consul-General. What changes may
have taken place since the above date I have no means of
knowing. So far as the natives go, the change will
assuredly have been for the worse ; for the aborigines, in
all parts of the world, lose their primitive simplicity and
soon acquire the worst vices of civilisation.

Even King Tamehameha III. was not innocent of one
of them. General Miller offered to present us at court,
but he had to give several days' notice in order that his
Majesty might be sufficiently sober to receive us. A negro
tailor from the United States fitted us out with suits of
black, and on the appointed day we put ourselves under
the shade of the old General's cocked hat, and marched in
a body to the palace. A native band, in which a big drum
had the leading part, received us \dth ' God save the
Queen' — whether in honour of King Tamy, or of his
visitors, was not divulged. We were first introduced to

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 203

a number of chiefs in European uniforms — except as to their
feet, which were mostly bootless. Their names sounded
like those of the state officers in Mr. Gilbert's ' Mikado.'
I find in my journal one entered as Tovey-tovey, another
as Kanakala. We were then conducted to the presence
chamber by the Foreign Minister, Mr. Wiley, a very pro-
nounced Scotch gentleman with a star of the first magni-
tude on his breast. The King was dressed as an English
admiral. The Queen, whose ample undulations also
reminded one of the high seas, was on his right ; while in
perfect gradation on her right again were four princesses
in short frocks and long trousers, with plaited tails tied
with blue ribbon, like the Miss Kenwigs. A little side
dispute arose between the stiff old General and the Foreign
Minister as to whose right it was to present us. The Consul
carried the day ; but the Scot, not to be beaten, informed
Tamehameha, in a long prefatory oration, of the object of
the ceremony. Taking one of us by the hand (I thought
the peppery old General would have thrust him aside), Mr.
Wiley told the King that it was seldom the Sandwich
Islands were ' veesited ' by strangers of such ' desteenc-
tion ' — that the Duke of this (referring to Fred's relations),
and Lord the other, were the greatest noblemen in the
world ; then, with much solemnity, quoted a long speech
from Shakespeare, and handed us over to his rival.

His Majesty, who did not understand a word of English,
or Scotch, looked grave and held tight to the arm of the
throne ; for the truth is, that although he had relinquished
his bottle for the hour, he had brought its contents with
him. My salaam was soon made ; but as I retired back-
wards I had the misfortune to set my heel on the toes of
a black-and-tan terrier, a privileged pet of the General's.
The shriek of the animal and the loss of my equilibrium
nearly precipitated me into the arms of a trousered prin-
cess; but the amiable young lady only laughed. Thus

204 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

ended my glimpse of the Hawaian Court. Mr. Wiley
afterwards remarked to me : ' We do things in a humble
way, ye'll obsairve ; but royalty is royalty all over the
world, and His Majesty Tamehameha is as much Keng of
his ain domeenions as Victoria is Queen of Breetain.' The
relativity of greatness was not to be denied.

The men — Kanakas, as they are called — are fine
stalwart fellows above our average height. The only
clothing they then wore was the maro, a cloth made by
themselves of the acacia bark. This they pass between the
legs, and once or twice round the loins. The Wyheenes —
women — formerly wore nothing but a short petticoat or
kilt of the same material. By persuasion of the mission-
aries they have exchanged this simple garment for a
chemise of printed calico, with the waist immediately
under the arms so as to conceal the contour of the figure.
Other clothing have they none.

Are they the more chaste ? Are they the less seduc-
tive ? Hear what M. Anatole France says in his apostrophe
to the sex : ' Pour f aire de vous la terrible merveille que
vous etes aujourd'hui, pour devenir la cause indifferente
et souveraine des sacrifices et des crimes, il vous a fallu
deux choses : la civilisation qui vous donna des voiles, et
la religion qui vous donna des scrupules.' The translation
of which is (please take note of it, my dear young ladies
with ' les epaules qui ne finissent pas ') :

' Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter.'

Be this as it may, these chocolate-skinned beauties,
with their small and regular features, their rosy lips,
their perfect teeth — of which they take great care — their
luxurious silky tresses, their pretty little hands and naked
feet, and their exquisite forms, would match the matchless
Cleopatra.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 205

Through the kindness of Fred's host, the principal
merchant in the island, we were offered an opportunity of
becoming acquainted with the Mite of the Honolulu
nymphs. Mr. S. invited us to what is called a Loohou
feast got up by him for their entertainment. The head
of one of the most picturesque valleys in Woahoo was
selected for the celebration of this ancient festival.
Mounted on horses with which Mr. S. had furnished us,
we repaired in a party to the appointed spot. It was early
in the afternoon when we reached it ; none of the guests
had arrived, excepting a few Kanakas, who were engaged
in thatching an old shed as shelter from the sun, and
strewing the ground with a thick carpet of palm-leaves.
Ere long, a cavalcade of between thirty and forty amazons
— they all rode astride — came racing up the valley at full
speed, their merry shouts proclaiming their approach.
Gaudy strips of maro were loosely folded around their
legs for skirts. Their pretty little straw hats trimmed
with ribbons, or their uncovered heads with their long hair
streaming in the wind, confined only by a wreath of fresh
orange flowers, added to their irresistible charm. Cer-
tainly, the bravest soldiers could not have withstood their
charge. No men, however, were admitted, save those
who had been expressly invited ; but each lady of import-
ance was given a carte blanche to bring as many of her
own sex as she pleased, provided they were both pretty
and respectable.

As they rode up, we cavaliers, with becoming gallantry,
offered our assistance while they dismounted. Smitten
through and through by the bright eyes of one little
houri who possessed far more than her share of the first
requirement, and, taking the second for granted, I
courteously prepared to aid her to alight ; when, to my
discomfiture, instead of a gracious acknowledgment of my
services, she gave me a sharp cut with her whip. As,

206 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

however, she laughed merrily at my wry faces, I accepted
the act as a scratch of the kitten's claws ; at least, it was
no sign of indifference, and giving myself the benefit of
the doubt, lifted her from her saddle without further
chastisement, except a coquettish smile that wounded,
alas ! more than it healed.

The feast was thus prepared : poultry, sucking-pigs,
and puppies — the last, after being scalded and scraped,
were stuffed with vegetables and spices, rolled in plantain
leaves, and placed in the ground upon stones already
heated. More stones were then laid over them, and fires
lighted on the top of all. While the cooking was in pro-
gress, the Kanakas ground taro roots for the paste called
' poe ' ; the girls danced and sang. The songs were
devoid of melody, being musical recitations of imaginary
love adventures, accompanied by swayings of the body
and occasional choral interruptions, all becoming more
and more excited as the , story or song approached its
natural climax. Sometimes this was varied by a solitary
dancer starting from the circle, and performing the wildest
bacchanalian antics, to the vocal incitement of the rest.
This only ended with physical exhaustion, or collapse
from feminine hysteria.

The food was excellent ; the stuffed puppy was a dish
for an epicure. Though knives and forks were unknown,
and each helped herself from the plantain leaf, one had
not the least objection to do likewise, for the most
scrupulous cleanliness is one of the many merits of these
fascinating creatures. Before every dip into the leaf, the
dainty little fingers were plunged into bowls of fresh
water provided for the purpose. Delicious fruit followed
the substantial fare ; a small glass of kava — a juice ex-
tracted from a root of the pepper tribe — was then served
to all alike. Having watched the process of preparing the
beverage, I am unable to speak as to its flavour. The

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 207

making of it is remarkable. A number of women sit on
the ground, chew the root, and spit its juice into a bowl.
The liquor is kept till it ferments, after which it becomes
highly intoxicating. I regret to say that its potency was
soon manifested on this occasion. No sooner did the
poison set their wild blood tingling, than a free fight began
for the remaining gourds. Such a scratching, pulling of
hair, clawing, kicking, and crying, were never seen. Only
by main force did we succeed in restoring peace. It is
but fair to state that, except on the celebration of one or
two solemn and sacred rites such as that of the Loohou,
these island Thyades never touch fermented liquors.

208 TRACKS or A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XXXI

It was an easier task when all was over to set the little
Amazons on their horses than to keep them there, for
by the time we had perched one on her saddle, or pad
rather, and adjusted her with the greatest nicety, another
whom we had just left would lose her balance and fall
with a scream to the ground. It was almost as difficult
as packing mules on the prairie. For my part it must be
confessed that I left the completion of the job to others.
Curious and entertaining as the feast was, my whole
attention was centred and absorbed in Arakeeta, which
that artful little enchantress had the gift to know, and
lashed me accordingly with her eyes more cruelly than
she had done with her whip. I had got so far, you see,
as to learn her name, the first instalment of an intimacy
which my demolished heart was staked on perfecting. I
noticed that she refused the kava with real or affected
repugnance ; and when the passage of arms, and legs,
began, she slipped away, caught her animal, and with a
parting laugh at me, started off for home. There was
not the faintest shadow of encouragement in her saucy
looks to follow her. Still, she was a year older than
Juliet, who was nearly fourteen ; so, who could say what
those looks might veil ? Besides :

Das Naturell der Frauen
1st so nah mit Ktinst verwaudt,

that one might easily be mistaken. Anyhow, flight
provoked pursuit ; I jumped on to my horse, and raced

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 209

along the plain like mad. She saw me coming, and
flogged the more, but being the better mounted of the two,
by degrees I overhauled her. As I ranged alongside,
neither slackening speed ; and reaching oat to catch her
bridle, my knee hooked under the hollow of hers, twisted
her clean off her pad, and in a moment she lay senseless
on the ground. I flung myself from my horse, and laid
her head upon my lap. Good God ! had I broken her
neck ! She did not stir ; her eyes were closed, but she
breathed, and her heart beat quickly. I was wild with
terror and remorse. I looked back for aid, but the others
had not started ; we were still a mile or more from
Honolulu. I knew not what to do. I kissed her fore-
head, I called her by her name. But she lay like a child
asleep. Presently her dazed eyes opened and stared with
wonderment, and then she smiled. The tears, I think,
were on my cheeks, and seeing them, she put her arms
around my neck and — forgave me.

She had fallen on her head and had been stunned. I
caught the horses while she sat still, and we walked them
slowly home. When we got within sight of her hut on
the outskirts of the town, she would not let me go further.
There was sadness in her look when we parted. I made
her understand (I had picked up two or three words) that
I would return to see her. She at once shook her head
with an expression of something akin to fear. I too felt
sorrowful, and worse than sorrowful, Jealous.

When the night fell I sought her hut. It was one of
the better kind, built like others mainly with matting ; no
doors or windows, but with an extensive verandah which
protected the inner part from rain and sun. Now and
again I caught glimpses of Arakeeta's fairy form flitting
in, or obscuring, the lamplight. I could see two other
women and two men. Who and what were they ? Was
one of those dark forms an Othello, ready to smother his

p

210 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Desdemona ? Or were either of them a Valentine between
my Marguerite and me ? Though there was no moon,
I dared not venture within the lamp's rays, for her sake ;
for my own, I was reckless now — I would have thanked
either of them to brain me with his hoe. But Arakeeta
came not.

In the day-time I roamed about the district, about the
taro fields, in case she might be working there. Every
evening before sundown, many of the women and some of
the well-to-do men, and a few whites, used to ride on the
plain that stretches along the shore between the fringe of
palm groves and the mountain spurs. I had seen
Arakeeta amongst them before the Loohou feast. She had
given this up now, and why? Night after night I
hovered about the hut. When she was in the verandah I
whispered her name. She started and peered into the
dark, hesitated, then fled. Again the same thing
happened. She had heard me, she knew that I was there,
but she came not ; no, wiser than I, she came not. And

though I sighed :

What is worth
The rest of Heaven, the rest of earth ?

the shrewd little wench doubtless told herself : ' A quiet
life, without the fear of the broomstick.'

Fred was impatient to be off, I had already trespassed
too long on the kind hospitality of General Miller, neither
of us had heard from England for more than a year, and
the opportunities of trading vessels to California seldom
offered. A rare chance came — a fast-sailing brig, the
' Corsair,' was to leave in a few days for San Francisco.
The captain was an Englishman, and had the repute of
being a boon companion and a good caterer. We — I,
passively — settled to go. Samson decided to remain. He
wanted to visit Owyhee. He came on board with us, how-
ever ; and, with a parting bumper of champagne, we said

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 211

' Good-bye.' That was the last I ever saw of him. The
hardships had broken him down. He died not long after.

The light breeze carried us slowly away — for the first
time for many long months with our faces to the east.
But it was not ' merry ' England that filled my juvenile
fancies. I leaned upon the taffrail and watched this
lovely land of the ' flowery food ' fade slowly from my
sight. I had eaten of the Lotus, and knew no wish but
to linger on, to roam no more, to return no more, to any
home that was not Arakeeta's.

This sort o£ feeling is not very uncommon in early
life. And ' out of sight, out of mind,' is also a known
experience. Long before we reached San Fr'isco I was
again eager for adventure.

How magnificent is the bay ! One cannot see across
it. How impatient we were to land ! Everything new.
Bearded dirty heterogeneous crowds busy in all direc-
tions, — some running up wooden and zinc houses, some
paving the streets with planks, some housing over ships
beached for temporary dwellings. The sandy hills behind
the infant town are being levelled and the foreshore filled
up. A ' water surface ' of forty feet square is worth
5,000 dollars. So that here and there the shop-fronts are
ships' broadsides. Already there is a theatre. But the
chief feature is the gambling saloons, open night and day.
These large rooms are always filled with from 300 to 400
people of every description — from ' judges ' and ' colonels '
(every man is one or the other, who is nothing else) to
Parisian cocottes, and escaped convicts of all nationalities.
At one end of the saloon is a bar, at the other a band.
Dozens of tables are ranged around. Monte, faro, rouge-
et-noir, are the games. A large proportion of the players
are diggers in shirt-sleeves and butcher-boots, belts round
their waists for bowie knife and ' five shooters,' which have
to be surrendered on admittance. They come with their

p 2

212 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

bags of nuggets or 'dust,' which is duly weighed,
stamped, and sealed by officials for the purpose.

1 have still several specimens of the precious metal
which I captured, varying in size from a grain of wheat
to a mustard seed.

The tables win enormously, and so do the ladies of
pleasure ; but the winnings of these go back again to the
tables. Four times, while we were here, differences of
opinion arose concerning points of 'honour,' and were
summarily decided by revolvers. Two of the four were
subsequently referred to Judge ' Lynch.'

Wishing to see the ' diggings,' Fred and I went to
Sacramento — about 150 miles up the river of that name.
This was but a pocket edition of San Francisco, or
scarcely that. We therefore moved to Marysville, which,
from its vicinity to the various branches of the Sacra-
mento river, was the chief depot for the miners of the
' wet diggin's ' in Northern California. Here we were
received by a Mr. Massett — a curious specimen of the
waifs and strays that turn up all over the world in odd
places, and whom one would be sure to find in the moon
if ever one went there. He owned a little one-roomed
cabin, over the door of which was painted ' Offices of the
Marysville Herald.' He was his own contributor and
' correspondent,' editor and printer, (the press was in a
corner of the room). Amongst other avocations he was a
concert-giver, a comic reader, a tragic actor, and an
auctioneer. He had the good temper and sanguine dis-
position of a Mark Tapley. After the golden days of
CaUfomia he spent his life wandering about the globe ;
giving ' entertainments ' in China, Japan, India, Australia.
Wherever the English language is spoken, Stephen
Massett had many friends and no enemies.

Fred slept on the table, I under it, and next morning
we hired horses and started for the ' Forks of the Yuba.'

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 213

A few hours' ride brought us to the gold-hunters. Two
or three hundred men were at work upon what had
formerly been the bed of the river. By unwritten law,
each miner was entitled to a certain portion of the 'bar,'
as it was called, in which the gold is found. And, as the
precious metal has to be obtained by washing, the allot-
ments were measured by thirty feet on the banks of the
river and into the dry bed as far as this extends ; thus
giving each man his allowance of water. Generally three
or four combined to possess a ' claim.' Each would then
attend to his own department : one loosened the soil,
another filled the barrow or cart, a third carried it to the
river, and the fourth would wash it in the ' rocker.' The
average weight of gold got by each miner while we were
at the ' wet diggin's,' i.e. where water had to be used, was
nearly half an ounce or seven dollars' worth a day. We
saw three Englishmen who had bought a claim 30 feet by
100 feet, for 1,400 dollars. It had been bought and sold
twice before for considerable sums, each party supposing
it to be nearly ' played out.' In three weeks the Eng-
lishmen paid their 1,400 dollars and had cleared thirteen
dollars a day apiece for their labour.

Our presence here created both curiosity and suspi-
cion, for each gang and each individual was very shy of
his neighbour. They did not believe our story of crossing
the plains ; they themselves, for the most part, had come
round the Horn ; a few across the isthmus. Then, if we
didn't want to dig, what did we want ? Another pecu-
liarity about us — a great one — was, that, so far as they
could see, we were unarmed. At night the majority, all
except the few who had huts, slept in a zinc house or sort
of low-roofed bam, against the walls of which were three
tiers of bunks. There was no room for us, even if we had
wished it, but we managed to hire a trestle. Mattress or
covering we had none. As Fred and I lay side by side,

214 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

squeezed together in a trough scarcely big enough for one.
we heard two fellows by the door of the shed talking us
over. They thought no doubt that we were fast asleep,
they themselves were slightly fuddled. We nudged each
other and pricked up our ears, for we had already can-
vassed the question of security, surrounded as we were by
ruf&ans who looked quite ready to dispose of babes in the
wood. They discussed our ' portable property ' which
was nil ; one decided, while the other believed, that we
must have money in our pockets. The first remarked
that, whether or no, we were unarmed ; the other wasn't
so sure about that — it wasn't likely we'd come there to be
skinned for the asking. Then arose the question of con-
sequences, and it transpired that neither of them had the
courage of his rascality. After a bit, both agreed they
had better turn in. Tired as we were, we fell asleep.
How long w6 had slumbered I know not, but all of a
sudden I was seized by the beard, and was conscious of
a report which in my dreams I took for a pistol-shot. I
found myself on the ground amid the wrecks of the
trestle. Its joints had given way under the extra weight,
and Fred's first impulse had been to clutch at my
throat.

On the way back to San Francisco we stayed for a
couple of nights at Sacramento. It was a miserable
place, with nothing but a few temporary buildings except
those of the Spanish settlers. In the course of a walk
round the town I noticed a crowd collected under a
large elm-tree in the horse-market. On inquiry I was
informed that a man had been lynched on one of its
boaghs the night before last. A piece of the rope was
still hanging from the tree. When I got back to the
' hotel ' — a place not much better than the shed at Yuba
Forks — I found a newspaper with an account of the
affair. Drawing a chair up to the stove, I was deep in

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 215

the story, when a huge rowdy-looking fellow in digger-
costume interrupted me with :

' Say, stranger, let's have a look at that paper, will ye ? '

' When I've done with it,' said I, and continued read-
ing. He lent over the back of my chair, put one hand on
my shoulder, and with the other raised the paper so that
he could read.

' Oaint see rightly. Ah, reckon you're readen 'baout
Jim, ain't yer ? '

' Who's Jim ? '

' Him as they sus-spended yesterday mornin'. Jim
was a purticler friend o' mine, and I help'd to hang him.'

' A friendly act ! What was he hanged for ? '

' When did you come to Sacramenty City ? '

' Day before yesterday.'

'Wal, I'll tell yer haow't was then. Yer see, Jim was
a Britisher, he come from a place they call Botany Bay,
which belongs to Victoria, but ain't 'xactly in the Old
Country. I judge, when he first come to Californy, 'baout
six months back, he warn't acquainted none with any
boys hereaway, so he took to diggin' by hisself . It was
up to Cigar Bar whar he dug, and I chanst to be around
there too, that's haow we got to know one another. Jim
hadn't been here not a fortnight 'fore one of the boys
lost 300 dollars as he'd made a cache of. Somehow
suspicions fell on Jim. More'n, one of us thought he'd
been a diggin' for bags instead of for dust ; and the man
as lost the money swore he'd hev a turn with him ; so
Jim took my advice not to go foolin' around, an' sloped.'

' Well,' said I, as my friend stopped to adjust his
tobacco plug, ' he wasn't hanged for that ? '

' 'Tain't likely ! Till last week nobody know'd whar
he'd gone to. When he come to Sacramenty this time,
he come with a pile, an' no mistake. All day and all
night he used to play at faro an' a heap o' other games.

216 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Nobody couldn't tell how he made his money hold out,
nor whar he got it from ; but sattin sure the crowd
reckoned as haow Jim was considerable of a loafer. One
day a blacksmith as lives up Broad Street, said he found
out the way he done it, and ast me to come with him and
show up Jim for cheatin'. Naow, whether it was as Jim
suspicioned the blacksmith I cain't say, but he didn't
cheat, and lost his money in consequence. This riled
him bad, so wantin' to get quit of the blacksmith he began
a quarrel. The blacksmith was a quick-tempered man,
and after some language struck Jim in the mouth. Jim
jumps up, and whippin' out his revolver, shoots the t'other
man dead on the spot. I was the first to lay hold on him,
but ef it hadn't 'a,' been for me they'd 'a' torn him to
pieces.

' " Send for Judge Parker," says some.

' " Let's try him here," says others.

' " I don't want to be tried at all," says Jim. " You all
know bloody well as I shot the man. And I knows bloody
well as I'll hev to swing for it. Gi' me till daylight, and
I'll die like a man."

' But we wasn't going to hang him without a proper
trial ; and as the trial lasted two hours, it '

' Two hours ! What did you want two hours for ? '

' There was some as wanted to lynch him, and some as
wanted him tried by the reg'lar judges of the Crim'nal
Court. One of the best speakers said lynch-law was no
law at all, and no innocent man's life was safe with it.
So there was a lot of speakin', you bet. By the time it
was over it was just daylight, and the majority voted as he
should die at onc't. So they took him to the horse-
market, and stood him on a table under the big elm. I
kep' by his side, and when he was getting on the table he
ast me to lend him my revolver to shoot the foreman of
the jury. When I wouldn't, he ast me to tie the knot so

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 217

as it wouldn't slip. " It ain't no account, Jim," says I, " to
talk like that. You're bound to die ; and ef they didn't
hang yer I'd shoot yer myself."

' "Well then," says he, "gi' me hold of the rope, and
I'll show you how little I keer for death." He snatches
the cord out o' my hands, pulls hisself out o' reach o'
the crowd, and sat cross-legged on the bough. Half a
dozen shooters was raised to fetch him down, but he tied
a noose in the rope, put it round his neck, slipped it puty
tight, and stood up on the bough and made 'em a speech.
What he mostly said was as he hated 'em all. He cussed
the man he shot, then he cussed the world, then he
cussed hisself, and with a terr'ble oath he jumped off the
bough, and swung back'ards and for'ards with his neck
broke.'

' An Englishman,' I reflected aloud.

He nodded. ' You're a Britisher, I reckon, ain't yer ? '

'Yes; why?'

' Wal, you've a puty strong accent.'

' Think so ? '

' Wal, I could jest tie a knot in it.'

This is a vulgar and repulsive story. But it is not
fiction ; and any picture of Californian life in 1850,
without some such faithful touch of local colour, would be
inadequate and misleading.

218 TRACKS OP A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XXXII

A STEAMER took US dowii to Acapulco. It is probably
a thriving port now. When we were there, a few native
huts and two or three stone buildings at the edge of the
jungle constituted the ' town.' We bought some horses,
and hired two men — a Mexican and a Yankee — for our
ride to the city of Mexico. There was at that time
nothing but a mule-track, and no public conveyance of
any kind. Nothing could exceed the beauty of the
scenery. Within 160 miles, as the crow flies, one rises up
to the city of Mexico some 12,000 feet, with Popocatepetl
overhanging it 17,500 feet high. In this short space one
passes from intense tropical heat and vegetation to pines
and laurels and the proximity of perpetual snows. The
path in places winds along the brink of precipitous de-
clivities, from the top of which one sees the climatic
gradations blending one into another. So narrow are
some of the mountain paths that a mule laden with ore
has often one panier overhanging the valley a thousand
feet below it. Constantly in the long trains of animals
descending to the coast, a slip of the foot or a charge from
behind, for they all come down the steep track with a
jolting shuffle, sends mule and its load over the ledge.
We found it very difficult in places to get out of the way
in time to let the trains pass. Flocks of parrots and
great macaws screeching and flying about added to the
novelty of the scene.

The villages, inhabited by a cross between the original

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 219

Indians and the Spaniards, are about twenty miles apart.
At one of these we always stayed for the night, sleeping
in grass hammocks suspended between the posts of the
verandah. The only travellers we fell in with were a
party of four Americans, returning to the Eastern States
from California with the gold they had won there. They
had come in our steamer to Acapulco, and had left it a
few hours before we did. As the villages were so far
apart we necessarily had to stop at night in the same one.
The second time this happened they, having arrived first,
had quartered themselves on the Alcalde or principal
personage of the place. Our guide took us to the same
house ; and although His Worship, who had a better
supply of maize for the horses, and a few more chickens
to sell than the other natives, was anxious to accommo-
date us, the four Americans, a very rough-looking lot and
armed to the teeth, wouldn't hear of it, but peremptorily
bade us put up elsewhere. Our own American, who was
much afraid of them, obeyed their commands without
more ado. It made not the slightest diiference to us, for
one grass hammock is as soft as another, and the Alcalde's
chickens were as tough as ours.

Before the morning start, two of the diggers, rifles in
hand, came over to us and plainly told us they objected to
our company. Pred, with perfect good humour, assured
them we had no thought of robbing them, and that as
the villages were so far apart we had no choice in the
matter. However, as they wished to travel separate from
us, if there should be two villages at all within suitable
distances, they could stop at one and we at the other.
There the matter rested. But our guide was more
frightened than ever. They were four to two, he argued,
for neither he nor the Mexican were armed. And there
was no saying, etc., etc. ... In short we had better stay
where we were till they got through. Fred laughed at

220 TKACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

the fellow's alarm, and told him he might stop if he liked,
but we meant to go on.

As usual, when we reached the next stage, the diggers
were before us ; and when our men began to unsaddle at
a hut about fifty yards from where they were feeding their
horses, one of them, the biggest blackguard to look at of
the lot, and though the fiercest probably the greatest cur,
shouted at us to put the saddles on again and ' get out of
that.' He had warned us in the morning that they'd had
enough of us, and, with a volley of oaths, advised us to be
off. Fred, who was in his shirt-sleeves, listened at first
vsdth a look of surprise at such cantankerous unreason-
ableness ; but when the ruf&an fell to swear and
threaten, he burst into one of his contemptuous guffaws,
turned his back and began to feed his horse with a corn-
cob. Thus insulted, the digger ran into the hut (as I
could see) to get his rifle. I snatched up my own, which
I had been using every day to practise at the large iguanas
and macaws, and, well protected by my horse, called out
as I covered him, 'This is a double-barrelled rifle. If
you raise yours I'll drop you where you stand.' He was
forestalled and taken aback. Probably he meant nothing
but bravado. Still, the situation was a critical one.
Obviously I could not wait till he had shot my friend.
But had it come to shooting there would have been three
left, unless my second barrel had disposed of another.
Fortunately the ' boss ' of the digging party gauged the
gravity of the crisis at a glance ; and instead of backing
him up as expected, swore at him for a ' derned fool,' and
ordered him to have no more to do with us.

After that, as we drew near to the city, the country
being more thickly populated, we no longer clashed.

This is not a guide-book, and I have nothing to tell of
that readers would not find better described in their
' Murray.' We put up in an excellent hotel kept by M,

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 221

Arago, the brother of the great French astronomer. The
only other travellers in it besides ourselves were the
famous dancer Cerito, and her husband the violin virtuoso,
St. Leon. Luckily for me our English Minister V7as Mr.
Percy Doyle, whom I had known as attachS at Paris
when I was at Larue, and who was a great friend of the
De Cubriers. We were thus provided with many ad-
vantages for ' sight-seeing ' in and about the city, and also
for more distant excursions through credentials from the
Mexican authorities. Under these auspices we visited the
silver mines at Guadalajara, Potosi, and Guanajuata.

The life in Mexico city was delightful, after a year's
tramp. The hotel, as I have said, was to us luxurious.
My room under the verandah opened on to a large and
beautiful garden partially enclosed on two sides. As
I lay in bed of a morning reading Prescott's ' History of
Mexico,' or watching the brilliant humming birds as they
darted from flower to flower, and listened to the gentle
plash of the fountain, my cup of enjoyment and romance
was brimming over.

Just before I left, an old friend of mine arrived from
England. This was Mr. Joseph Clissold. He was a
schoolfellow of mine at Sheen. He had pulled in the
Cambridge boat, and played in the Cambridge eleven.
He afterwards became a magistrate either in Australia or
New Zealand. He was the best type of the good-natured,
level-headed, hard-hitting Englishman. Curiously enough,
as it turned out, the greater part of the only conversation
we had (I was leaving the day after he came) was about
the brigandage on the road between Mexico and Vera
Cruz. He told me the passengers in the diligence which
had brought him up had been warned at Jalapa that the
road was infested by robbers ; and should the coach be
stopped they were on no account to offer resistance, for
the robbers would certainly shoot them if they did.

222 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Fred chose to ride down to the coast, I went by coach.
This held six inside and two by the driver. Three of the
inside passengers sat with backs to the horses, the others
facing them. My coach was full, and stifling hot and
stuffy it was before we had done with it. Of the five
others two were fat priests, and for twenty hours my
place was between them. But in one way I had my
revenge : I carried my loaded rifle between my knees, and
a pistol in my belt. The dismay, the terror, the panic,
the protestations, the entreaties and execrations of all the
five, kept us at least from ennui for many a weary mile.
I doubt whether the two priests ever thumbed their
breviaries so devoutly in their lives. Perhaps that
brought us salvation. We reached Vera Cruz without
adventure, and in the autumn of '51 Fred and I landed
safely at Southampton.

Two months after I got back, I read an account in the
' Times ' of ' Joe ' Clissold's return trip from Mexico.
The coach in which he was travelling was stopped by
robbers. Friend Joseph was armed with a double-
barrelled smooth-bore loaded with slugs. He considered
this on the whole more suitable than a rifle. When the
captain of the brigands opened the coach door and, pistol
in hand, politely proffered his request, Mr. Joe was quite
ready for him, and confided the contents of one barrel to
the captain's bosom. Seeing the fate of their commander,
and not knowing what else the dilly might contain, the
rest of the band dug spurs into their horses and fled.
But the sturdy oarsman and smart cricketer was too quick
for one of them — the horse followed his friends, but the
rider stayed with his chief.

TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE 223

CHAPTEE XXXIII

The following winter, my friend, George Cayley, was
ordered to the south for his health. He went to Seville.
I joined him there ; and we took lodgings and remained
till the spring. As Cayley published an amusing account
of our travels, ' Las Aforjas, or the Bridle Eoads of
Spain,' as this is more than fifty years ago — before the
days of railways and tourists — and as I kept no journal of
my own, I will make free use of his.

A few words will show the terms we were on.

I had landed at Cadiz, and had gone up the Guadal-
quivir in a steamer, whose advent at Seville my friend was
on the look-out for. He describes his impatience for her
arrival. By some mistake he is misinformed as to the
time ; he is a quarter of an hour late.

'A remnant of passengers yet bustled around the luggage,
arguing, struggling and bargaining with a contentious com-
pany of porters. Alas ! H. was not to be seen among them.
There was still a chance; he might be one of the pas-
sengers who had got ashore before my coming down, and
I was preparing to rush back to the city to ransack the
hotels. Just then an internal convulsion shook the swarm
around the luggage pile ; out burst a little Gallego
staggering under a huge British portmanteau, and
followed by its much desired, and now almost despaired of,
proprietor.

' I saw him come bowling up the slope with his familiar
gait, evidently unconscious of my presence, and wearing

224 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

that sturdy and almost hostile demeanour with which a
true Briton marches into a strange city through the army
of officious importunates who never fail to welcome the
true Briton's arrival. As he passed the barrier he came
close to me in the crowd, still without recognising me,
for though straight before his nose I was dressed in the
costume of the people. I touched his elbow and he
turned upon me with a look of impatient defiance, thinking
me one persecutor more.

' How quickly the expression changed, etc., etc. We
rushed into each other's arms, as much as the many great
coats slung over his shoulders, and the deep folds of cloak
in which I was enveloped, would mutually permit. Then,
saying more than a thousand things in a breath, or rather
in no breath at all, we set off in great glee for my
lodgings, forgetting in the excitement the poor little
porter who was following at full trot, panting and puffing
under the heavy portmanteau. We got home, but were
no calmer. We dined, but could not eat. We talked,
but the news could not be persuaded to come out quick
enough.'

Who has not known what is here described ? Who
does not envy the freshness, the enthusiasm, of such
bubbling of warm young hearts ? Oh, the pity of it ! if
these generous emotions should prove as transient as
youth itself. And then, when one of those young hearts
is turned to dust, and one is left to think of it — why then,
'tis not much comfort to reflect that — nothing in the
world is commoner.

We got a Spanish master and worked industriously,
also picked up all the Andalusian we could, which is as
much like pure Castilian as wold -Yorkshire is to English.
I also took lessons on the guitar. Thus prepared, I
imitated my friend and adopted the ordinary costume of
the Andalusian peasant : breeches, ornamented with rows

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 225

of silvered buttons, gaiters, a short jacket with a red
flower-pot and blue lily on the back, and elbows with
green and scarlet patterns, a red faja or sash, and the
sombrero which I believe is worn nowhere except in the
bull-ring. The whole of this picturesque dress is now, I
think, given up. I have spent the last two winters in the
south of Spain, but have not once seen it.

It must not be supposed that we chose this ' get-up '
to gratify any aesthetic taste of our own or other people's ;
it was long before the days of the ' Too-toos,' whom Mr.
Gilbert brought to a timely end. We had settled to ride
through Spain from Gibraltar to Bayonne, choosing
always the bridle-roads so as to avoid anything approach-
ing a beaten track. We were to visit the principal cities
and keep more or less a northerly course, staying on the
way at such places as Malaga, Cordova, Toledo, Madrid,
Valladolid, and Burgos. The rest was to be left to
chance. We were to take no map ; and when in doubt as
to diverging roads, the toss of a coin was to settle it.
This programme was conscientiously adhered to. The
object of the dress then was obscurity. For safety (bri-
gands abounded) and for economy, it was desirable to pass
unnoticed. We never knew in what dirty^osacZa or road-
side venta we should spend the night. For the most part
it was at the resting-place of the muleteers, which would
be nothing but a roughly paved dark chamber, one end
occupied by mules and the other by their drivers. We
made our own omelets and salad and chocolate ; with the
exception of the never failing bacallao, or salt fish, we
rarely had anything else ; and rolling ourselves into our
cloaks, with saddles for pillows, slept amongst the mule-
teers on the stone flags. We had bought a couple of ponies
in the Seville market for 71. and 81. Our alforjas or saddle-
bags contained all we needed. Our portmanteaus were
sent on from town to town, wherever we had arranged

Q

226 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

to stop. Eough as the life was, we saw the people of
Spain as no ordinary travellers could hope to see them.
The carriers, the shepherds, the publicans, the travelling
merchants, the priests, the barbers, the molineras of
Antequera, the Maritornes', the Sancho Panzas — all just
as they were seen by the immortal knight.

From the mozos de la cuadra (ostlers) and arrieros,
upwards and downwards, nowhere have I met, in the
same class, with such natural politeness. This is much
changed for the worse now ; but before the invasion of
tourists one never passed a man on the road who did not
salute one with a ' Vaya usted con Dios.' Nor would the
most indigent vagabond touch the filthy bacallao which
he drew from his wallet till he had courteously addressed
the stranger with the formula ' Quiere usted comer ? '
('Will your Lordship please to eat?') The contrast
between the people and the nobles in this respect was
very marked. We saw "something of the latter in the
club at Seville, where one met men whose high-sounding
names and titles have come down to us from the greatest
epochs of Spanish history. Their ignorance was surpris-
ing. Not one of them had been farther than Madrid.
Not one of them knew a word of any language but his
own, nor was he acquainted with the rudiments even of
his country's history. Their conversation was restricted
to the bull-ring and the cockpit, to cards and women.
Their chief aim seemed to be to stagger us with the
number of quarterings they bore upon their escutcheons ;
and they appraised others by a like estimate.

Cayley, tickled with the humour of their childish vanity,
painted an elaborate coat of arms, which he stuck in the
crown of his hat, and by means of which he explained to
them that he too was by rights a Spanish nobleman.
With the utmost gravity he delivered some such medley
as this : His Iberian origin dated back to the time of

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 227

Hannibal, who, after his defeat of the Papal forces and
capture of Borne, had, as they well knew, married Prin-
cess Peri Banou, youngest daughter of Ferdinand and
Isabella. The issue of the marriage was the famous
Cardinal Chicot, from whom he — G-eorge Cayley — was of
direct male descent. When Chicot was slain by Oliver
Cromwell at the battle of Hastings, his descendants,
foiled in their attempt to capture England with the
Spanish Armada, settled in the principality of Yorkshire,
adopted the noble name of Cayley, and still governed that
province as members of the British Parliament.

Prom that day we were treated with every mark of
distinction.

Here is another of my friend's pranks. I will let
Cayley speak ; for though I kept no journal, we had
agreed to write a joint account of our trip, and our note-
books were common property.

After leaving Malaga we met some beggars on the
road, to one of whom, ' an old hag v?ith one eye and a
grizzly beard,' I threw the immense sum of a couple of
2-cuarto pieces. An old man riding behind us on an ass
with empty panniers, seeing fortunes being scattered about
the road with such reckless and unbounded profusion,
came up alongside, and entered into a piteous detail of
his poverty. When he wound up with plain begging, the
originality and boldness of the idea of a mounted beggar
struck us in so humorous a light that we could not help
laughing. As we rode along talking his case over, Cayley
said, ' Suppose we rob him. He has sold his market
produce in Malaga, and depend upon it, has a pocketful
of money.' We waited for him to come up. When he
got fairly between us, Cayley pulled out his revolver (we
both carried pistols) and thus addressed him :

' Impudent old scoundrel ! stand still. If thou stirr'st
hand or foot, or openest thy mouth, I will slay thee like a

<t2

228 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

dog. Thou greedy miscreant, who art evidently a man of
property and hast an ass to ride upon, art not satisfied
without trying to rob the truly poor of the alms we give
them. Therefore hand over at once the two dollars for
which thou hast sold thy cabbages for double what they
were worth.'

The old culprit fell on his knees, and trembling
violently, prayed Cayley for the love of the Virgin to
spare him.

' One moment, caballeros,' he cried, ' I will give you
all I possess. But I am poor, very poor, and I have a
sick wife at the disposition of your worships.'

'Wherefore art thou fumbling at thy foot? Thou
carriest not thy wife in thy shoe ? '

' I cannot untie the string — my hand trembles ; will
your worships permit me to take out my knife ? '

He did so, and cutting the carefully knotted thong of
a leather bag which had been concealed in the leg of his
stocking, poured out a handful of small coin and began to
weep piteously.

Said Cayley, ' Come, come, none of that, or we shall
feel it our duty to shoot thy donkey that thou may'st have
something to whimper for.'

The genuine tears of the poor old fellow at last touched
the heart of the jester.

' We know now that thou art poor,' said he, ' for we
have taken all thou hadst. And as it is the religion of
the Ingleses, founded on the practice of their celebrated
saint, Eobino Hoodo, to levy funds from the rich for the
benefit of the needy, hold out thy sombero, and we will
bestow a trifle upon thee.'

So saying he poured back the plunder ; to which was
added, to the astonishment of the receiver, some supple-
mentary pieces that nearly equalled the original sum.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 229

CHAPTEE XXXIV

Before setting out from Seville we had had our Foreign
Office passports duly vised. Our profession was given as
that of travelling artists, and the vise included the per-
mission to carry arms. More than once the sight of our
pistols caused us to be stopped by the carahineros. On
one occasion these road-guards disputed the wording of
the vise. They protested that ' armas ' meant ' escopetas,'
not pistols, which were forbidden. Cayley indignantly
retorted, ' Nothing is forbidden to Englishmen. Besides,
it is specified in our passports that we are ' personas de
toda confianza,' which checkmated them.

We both sketched, and passed ourselves off as ' retra-
tistas' (portrait painters), and did a small business in this
way — rather in the shape of caricatures, I fear, but which
gave much satisfaction. We charged one peseta (seven-
pence), or two, a head, according to the means of the
sitter. The fiction that we were earning our bread
wholesomely tended to moderate the charge for it.

Passing through the land of Don Quixote's exploits,
we reverentially visited any known spot which these had
rendered famous. Amongst such was the venta of
Quesada, from which, or from Quixada, as some conjec-
ture, the knight derived his surname, It was here,
attracted by its castellated style, and by two ' ladies of
pleasure ' at its door — whose virginity he at once offered
to defend, that he spent the night of his first sally. It
was here that, in his shirt, he kept guard till morning

230 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

over the armour he had laid by the well. It was here
that, with his spear, he broke the head of the carrier
whom he took for another knight bent on the rape of the
virgin princesses committed to his charge. Here, too, it
was that the host of the venta dubbed him with the
coveted knighthood which qualified him for his noble deeds.

To Quesada we wended our way. We asked the Senor
Huesped whether he knew anything of the history of his
venta. Was it not very ancient ?

' Oh no, it was quite modern. But on the site of it
had stood a fine venta which was burnt down at the time
of the war.'

' An old building ? '

' Yes, indeed ! a cosa de siempre — thing of always.
Nothing was left of it now but that well, and the stone
trough.'

These bore marks of antiquity, and were doubtless as
the gallant knight had left them. Curiously, too, there
were remains of an outhouse with a crenellated parapet,
suggestive enough of a castle.

From Quesada we rode to Argamasilla del Alba, where
Cervantes was imprisoned, and where the First Part of
Don Quixote was written.

In his Life of Cervantes, Don Gregorio Mayano throws
some doubt upon this. Speaking of the attacks of his con-
temporary, the 'Aragonian,' Don Gregorio writes (I give
Ozell's translation) : ' As for this scandalous fellow's saying
that Cervantes wrote his First Part of "Don Quixote"
in a prison, and that that might make it so dull and in-
correct, Cervantes did not think fit to give any answer
concerning his being imprisoned, perhaps to avoid giving
offence to the ministers of justice ; for certainly his
imprisonment must not have been ignominious, since
Cervantes :himself voluntarilyjmentions it in his Preface
to I the First Part of " Don Quixote." '

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 231

This reasoning, however, does not seem conclusive ;
for the only reference to the subject in the preface is as
follows : ' What could my sterile and uncultivated genius
produce but the history of a child, meagre, adust, and
whimsical, full of various wild imaginations never thought
of before; like one you may suppose born in a prison,
where every inconvenience keeps its residence, and every
dismal sound its habitation ? '

We took up our quarters in the little town at the
' Posada de la Mina.' While our olla was being prepared,
we asked the hostess whether she had ever heard of the
celebrated Don Miguel de Cervantes, who had been im-
prisoned there? (I will quote Cayley).

' No, Senores ; I think I have heard of one Cervantes,
but he does not live here at present.'

' Do you know anything of Don Quixote ? '

' Oh, yes. He was a great caballero, who lived here
some years ago. His house is over the way, on the other
side of the plaza, vsdth the arms over the door. The
father of the Alcalde is the oldest man in the pueblo ;
perhaps he may remember him.'

We were amused at his hero's fame outliving that of
the author. But is it not so with others— the writers of
the Book of Job, of the Pentateuch, and perhaps, too, of
the ' Ihad,' if not of the ' Odyssey ' ?

But, to let Cayley speak :

' While we were undressing to go to bed, three gentle-
men were announced and shown in. We begged them
to be seated. . . . We sat opposite on the ends of our
respective beds to hear what they might have to com-
municate. A venerable old man opened the conference.

' " We have understood, gentlemen, that you have come
hither seeking for information respecting the famous Don
Quixote, and we have come to give you such information
as we may ; but perhaps you will vmderstand me better
if I speak in Latin."

232 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

' " We have learnt the Latin at our schools, but are
more accustomed to converse in Castilian ; pray proceed."

' " I am the Medico of the place, an old man, as you see ;
and what little I know has reached me by tradition. It
is reported that Cervantes was paying his addresses to a
young lady, whose name was Quijana or Quijada. The
Alcalde, disapproving of the suit, put him into a dungeon
under his house, and kept him there a year. Once he
escaped and fled, but he was taken in Toboso, and brought
back. Cervantes wrote ' Don Quixote ' as a satire on the
Alcalde, who was a very proud man, full of chivalresque
ideas. You can see the dungeon to-morrow ; but you
should see the batanes (water-mills) of the Guadiana,
whose ' golpear ' so terrified Sancho Panza. They are at
about three leagues distance." '

The old gentleman added that he was proud to receive
strangers who came to do honour to the memory of his
illustrious townsman ; and hoped we would visit him next
day, on our return from the fulling-mills, when he would
have the pleasure of conducting us to the house of the
Quijanas, in the cellars of which Cervantes was confined.

To the batanes we went next morning. Their his-
torical importance entitles them to an accurate descrip-
tion. None could be more lucid than that of my
companion. ' These clumsy, ancient machines are com-
posed of a couple of huge wooden mallets, slung in a
timber framework, which, being pushed out of the per-
pendicular by knobs on a water-wheel, clash back again
alternately in two troughs, pounding severely whatever
may be put in between the face of the mallet and the end
of the trough into which the water runs.'

It will be remembered that, after a copious meal,
Sancho having neglected to replenish the gourd, both he
and his master suffered greatly from thirst. It was now
' so dark,' says the history, ' that they could see nothing ;

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 233

but they had not gone two hundred paces when a great
noise of water reached their ears. . . . The sound rejoiced
them exceedingly ; and, stopping to hsten from whence it
came, they heard on a sudden another dreadful noise
which abated their pleasure occasioned by that of the
water, especially Sancho's. . . . They heard a dreadful
din of irons and chains rattling across one another, and
giving mighty strokes in time and measure which, to-
gether with the furious noise of the water, would have
struck terror into any other heart than that of Don
Quixote.' For him it was but an opportunity for some
valorous achievement. So, having braced on his buckler
and mounted Eosinante, he brandished his spear, and ex-
plained to his trembling squire that by the will of Heaven
he was reserved for deeds which would obliterate the
memory of the Platirs, Tablantes, the Olivantes, and
Behanesas, with the whole tribe of the famous knights-
errant of times past.

' Wherefore, straighten Eosinante' s girths a little,' said
he, ' and God be with you. Stay for me here three days,
and no more ; if I do not return in that time you may go
to Toboso, where you shall say to my incomparable Lady
Dulcinea that her enthralled knight died in attempting
things that might have made him worthy to be styled
" hers." '

Sancho, more terrified than ever at the thoughts of
being left alone, reminded his master that it was unwise
to tempt God by undertaking exploits from which there
was no escaping but by a miracle ; and, in order to em-
phasize this very sensible remark, secretly tied Eosinante's
hind legs together with his halter. Seeing the success of
his contrivance, he said : ' Ah, sir ! behold how Heaven,
moved by my tears and prayers, has ordained that Eosi-
nante cannot go,' and then warned him not to set Provi-
dence at defiance. Still Sancho was much too frightened

234 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

by the infernal clatter to relax his hold of the knight's
saddle. For some time he strove to beguile his own fears
with a very long story about the goatherd Lope Euiz, who
was in love with the shepherdess Torralva — 'a jolly,
strapping wench, a little scornful, and somewhat mascu-
line.' Now, whether owing to the cold of the morning,
which was at hand, or whether to some lenitive diet on
which he had supped, it so befell that Sancho . . . what
nobody could do for him. The truth is, the honest fellow
was overcome by panic, and under no circumstances would,
or did, he for one instant leave his master's side. Nay,
when the knight spurred his steed and found it could not
move, Sancho reminded him that the attempt was useless,
since Eosinante was restrained by enchantment. This
the knight readily admitted, but stoutly protested that
he himself was anything but enchanted by the close
proximity of his squire.

We all remember the grave admonitions of Don
Quixote, and the ingenious endeavours of Sancho to lay
the blame upon the knight. But the final words of the
Don contain a moral apposite to so many other important
situations, that they must not be omitted here. ' Apostare,
rephco Sancho, que pensa vuestra merced que yo he hecho
de mi persona alguna cosa que no deba.' ' I will lay a
wager,' replied Sancho, ' that your worship thinks that I
have &c.' The brief, but memorable, answer was : 'Peor
es meneallo, amigo Sancho,' which, as no translation could
do justice to it, must be left as it stands. Quieta non
movere.

We were nearly meeting with an adventure here.
While I was busy making a careful drawing of the
batanes, Cayley's pony was as much alarmed by the rush-
ing waters as had been Sancho Panza. In his endeavours
to picket the animal, my friend dropped a pistol which I
had lent him to practise with, although he carried a

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 235

revolver of his own. Not till he had tied up the pony at
some little distance did he discover the loss. In vain he
searched the spot where he knew the pistol must have
escaped from his, faja. Near it, three rough-looking knaves
in shaggy goatskin garments, with guns over their shoul-
ders, were watching the progress of my sketch. On his
return Cayley asked two of these (the third moved away
as he came up) whether they had seen the pistol. They
declared they had not ; upon which he said he must search
them. He was not a man to be trifled with, and although
they refused at first, they presently submitted. He then
overtook the third, and at once accused him of the theft.
The man swore he knew nothing of the lost weapon, and
brought his gun to the charge. As he did so, Cayley
caught sight of the pistol under the fellow's sheepskin
jacket, and with characteristic promptitude seized it,
while he presented a revolver at the thief's head. All this
he told me with great glee a minute or two later.

When we got back to Argamasilla the Medico was
already awaiting us. He conducted us to the house of
the Quijanas, where an old woman-servant, lamp in hand,
showed the way down a flight of steps into the dungeon.
It was a low vaulted chamber, eight feet high, ten broad,
and twenty-four long, dimly lighted by a lancet window
six feet from the ground. She confidently informed us
that Cervantes was in the habit of writing at the farthest
end, and that he was allowed a lamp for the purpose.
"We accepted the information with implicit faith ; silently
picturing on our mental retinas the image of him whose
genius had brightened the dark hours of millions for over
three hundred years. One could see the spare form of the
man of action pacing up and down his cell, unconscious
of prison walls, roaming in spirit through the boundless
realms of Fancy, his piercing eyes intent upon the
conjured visions of his brain. One noted his vast expanse

236 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

of brow, his short, crisp, curly hair, his high cheek-bones
and singularly high-bridged nose, his refined mouth, small
projecting chin and pointed beard. One noticed, too, as
he turned, the stump of the left wrist clasped by the
remaining hand. Who could stand in such a presence
and fail to bow with veneration before this insulted great-
ness ! Potentates pass like Ozymandias, but not the men
who, through the ages, help to save us from this tread-
mill world, and from ourselves.

We visited Cuenca, Segovia, and many an out-of-
the-way spot. If it be true, as Don Quixote declares,
that ' No hay libro tan malo que no tenga alguna cosa
buena ' (' there is no book so worthless that has not
some good in it '), still more true is this of a country like
Spain. And the pleasantest places are just those which
only by-roads lead to. In and near the towns every other
man, if not by profession still by practice, is a beggar.
From the seedy-looking rascal in the street, of whom you
incautiously ask the way, and who piteously whines
' para zapatos ' — for the wear and tear of shoe leather, to
the highest official, one and all hold out their hands for
the copper cuarto or the eleemosynary sinecure. As it
was then, so is it now ; the Government wants support,
and it is always to be had, at a price ; deputies always
want ' places.' For every duty the functionary performs, or
ought to perform, he receives his bribe. The Government
is too poor to keep him honest, but his pour-boires are not
measured by his scruples. All is winked at, if the Ministry
secures a vote.

Away in the pretty rural districts, in the little villages
amid the woods and the mountains, with their score or so
of houses and their little chapel with its tinkling old bell
and its poverty-stricken curate, the hard-working, simple-
minded men are too proud and too honest to ask for
more than a pinch of tobacco for the cigarillo. The

TRACKS QF A ROLLING STONE 237

maidens are comely, and as chaste as — can reasonably be
expected.

Madrid is worth visiting — not for its bull-fights, which
are disgusting proofs of man's natural brutality, but for
its picture gallery. No one knows what Velasquez could
do, or has done, till he has seen Madrid ; and Charles V.
was practically master of Europe when the collection was
in his hands. The Escurial's chief interests are in its
associations with Charles V. and Philip II. In the dark
and gloomy little bedroom of the latter is a small window
opening into the church, so that the King could attend
the services in bed if necessary.

It cannot be said of Philip that he was nothing if not
religious, for Nero even was not a more indefatigable
murderer, nor a more diabolical specimen of cruelty and
superstition. The very thought of the wretch tempts one
to revolt at human piety, at any rate where priestcraft
and its fabrications are at the bottom of it.

When at Madrid we met Mr. Arthur Birch. He had
been with Cayley at Eton, as captain of the school.
While we were together, he received and accepted the
offer of an Eton mastership. We were going by diligence
to Toledo, and Birch agreed to go with us. I mention
the fact because the place reminds me of a clever play
upon its name by the Eton scholar. Cayley bought a
Toledo sword-blade, and asked Birch for a motto to
engrave upon it. In a minute or two he hit off this :
TiMETOLETUM, which reads Time Toletum= Honour
Toledo, or Timeto Letum = Fear death. Cayley's attempts,
though not so neat, were not bad. Here are a couple of

them : —

Though slight I am, no slight I stand,

Saving my master's sleight of hand,
or : —

Come to the point ; unless you do,

The point will shortly come to yon.

238 TRACKS OP A ROLLING STONE

Birch got the Latin poem medal at Cambridge the same
year that Cayley got the Enghsh one.

Before we set forth again upon our gipsy tramp,
I received a letter from Mr. Ellice bidding me hasten
home to contest the Borough of Cricklade in the General
Election of 1852. Under these circumstances we loitered
but little on the Northern roads. At the end of May we
reached Yrun. Here we sold our ponies — now quite
worn out — for twenty-three dollars — about five guineas.
So that a thousand miles of locomotion had cost us a
little over five guineas apiece. Not counting hotels at
Madrid and such smart places, our daily cost for selves
and ponies rarely exceeded six pesetas, or three shillings
each all told. The best of it was, the trip restored the
health of my friend.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 239

CHAPTEE XXXV

In February of this year, 1852, Lord Palmerston, aided
by an incongruous force of Peelites and Protectionists,
turned Lord John Eussell out of office on his Militia Bill.
Lord Derby, with Disraeli as Chancellor of the Exchequer
and leader of the House of Commons, came into power
on a cry for Protection.

Not long after my return to England, I was packed off
to canvas the borough of Cricklade. It was then a very
extensive borough, including a large agricultural district,
as well as Swindon, the headquarters of the Great Western
Eailway. For many years it had returned two Conserva-
tive members, Messrs. Nield and Goddard. It was looked
upon as an impregnable Tory stronghold, and the fight
was little better than a forlorn hope.

My headquarters were at Coleshill, Lord Eadnor's.
The old lord had, in his Parliamentary days, been a
Eadical ; hence, my advanced opinions found great favour
in his eyes. My programme was — Free Trade, Vote by
Ballot, and Disestablishment. Two of these have become
common-places (one perhaps effete), and the third is
nearer to accomplishment than it was then.

My first acquaintance with a constituency, amongst
whom I worked enthusiastically for six weeks, was comic
enough. My instructions were to go to Swindon ; there
an agent, whom I had never seen, would join me. A
meeting of my supporters had been arranged by him,

240 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

and I was to make my maiden speech in the market-
place.

My address, it should be stated — ultra-Radical, of
course — was mainly concocted for me by Mr. Cayley, an
almost rabid Tory, and then member for the North Eiding
of Yorkshire, but an old Parliamentary hand ; and, in
consequence of my attachment to his son, at that time
and until his death, like a father to me.

When the train stopped at Swindon, there was a
crowd of passengers, but not a face that I knew ; and it
was not till all but one or two had left, that a business-
looking man came up and asked if I were the candidate
for Cricklade. He told me that a carriage was in
attendance to take us up to the town ; and that a pro-
cession, headed by a band, was ready to accompany us
thither. The procession was formed mainly of the Great
Western boiler-makers and artisans. Their enthusiasm
seemed slightly disproportioned to the occasion ; and the
vigour of the brass, and especially of the big drum, so
filled my head with visions of Mr. Pickwick and his
friend the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, that by the
time I reached the market-place, I had forgotten every
syllable of the speech which I had carefully learnt by
heart. Nor was it the band alone that upset me ; going
up the hill the carriage was all but capsized by the
frightened horses and the breaking of the pole. The
gallant boiler-makers, however, at once removed the horses,
and dragged the carriage with cheers of defiance into the
crowd awaiting us.

My agent had settled that I was to speak from a
window of the hotel. The only available one was an
upper window, the lower sash of which could not be
persuaded to keep up without being held. The con-
sequence was, just as I was getting over the embarrass-
-ment of extemporary oration, down came the sash and

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 241

guillotined me. This put the crowd in the best of
humours ; they roared with laughter, and after that we
got on capitally together.

A still more inopportune accident happened to me
later in the day, when speaking at Shrivenham. A large
yard enclosed by buildings was chosen for the meeting.
The difficulty was to elevate the speaker above the heads
of the assembly. In one corner of the yard was a
water-butt. An ingenious elector got a board, placed it
on the top of the butt — which was full of water — and per-
suaded me to make this my rostrum. Here, again, in the
midst of my harangue — perhaps I stamped to emphasize
my horror of small loaves and other Tory abominations —
the board gave way ; and I narrowly escaped a ducking
by leaping into the arms of a ' supporter.'

The end of it all was that my agent at the last
moment threw up the sponge. The farmers formed a
serried phalanx against Free Trade ; it was useless to
incur the expense of a poll. Then came the bill. It
was a heavy one ; for in addition to my London agent —
a professional electioneering functionary — were the local
agents at towns like Malmesbury, Wootton Bassett,
Shrivenham, &c., &c. My eldest brother, who was a
soberer-minded politician than I, although very liberal to
me in other ways, declined to support my political
opinions. I myself was quite unable to pay the costs.
Knowing this. Lord Badnor called me into his study as I
was leaving Coleshill, and expressed himself warmly with
respect to my labours ; regretting the victory of the other
side, he declared that, as the question of Protection would
be disposed of, one of the two seats would be safe upon
a future contest.

• And who,' asked the old gentleman, with a benevolent
grin on his face, ' who is going to pay your expenses ? '

' Goodness knows, sir,' said I ; 'I hope they won't

B

242 TRACKS OP A EOLLING STONE

come down upon me. I haven't a thousand pounds in
the world, unless I tap my fortime.'

' Well,' said his Lordship, with a chuckle, ' I haven't
paid my subscription to Brooks's yet, so I'll hand it over
to you,' and he gave me a cheque for £500.

The balance was obtained through Mr. Ellice from
the patronage Secretary to the Treasury. At the next
election, as Lord Eadnor predicted, Lord Ashley, Lord
Shaftesbury's eldest son, won one of the two seats for the
Liberals with the greatest ease.

As Coleshill was an open house to me from that time
as long as Lord Badnor lived, I cannot take leave of the
dear old man without an affectionate word at parting.
Creevey has an ill-natured fling at him, as he has at every-
body else, but a kinder- hearted and more perfect gentleman
would be difficult to meet with. His personality was a
marked one. He was a little man, with very plain features,
a punch-like nose, an extensive mouth, and hardly a hair
on his head. But in spite of these peculiarities, his face
was pleasant to look at, for it was invariably animated by
a sweet smile, a touch of humour, and a decided air of
dignity. Born in 1779, he dressed after the orthodox
Whig fashion of his youth, in buff and blue, his long-
tailed coat reaching almost to his heels. His manner was
a model of courtesy and simplicity. He used antiquated
expressions: called London 'Lunnun,' Eome ' Eoom,' a
balcony a ' balcony ' ; he always spoke of the clergyman
as the ' pearson,' and called his daughter Lady Mary,
' Meary.' Instead of saying ' this day week ' he would say
' this day sen'nit ' (for sen'night).

The independence of his character was very noticeable.
As an instance : A party of twenty people, say, would be
invited for a given day. Abundance of carriages would
be sent to meet the trains, so that all the guests would
arrive in ample time for dinner. It generally happened

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 243

that some of them, not knowing the habits of the house,
or some duchess or great lady who might assume that
clocks were made for her and not she for clocks, would
not appear in the drawing-room till a quarter of an hour
after the dinner gong had sounded. If anyone did so, he
or she would find that everybody else had got through
soup and fish. If no one but Lady Mary had been down
when dinner was announced, his Lordship would have
offered his arm to his daughter, and have taken his seat at
the table alone. After the first night, no one was ever
late. In the morning he read prayers to the household
before breakfast with the same precise punctuality.

Lady Mary Bouverie, his unmarried daughter, was the
very best of hostesses. The house under her management
was the perfection of comfort. She married an old and
dear friend of mine. Sir James Wilde, afterwards the
Judge, Lord Penzance. I was his ' best man.'

My ' Eide over the Kocky Mountains ' was now pub-
lished ; and, as the field was a new one, the writer was
rewarded, for a few weeks, with invitations to dinner, and
the usual tickets for ' drums ' and dances. To my aston-
ishment, or rather to my alarm, I received a letter from
the Secretary of the Eoyal Geographical Society (Charles
Fox, or perhaps Sir George Simpson had, I think, proposed
me — I never knew), to say that I had been elected a
member. Nothing was further from my ambition. The
very thought shrivelled me with a sense of ignorance and
insignificance. I pictured to myself an assembly of old
fogies crammed with all the 'ologies. I broke into a cold
perspiration when I fancied myself called upon to deliver
a lecture on the comparative sea-bottomy of the Oceanic
globe, or give my theory of the simultaneous sighting by
' little BiUee ' of ' Madagascar, and North, and South
Amerikee.' Honestly, I had not the courage to accept ;

B 2

244 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

and, young Jackanapes as I was, left the Secretary's letter
unanswered.

But a still greater honour — perhaps the greatest com-
pliment I ever had paid me — was to come. I had lodgings
at this time in an old house, long since pulled down, in
York Street. One day, when I was practising the fiddle,
who should walk into my den but Eogers the poet ! He
had never seen me in his life. He was in his ninetieth
year, and he had climbed the stairs to the first floor to
ask me to one of his breakfast parties. To say nothing of
Eogers' fame, his wealth, his position in society, those
who know what his cynicism and his worldliness were,
will understand what such an effort, physical and moral,
must have cost him. He always looked like a death's
head, but his ghastly pallor, after that Alpine ascent,
made me feel as if he had come — to stay.

These breakfasts were entertainments of no ordinary
distinction. The host himself was of greater interest than
the most eminent of his guests. All but he, were more or
less one's contemporaries : Eogers, if not quite as dead as
he looked, was ancient history. He was old enough to
have been the father of Byron, of Shelley, of Keats, and
of Moore. He was several years older than Scott, or
Wordsworth, or Coleridge, and only four years younger
than Pitt. He had known all these men, and could, and
did, talk as no other could talk, of all of them. Amongst
those whom I met at these breakfasts were Cornewall
Lewis, Delane, the Grotes, Macaulay, Mrs. Norton,
Monckton Milnes, William Harcourt (the only one younger
than myself), but just beginning to be known, and others
of scarcely less note.

During the breakfast itself, Eogers, though seated at
table in an arm-chair, took no part either in the repast or
in the conversation ; he seemed to sleep until the meal
was over. His servant would then place a cup of coffee

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 245

before him, and, like a Laputian flapper, touch him gently
on the shoulder. He would at once begin to talk, while
others listened. The first time I witnessed this curious
resurrection, I whispered something to my neighbour, at
which he laughed. The old man's eye was too sharp
for us.

' You are laughing at me,' said he ; ' I dare say you
young gentlemen think me an old fellow ; but there are
younger than I who are older. You should see Tommy
Moore. I asked him to breakfast, but he's too weak —
weak here, sir,' and he tapped his forehead. ' I'm not
that.' (This was the year that Moore died.) He cer-
tainly was not ; but his whole discourse was of the past.
It was as though he would not condescend to discuss
events or men of the day. What were either to the days
and men that he had known — French revolutions, battles
of Trafalgar and Waterloo, a Nelson and a Buonaparte, a
Pitt, a Burke, a Fox, a Johnson, a Gibbon, a Sheridan,
and all the men of letters and all the poets of a century
gone by? Even Macaulay had for once to hold his
tongue ; and could only smile impatiently at what perhaps
he thought an old man's astonishing garrulity. But if a
young and pretty woman talked to him, it was not his
great age that he vaunted, nor yet the 'pleasures of
memory ' — one envied the adroitness of his flattery, and
the gracefulness of his repartee.

My friend George Cayley had a couple of dingy little
rooms between Parliament Street and the river. Much
of my time was spent there with him. One night after
dinner, quite late, we were building castles amidst tobacco
clouds, when, following a ' May I come in ? ' Tennyson
made his appearance. This was the first time I had ever
met him. We gave him the only armchair in the room ;
and pulling out his dudeen and placing a foot on each
side of the hob of the old-fashioned little grate, he made

246 TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

himself comfortable before he said another word. He then
began to talk of pipes and tobacco. And never, I should
say, did this important topic afford so much ingenious
conversation before. We discussed the relative merits of
all the tobaccos in the v?orld — of moist tobacco and dry
tobacco, of old tobacco and new tobacco, of clay pipes and
wooden pipes and meerschaum pipes. What was the
best way to colour them, the advantages of colouring
them, the beauty of the ' culotte,' the coolness it gave to
the smoke, &c. We listened to the venerable sage — he
was then forty-three and we only five or six and twenty —
as we should have listened to a Homer or an Aristotle,
and he thoroughly enjoyed our appreciation of his jokes.

Some of them would have startled such of his admirers
who knew him only by his poems ; for his stories were
anything but poetical — rather humorous one might say,
on the whole. Here's one of them : he had called last
week on the Duchess of Sutherland at Stafford House.
Her two daughters were with her, the Duchess of Argyll
and the beautiful Lady Constance Grosvenor, afterwards
Duchess of Westminster. They happened to be in the
garden. After strolling about for a while, the Mama
Duchess begged him to recite some of his poetry. He
chose ' Come into the garden, Maud ' — always a favourite
of the poet's, and, as may be supposed, many were the
fervid exclamations of ' How beautiful ! ' When they
came into the house, a princely groom of the chambers
caught his eye and his ear, and, pointing to his own throat,
courteously whispered : ' Your dress is not quite as you
would wish it, sir.'

' I had come out without a necktie ; and there I was,
spouting my lines to the three Graces, as decolleU as a
strutting turkey cock.'

The only other allusion to poetry or literature that night
was a story I told him of a Mr. Thomas Wrightson, a York-

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 247

shire banker, and a fanatical Swedenborgian. Tommy
Wrightson, who was one of the most amiable and benevo-
lent of men, spent his life in making a manuscript tran-
script of Swedenborg's works. His writing was a marvel
of calligraphic art ; he himself was a curiosity. Sweden-
borg was for him an avatar ; but if he had doubted of
Tennyson's ultimate apotheosis, I think he would have
elected to seek him in 'the other place.' Anyhow, Mr.
Wrightson avowed to me that he repeated ' Locksley
Hall ' every morning of his life before breakfast. This I
told Tennyson. His answer was a grunt ; and in a voice
from his boots, ' Ugh ! enough to make a dog sick ! ' I
did my utmost to console him with the assurance that, to
the best of my belief, Mr. Wrightson had once fallen
through a skylight.

As illustrating the characters of the admired and his
admirer, it may be related that the latter, wishing for the
poet's sign-manual, wrote and asked him for it. He
addressed Tennyson, whom he had never seen, as ' My
dear Alfred.' The reply, which he showed to me, was
addressed ' My dear Tom.'

248 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XXXVI

My stepfather, Mr. Ellice, having been in two Minis-
tries — Lord Grey's in 1830, and Lord Melbourne's in
1834 — had necessarily a large parliamentary acquaintance ;
and as I could always dine at his house in Arlington
Street when I pleased, I had constant opportunities of
meeting most of the prominent Whig pohticians, and
many other eminent men of the day. One of the dinner
parties remains fresh in my memory — not because of the
distinguished men who happened to be there, but because
of the statesman whose name has since become so familiar
to the world.

Some important question was before the House in
which Mr. Ellice was interested, and upon which he
intended to speak. This made him late for dinner, but
he had sent word that his son was to take his place, and
the guests were not to wait. When he came Lord John
Eussell greeted him with —

'Well, Ellice, who's up?'

' A younger son of Salisbury's,' was the reply ;
' Eobert Cecil, making his maiden speech. If I hadn't
been in a hurry I should have stopped to listen to him.
Unless I am very much mistaken, he'll make his mark,
and we shall hear more of him.'

There were others dining there that night whom it is
interesting to recall. The Grotes were there. Mrs. Grote,

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 249

scarcely less remarkable than her husband ; Lord Mahon,
another historian (who married a niece of Mr. Ellice's),
Lord Brougham, and two curious old men both remark-
able, if for nothing else, for their great age. One was
George Byng, father of the first Lord Strafford, and
' father ' of the House of Commons ; the other Sir Eobert
Adair, who was Ambassador at Constantinople when
Byron was there. Old Mr. Byng looked as aged as he
was, and reminded one of Mr. Smallweed doubled up in
his porter's chair. Quite different was his compeer. We
were standing in the recess of the drawing-room window
after dinner when Sir Eobert said to me :

' Very shaky, isn't he ! Ah ! he was my fag at Eton,
and I've got the best of it still.'

Brougham having been twice in the same Government
with Mr. Ellice, and being devoted to young Mrs. Edward
EUice, his charming daughter-in-law, was a constant visitor
at 18 Arlington Street. Mrs. Ellice often spoke to me of
his peculiarities, which must evidently have been known
to others. Walter Bagehot, speaking of him, says :

' Singular stories of eccentricity and excitement, even
of something more than either of these, darken these
latter years.'

What Mrs. Ellice told me was, that she had to keep a
sharp watch on Lord Brougham if he sat near her writing-
table while he talked to her ; for if there was any pretty
little knick-knack within his reach he would, if her head
were turned, slip it into his pocket. The truth is perhaps
better than the dark hint, for certainly we all laughed at
it as nothing but eccentricity.

But the man who interested me most (for though
when in the Navy I had heard a hundred legends of his
exploits, I had never seen him before) was LordDundonald.
Mr. Ellice presented me to him, and the old hero asked
why I had left the Navy.

250 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

' The finest service in the world ; and likely, begad, to
have something to do before long.'

This was only a year before the Crimean War. With
his strong rough features and tousled mane, he looked like
a grey lion. One expected to see him pick his teeth with
a pocket boarding-pike.

The thought of the old sailor always brings before me
the often mooted question raised by the sentimentalists
and humanitarians concerning the horrors of war. Not
long after this time, the papers — the sentimentalist
papers — were furious with Lord Dundonald for suggest-
ing the adoption by the Navy of a torpedo which he
himself, I think, had invented. The bare idea of such
wholesale slaughter was revolting to a Christian world.
He probably did not see much difference between sinking
a ship with a torpedo, and firing a shell into her magazine ;
and likely enough had as much respect for the opinions
of the woman- man as he had for the man-woman.

There is always a large number of people in the world
who suffer from emotional sensitiveness and susceptibility
to nervous shocks of all kinds. It is curious to observe
the different and apparently unallied forms in which these
characteristics manifest themselves. With some, they
exhibit extreme repugnance to the infliction of physical
pain for whatever end ; with others there seems to be a
morbid dread of violated pudicity. Strangely enough the
two phases are frequently associated in the same individual.
Both tendencies are eminently feminine ; the affinity lies
in a hysterical nature. Thus, excessive pietism is a fre-
quent concomitant of excessive sexual passion ; this,
though notably the case with women, is common enough
with men of unduly nervous temperaments.

Only the other day some letters appeared in the
' Times ' about the flogging of boys in the Navj'. And,
as a sentimental argument against it, we were told by the

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STOKE 251

Humanitarian Leaguers that it is ' obscene.' This is just
what might be expected, and bears out the foregoing
remarks. But such saintly simplicity reminds us of the
kind of squeamishness of which our old acquaintance
Mephisto observes :

Man darf das nioht vor keuschen Ohren nennen,
Was keusohe Herzen nieht entbehren konnen.

(Chaste ears find nothing but the devil in
What nicest fancies love to revel in.)

The same astute critic might have added :

And eyes demure that look away when seen,
Lose ne'er a chance to peep behind the screen.

It is all of a piece. We have heard of the parlour-
maid who fainted because the dining-table had ' ceder
legs,' but never before that a ' switching ' was ' obscene.'
We do not envy the unwholesomeness of a mind so
watchful for obscenity.

Be that as it may, so far as humanity is concerned,
this hypersensitive effeminacy has but a noxious in-
fluence ; and all the more for the twofold reason that it is
sometimes sincere, though more often mere cant and
hypocrisy. At the best, it is a perversion of the truth ;
for emotion combined with ignorance, as it is in nine
hundred and ninety-nine cases out of a thousand, is a
serious obstacle in the path of rational judgment.

Is sentimentalism on the increase ? It seems to be
so, if we are to judge by a certain portion of the Press,
and by speeches in Parliament. But then, this may only
mean that the propensity finds easier means of expression
than it did in the days of dearer paper and fewer news-
papers, and also that speakers find sentimental humanity
an inexhaustible fund for political capital. The excess of
emotional attributes in man over his reasoning powers

252 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

must, one would think, have been at least as great in times
past as it is now. Yet it is doubtful whether it showed
itself then so conspicuously as it does at present. Com-
pare the Elizabethan age with our own. What would be
said now of the piratical deeds of such men as Frobisher,
Ealeigh, Gilbert, and Eichard Greville ? Suppose Lord
Eoberts had sent word to President Kruger that if four
English soldiers, imprisoned at Pretoria, were molested, he
would execute 2,000 Boers and send him their heads?
The clap-trap cry of ' Barbaric Methods ' would have
gone forth to some purpose ; it would have carried every
constituency in the country. Yet this is what Drake
did when four English sailors were captured by the
Spaniards, and imprisoned by the Spanish Viceroy in
Mexico.

Take the Elizabethan drama, and compare it with
ours. What should we think of our best dramatist if, in
one of his tragedies, a man's eyes were plucked out on the
stage, and if he that did it exclaimed as he trampled on
them, ' Out, vile jelly ! where is thy lustre now ? ' or of a
Titus Andronicus cutting two throats, while his daughter
' 'tween her stumps doth hold a basin to receive their
blood ' ?

' Humanity,' says Taine, speaking of these times, ' is
as much lacking as decency. Blood, suffering, does not
move them.'

Heaven forbid that we should return to such brutality !
I cite these passages merely to show how times are
changed ; and to suggest that with the change there is a
decided loss of manliness. Are men more virtuous, do
they love honour more, are they more chivalrous, than the
Miltons, the Lovelaces, the Sidneys of the past ? Are the
women chaster or more gentle ? No ; there is more
Puritanism, but not more true piety. It is only the out-
side of the cup and the platter that are made clean, the

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 253

inward part is just as full of wickedness, and all the worse
for its hysterical fastidiousness.

To what do we owe this tendency ? Are we degenerat-
ing morally as well as physically ? Consider the physical
side of the question. Fifty years ago the standard height
for admission to the army was five feet six inches. It is
now lowered to five feet. Within the last ten years the
increase in the urban population has been nearly three
and a half millions. Within the same period the increase
in the rural population is less than a quarter of one
million. Three out of five recruits for the army are
rejected ; a large proportion of them because their teeth
are gone or decayed. Do these figures need comment ?
Can you look for sound minds in such unsound bodies ?
Can you look for manliness, for self-respect, and self-
control, or anything but animalistic sentimentality ?

It is not the character of our drama or of our works of
fiction that promotes and fosters this propensity ; but
may it not be that the enormous increase in the number
of theatres, and the prodigious supply of novels, may have
a share in it, by their exorbitant appeal to the emotional,
and hence neurotic, elements of our nature ? If such
considerations apply mainly to dwellers in overcrowded
towns, there is yet another cause which may operate on
those more favoured, — the vast increase in wealth and
luxury. Wherever these have grown to excess, whether
in Babylon, or Nineveh, or Thebes, or Alexandria, or
Home, they have been the symptoms of decadence, and
forerunners of the nation's collapse.

Let us be humane, let us abhor the horrors of war,
and strain our utmost energies to avert them. But we
might as well forbid the use of surgical instruments as the
weapons that are most destructive in warfare. If a limb
is rotting with gangrene, shall it not be cut away ? So if
the passions which occasion wars are inherent in human

254 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

nature, we must face the evil stout-heartedly ; and, for
one, I humbly question whether any abolition of dum-dum
bullets or other attempts to mitigate this disgrace to
humanity, do, in the end, more good than harm.

It is elsewhere that we must look for deliverance, —
to the overwhelming power of better educated peoples ;
to closer intercourse between the nations ; to the convic-
tion that, from the most selfish point of view even, peace
is the only path to prosperity ; to the restraint of the
baser Press which, for mere pelf, spurs the passions of
the multitude instead of curbing them ; and, finally, to
deliverance from the ' all-potent wills of Little Fathers by
Divine right,' and from the ignoble ambition of bullet-
headed uncles and brothers and cousins — a curse from
which England, thank the Gods ! is, and let us hope, ever
will be, free. But there are more countries than one that
are not so — just now ; and the world may ere long have to
pay the bitter penalty.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 255

CHAPTBE XXXVII

It is curious if one lives long enough to watch the change
of taste in books. I have no lending-library statistics at
hand, but judging by the reading of young people, or of
those who read merely for their amusenient, the authors
they patronise are nearly all living or very recent. What we
old stagers esteemed as classical in fiction and belles-lettres
are sealed books to the present generation. It is an excep-
tion , for instance, to meet with a young man or young woman
who has read Walter Scott. Perhaps Balzac's reason is the
true one. Scott, says he, ' est sans passion ; il I'ignore,
ou peut-Stre lui etait-elle interdite par les mceurs hypo-
crites de son pays. Pour lui la femme est le devoir
incarne. A de rares exceptions pres, ses heroines sont
absolument les memes . . . La femme porte le ddsordre
dans la societe par la passion. La passion a des accidents
infinis. Peignez done les passions, vous aurez les sources
immenses dont s'est prive ce grand genie pour ^tre lu
dans toutes les families de la prude Angleterre.' Does
not Thackeray lament that since Pielding no novelist has
dared to face the national affectation of prudery ? No
English author who valued his reputation would venture
to write as Anatole France writes, even if he could. Yet
I pity the man who does not delight in the genius that
created M. Bergeret.

A well-known author said to me the other day, he did
not believe that Thackeray himself would be popular were

256 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

he writing now for the first time — not because of his
freedom, but because the pubhc taste has altered. No
present age can predict immortality for the works of its
day ; yet to say that what is intrinsically good is good for
all time is but a truism. The misfortune is that much of
the best in literature shares the fate of the best of ancient
monuments and noble cities ; the cumulative rubbish of
ages buries their splendours, till we know not where to
find them. The day may come when the most valuable
service of the man of letters will be to unearth the lost
treasures and display them, rather than add his grain of
dust to the ever-increasing middens.

Is Carlyle forgotten yet, I wonder ? How much did
my contemporaries owe to him in their youth ? How
readily we followed a leader so sure of himself, so certain
of his own evangel. What an aid to strength to be
assured that the true hero is the morally strong man.
One does not criticise what one loves ; one didn't look
too closely into the doctrine that, might is right, for
somehow he managed to persuade us that right makes
the might — that the strong man is the man who, for the
most part, does act rightly. He is not over-patient
with human frailty, to be sure, and is apt, as Herbert
Spencer found, to fling about his scorn rather recklessly.
One fancies sometimes that he has more respect for a
genuine bad man than for a sham good one. In fact, his
' Eternal Verities ' come pretty much to the same as
Darwin's ' Law of the advancement of all organic bodies ' ;
'let the strong live, and the weakest die.' He had no
objection to seeing ' the young cuckoo ejecting its foster-
brothers, or ants making slaves.' But he atones for all
this by his hatred of cant and hypocrisy. It is for his
manliness that we love him, for his honesty, for his
indifference to any mortal's approval save that of Thomas
Carlyle. He convinces us that right thinking is good,

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 257

but that right doing is much better. And so it is that
he does honour to men of action Hke his beloved Oliver,
and Fritz, — neither of them paragons of wisdom or of
goodness, but men of doughty deeds.

Just about this time I narrov?ly missed a longed-for
chance of meeting this hero of my penates. Lady Ash-
burton — Carlyle's Lady Ashburton — knowing my admira-
tion, kindly invited me to The Grange, while he was
there. The house was full — mainly of ministers or ex-
ministers, — Cornewall Lewis, Sir Charles Wood, Sir James
Graham, Albany Fonblanque, Mr. EUice, and Charles
BuUer — Carlyle's only pupil ; but the great man himself
had left an hour before I got there. I often met him
afterwards, but never to make his acquaintance. Of
course, I knew nothing of his special friendship for Lady
Ashburton, which we are told was not altogether shared
by Mrs. Carlyle ; but I well remember the interest which
Lady Ashburton seemed to take in his praise, how my
enthusiasm seemed to please her, and how Carlyle and
his works were topics she was never tired of discussing.

The South Western line to Alresford was not then
made, and I had to post part of the way from London to
The Grange. My chaise companion was a man very
well known in ' Society ' ; and though not remarkably
popular, was not altogether undistinguished, as the follow-
ing little tale will attest. Frederick Byng, one of the
Torrington branch of the Byngs, was chiefly famous for
his sobriquet ' The Poodle ' ; this he owed to no special
merit of his own, but simply to the accident of his thick
curly head of hair. Some, who spoke feelingly of the
man, used to declare that he had fulfilled the promises of
his youth. What happened to him then may perhaps
justify the opinion.

The young Poodle was addicted to practical jokes — as
usual, more amusing to the player than to the playee.

S

258 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

One of his victims happened to be Beau Brummell, who,
except when he bade ' George ring the bell,' was as perfect
a model of deportment as the great Mr. Turveydrop him-
self. His studied decorum possibly provoked the playful-
ness of the young puppy ; and amongst other attempts
to disturb the Beau's complacency. Master Byng ran a
pin into the calf of that gentleman's leg, and then he ran
away. A few days later Mr. Brummell, who had carefully
dissembled his wrath, invited the unwary youth to break-
fast, telling him that he was leaving town, and had a
present which his young friend might have, if he chose
to fetch it. The boy kept the appointment, and the Beau
his promise. After an excellent breakfast, Brummell
took a whip from his cupboard, and gave it to the Poodle
in a way the young dog was not likely to forget.

The happiest of my days then, and perhaps of my
life, were spent at Mr. Ellice's Highland Lodge, at Glen-
quoich. For sport of all kinds it was and is difficult to
surpass. The hills of the deer forest are amongst the
highest in Scotland ; the scenery of its lake and glens,
especially the descent to Loch Hourne, is unequalled.
Here were to be met many of the most notable men and
women of the time. And as the house was twenty miles
from the nearest post-town, and that in turn two days
from London, visitors ceased to be strangers before they
left. In the eighteen years during which this was my
autumn home, I had the good fortune to meet numbers
of distinguished people of whom I could now record
nothing interesting but their names. Still, it is a privilege
to have known such men as John Lawrence, Guizot,
Thiers, Landseer, Merimee, Comte de Flahault, Doyle,
Lords Elgin and Dalhousie, Due de Broglie, Pelissier,
Panizzi, Motley, Delane, Dufferin ; and of gifted women,
the three Sheridans, Lady Seymour — the Queen of Beauty,
afterwards Duchess of Somerset — Mrs. Norton, and Lady

TKACK8 OF A ROLLING STONE 259

Dufferin. Amongst those who have a retrospective in-
terest were Mr. and Lady Blanche Balfour, parents of
Mr. Arthur Balfour, who came there on their wedding tour
in 1843. Mr. Arthur Balfour's father was Mrs. EUice's
first cousin.

It would be easy to lengthen the list ; but I mention
only those who repeated their visits, and who fill up my
mental picture of the place and of the life. Some amongst
them impressed me quite as much for their amiability —
their loveableness, I may say — as for their renown ; and
regard for them increased with coming years. Panizzi
was one of these. Dufferin, who was just my age, would
have fascinated anyone with the singular courtesy of his
manner. Dicky Doyle was necessarily a favourite with
all who knew him. He was a frequent inmate of my
house after I married, and was engaged to dine with
me, alas ! only eight days before he died. Motley was
a singularly pleasant fellow. My friendship with him
began over a volume of Sir W. Hamilton's Lectures.
He asked what I was reading — I handed him the
book.

' Ah,' said he, ' there's no mental gymnastic like
metaphysics.'

Many a battle we afterwards had over them. When
I was at Cannes in 1877 I got a message from him one
day saying he was ill, and asking me to come and see
him. He did not say how ill, so I put off going. Two
days after I heard he was dead.

Merimee's cynicism rather alarmed one. He was a
capital caricaturist, though, to our astonishment, he
assured us he had never drawn, or used a colour-box, till
late in life. He had now learnt to use it, in a way that
did not invariably give satisfaction. Landseer always
struck me as sensitive and proud, a Diogenes-tempered
individual who had been spoilt by the toadyism of great

s 2

260 TRACKS OF A ROLLIlSTG STONE

people. He was agreeable if made much of, or almost
equally so if others were made little of.

But of all those named, surely John Lawrence was
the greatest. I wish I had read his life before it ended.
Yet, without knowing anything more of him than that
he was Chief Commissioner of the Punjab, which did not
convey much to my understanding, one felt the greatness
of the man beneath his calm simplicity. One day the
party went out for a deer-drive ; 1 was instructed to
place Sir John in the pass below mine. To my dis-
quietude he wore a black overcoat. I assured him that
not a stag would come within a mile of us, unless he
covered himself with a grey plaid, or hid behind a large
rock there was, where I assured him' he would see
nothing.

' Have the deer to pass me before they go on to you ? '
he asked.

' Certainly they have,' said I ; ' I shall be up there
above you.'

' Well then,' was his answer, ' I'll get behind the rock —
it will be more snug out of the wind.'

One might as well have asked the deer not to see him,
as try to persuade John Lawrence not to sacrifice himself
for others. That he did so here was certain, for the deer
came within fifty yards of him, but he never fired a shot.
Another of the Indian viceroys was the innocent
occasion of great discomfort to me, or rather his wife was.
Lady Elgin had left behind her a valuable diamond
necklace. I was going back to my private tutor at Ely a
few days after, and the necklace was entrusted to me to
deliver to its owner on my way through London. There
was no railway then further north than Darlington, except
that between Edinburgh and Glasgow. When I reached
Edinburgh by coach from Inverness, my portmanteau
was not to be found. The necklace was in a despatch

TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE 261

box in my portmanteau ; and by an unlucky oversight, I
had put my purse into my despatch box. What was to
be done ? I was a lad of seventeen, in a town where I
did not know a soul, with seven or eight shillings at most
in my pocket. I had to break my journey and to stop
where I was till I could get news of the necklace ; this
alone was clear to me, for the necklace was the one thing
I cared for.

At the coach office all the comfort I could get was
that the lost luggage might have gone on to Glasgow ; or,
what was more probable, might have gone astray at Burnt-
island. It might not have been put on board, or it might
not have been taken off the ferry-steamer. This could
not be known for twenty-four hours, as there was no boat
to or from Burntisland till the morrow. I decided to try
Glasgow. A return third-class ticket left me without a
copper. I went, found nothing, got back to Edinburgh
at 10 P.M., ravenously hungry, dead tired, and so frightened
about the necklace that food, bed, means of continuing
my journey, were as mere death compared with irreparable
dishonour. What would they all think of me ? How
could I prove that I had not stolen the diamonds?
Would Lord Elgin accuse me ? How could I have been
such an idiot as to leave them in my portmanteau !
Some rascal might break it open, and then, goodbye to
my chance for ever ! Chance ? what chance was there
of seeing that luggage again? There were so many
' mights.' I couldn't even swear that I had seen it on
the coach at Inverness. Oh dear ! oh dear ! What was
to be done? I walked about the streets; I glanced
woefully at door-steps, whereon to pass the night ; I
gazed piteously through the windows of a cheap cook's
shop, where solid wedges of baked pudding, that would
have stopped digestion for a month, were advertised for a
penny a block. How rich should I have been if I had

262 TRA.CKS OF A EOLLING STONE

had a penny in my pocket ! But I had to turn away in
despair.

At last the inspiration came. I remembered hearing
Mr. Bllice say that he always put up at Douglas' Hotel
when he stayed in Edinburgh. I had very little hope of
success, but I was too miserable to hesitate. It was very
late, and everybody might be gone to bed. I rang the
bell. ' I want to see the landlord.'

' Any name ? ' the porter asked.

' No.' The landlord came, fat, amiable looking. ' May
I speak to you in private ? ' He showed the way to an
unoccupied room. ' I think you know Mr. EUice ? '

' Glenquoich, do you mean ? '

'Yes.'

' Oh, very well — he always stays here on his way
through.'

' I am his step-son ; I left Glenquoich yesterday. I
have lost my luggage, and am left without any money.
Will you lend me five pounds ? ' I believe if I were in the
same strait now, and entered any strange hotel in the
United Kingdom at half-past ten at night, and asked
the landlord to give me five pounds upon a similar security,
he would laugh in my face, or perhaps give me in charge
of a policeman.

My host of Douglas' did neither ; but opened both his
heart and his pocket-book, and with the greatest good
humour handed me the requested sum. What good people
there are in this world, which that crusty old Sir Peter

Teazle calls ' a d d wicked one.' I poured out all my

trouble to the generous man. He ordered me an excellent
supper, and a very nice room. And on the following day,
after taking a great deal of trouble, he recovered my lost
luggage and the priceless treasure it contained. It was a
proud and happy moment when I returned his loan, and

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 263

convinced him, of what he did not seem to doubt, that I
was positively not a svdndler.

But the roofless night and the empty belly, consequent
on an empty pocket, was a lesson which I trust was not
thrown away upon me. It did not occur to me to do so,
but I certainly might have picked a pocket, if — well, if
I had been brought up to it. Honesty, as I have often
thought since, is dirt cheap if only one can afford it.

Before departing from my beloved Glenquoich, I must
pay a passing tribute to the remarkable qualities of Mrs.
Edward Ellice and of her youngest sister Mrs. Robert
EUice, the mother of the present member for St. Andrews.
It was, in a great measure, the bright intelligence, the
rare tact, and social gifts of these two ladies that made
this beautiful Highland resort so attractive to all comers.

264 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XXXVIII

The winter of 1854-55 I spent in Kome. Here I made
the acquaintance of Leighton, then six-and-twenty. I
saw a good deal of him, as I lived almost entirely amongst
the artists, taking lessons myself in water colours of
Leitch. Music also brought us into contact. He had a
beautiful voice, and used to sing a good deal with Mrs.
Sartoris — Adelaide Kemble — whom he greatly admired,
and whose portrait is painted, under a monk's cowl, in
the Cimabue procession.

Calling on him one morning, I found him on his
knees buttering and rolling up this great picture, pre-
paratory to sending it to the Academy. I made some
remark about its unusual size, saying with a sceptical smile,
' It will take up a lot of room.'

' If they ever hang it,' he replied ; ' but there's not much
chance of that.'

Seeing that his reputation was yet to win, it certainly
seemed a bold venture to make so large a demand for
space to begin with. He did not appear the least
sanguine. But it was accepted ; and Prince Albert bought
it before the Exhibition opened.

Gibson also I saw much of. He had executed a large
alto-rilievo monument of my mother, which is now in my
parish church, and the model of which is on the landing of
one of the staircases of the National Gallery. His studio
was always an interesting lounge, for he was ever ready to

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 265

lecture upon antique marbles. To listen to him was
like reading the ' Laocoon,' which he evidently had at
his fingers' ends. My companion through the winter
was Mr. Eeginald Cholmondeley, a Cambridge ally, who
was studying painting. He was the uncle of Miss
Cholmondeley the well-known authoress, whose mother,
by the way, was a first cousin of George Cayley's, and
also a great friend of mine.

On my return to England I took up my abode in
Dean's Yard, and shared a house there with Mr. Cayley,
the Yorkshire member, and his two sons, the eldest a
barrister, and my friend George. Here for several years
we had exceedingly pleasant gatherings of men more or
less distinguished in literature and art. Tennyson was a
frequent visitor — coming late, after dinner hours, to smoke
his pipe. He varied a good deal, sometimes not saying
a word, but quietly listening to our chatter. Thackeray
also used to drop in occasionally.

George Cayley and I, with the assistance of his father
and others, had started a weekly paper called ' TheEealm.'
It was professedly a currency paper, and also supported a
fiscal policy advocated by Mr. Cayley and some of his
parliamentary clique. Coming in one day, and finding us
hard at work, Thackeray asked for information. We
handed him a copy of the paper. 'Ah,' he exclaimed,
with mock solemnity, ' " The Eellum," should be printed
on vellum.' He too, like Tennyson, was variable. But
this depended on whom he found. In the presence of a
stranger he was grave and silent. He would never venture
on puerile jokes like this of his ' Eellum ' — a frequent
playfulness, when at his ease, which contrasted so unex-
pectedly with his impenetrable exterior. He was either
gauging the unknown person, or feeling that he was being
gauged. Monckton Milnes was another. Seeing me
correcting some proof sheets, he said, ' Let me give you

266 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

a piece of advice, my young friend. Write as much as
you please, but the less you print the better.'

' For me, or for others ? '

' For both.'

George Cayley had a natural gift for, and had acquired
considerable skill, in the embossing and working of silver
ware. Millais so admired his art that he commissioned
him to make a large tea-tray ; Millais provided the silver.
Bound the border of the tray were beautifully modelled
sea-shells, cray-fish, crabs, and fish of quaint forms, in
high relief. Millais was so pleased with the work that he
afterwards painted, and presented to Cayley, a fine portrait
in his best style of Cayley's son, a boy of six or seven
years old.

Laurence Oliphant was one of George Cayley's friends.
Attractive as he was in many ways, I had little sympathy
with his religious opinions, nor did I comprehend Oliphant's
exalted inspirations ; I failed to see their practical bearing,
and, at that time I am sorry to say, looked upon him as an
amiable faddist. A special favourite with both of us was
William Stirling of Keir. His great work on the Spanish
painters, and his 'Cloister Life of Charles the Fifth,'
excited our unbounded admiration, while his bonhomie
and radiant humour were a delight we were always eager
to welcome.

George Cayley and I now entered at Lincoln's Inn.
At the end of three years he was duly called to the Bar.
I was not ; for alas, as usual, something ' turned up,'
which drew me in another direction. For a couple of
years, however, I ' ate ' my terms — not unfrequently with
William Harcourt, with whom Cayley had a Yorkshire
intimacy even before our Cambridge days.

Old Mr. Cayley, though not the least strait-laced, was
a religious man. A Unitarian by birth and conviction,
he began and ended the day with family prayers. On

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 267

Sundays he would always read to us, or make us read to
him, a sermon of Channing's, or of Theodore Parker's, or
what we all liked better, one of Frederick Eobertson's.
He was essentially a good man. He had been in Parlia-
ment all his life, and was a broad-minded, tolerant, philo-
sophical man-of-the-world. He had a keen sense of
humour, and was rather sarcastical ; but, for all that, he
was sensitively earnest, and conscientious. I had the
warmest affection and respect for him. Such a character
exercised no small influence upon our conduct and our
opinions, especially as his approval or disapproval of
these visibly affected his own happiness.

He was never easy unless he was actively engaged in
some benevolent scheme, the promotion of some charity,
or in what he considered his parliamentary duties, which
he contrived to make very burdensome to his conscience.
As his health was bad, these self-imposed obligations were
all the more onerous ; but he never spared himself, or his
somewhat scanty means. Amongst other minor tasks,
he used to teach at the Sunday-school of St. John's,
Westminster ; in this he persuaded me to join him. The
only other volunteer, not a clergyman, was Page Wood — a
great friend of Mr. Cayley's — afterwards Lord Chancellor
Hatherley. In spite of Mr. Cayley's Unitarianism, like
Frederick the Great, he was all for letting people ' go to
Heaven in their own way,' and was moreover quite ready
to help them in their own way. So that he had no
difficulty in hearing the boys repeat the day's collect, or
the Creed, even if Athanasian, in accordance with the
prescribed routine of the clerical teachers.

This was right, at all events for him, if he thought it
right. My spirit of nonconformity did not permit me to
follow his example. Instead thereof, my teaching was
purely secular. I used to take a volume of Mrs. Marcet's
' Conversations ' in my pocket ; and with the aid of the

268 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

diagrams, explain the application of the mechanical forces,
— the inclined plane, the screw, the pulley, the wedge, and
the lever. After two or three Sundays my class was
largely increased, for the children keenly enjoyed their
competitive examinations. I would also give them bits
of poetry to get by heart for the following Sunday — lines
from Gray's ' Elegy,' from Wordsworth, from Pope's
' Essay on Man ' — such in short as had a moral rather than
a religious tendency.

After some weeks of this, the boys becoming clamorous
in their zeal to correct one another, one of the curates left
his class to hear what was going on in mine. We
happened at the moment to be dealing with geography.
The curate, evidently shocked, went away and brought
another curate. Then the two together departed, and
brought back the rector — Dr. Jennings, one of the
Westminster Canons — a most kind and excellent man.
I went on as if unconscious of the censorship, the boys
exerting themselves all the more eagerly for the sake of
the ' gallery.' When the hour was up, Canon Jennings
took me aside, and in the most polite manner thanked
me for my ' valuable assistance,' but did not think that
the ' Essay on Man,' or especially geography, was suited for
the teaching in a Sunday-school. I told him I knew it
was useless to contend with so high a canonical authority ;
personally I did not see the impiety of geography, but then,
as he already knew, I was a confirmed latitudinarian.
He clearly did not see the joke, but intimated that my
services would henceforth be dispensed with.

Of course I was wrong, though I did not know it
then, for it must be borne in mind that there were no
Board Schools in those days, and general education,
amongst the poor, was deplorably deficient. At first, my
idea was to give the children (they were all boys) a taste
for the ' humanities,' which might afterwards lead to their

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 269

further pursuit. I assumed that on the Sunday they
would be thinking of the baked meats awaiting them
when church was over, or of their week-day tops and
tipcats ; but I was equally sure that a time would come
when these would be forgotten, and the other things re-
membered. The success was greater from the beginning
than could be looked for ; and some years afterwards I
had reason to hope that the forecast was not altogether
too sanguine.

While the Victoria Tower was being built, I stopped
one day to watch the masons chiselling the blocks of
stone. Presently one of them, in a flannel jacket and a
paper cap, came and held out his hand to me. He was
a handsome young fellow with a big black beard and
moustache, both powdered with his chippings.
' You don't remember me, sir, do you ? '
' Did I ever see you before ? '

' My name is Richards ; don't you remember, sir ? I
was one of the boys you used to teach at the Sunday-
school. It gave me a turn for mechanics, which I followed
up ; and that's how I took to this trade. I'm a master
mason now, sir ; and the whole of this lot is under me.'

' I wonder what you would have been,' said I, ' if we'd
stuck to the collects ? '

' I don't think I should have had a hand in this little
job,' he answered, looking up with pride at the mighty
tower, as though he had a creative share in its con-
struction.

All this while I was working hard at my own educa-
tion, and trying to make up for the years I had wasted
(so I thought of them), by knocking about the world. I
spent laborious days and nights in reading, dabbling in
geology, chemistry, physiology, metaphysics, and what
not. On the score of dogmatic religion I was as restless
as ever. I had an insatiable thirst for knowledge ; but

270 TKACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

was without guidance. I wanted to learn everything ;
and, not knowing in what direction to concentrate my
efforts, learnt next to nothing. All knowledge seemed to
me equally important, for all bore alike upon the great
problems of belief and of existence. But what to pursue,
what to relinquish, appeared to me an unanswerable
riddle. Difficult as this puzzle was, I did not know then
that a long life's experience would hardly make it simpler.
The man who has to earn his bread must fain resolve to
adapt his studies to that end. His choice not often
rests with him. But the unfortunate being cursed in
youth with the means of idleness, yet without genius,
without talents even, is terribly handicapped and per-
plexed.

And now, with life behind me, how should I advise
another in such a plight ? When a young lady, thus
embarrassed, wrote to Carlyle for counsel, he sympatheti-
cally bade her ' put her drawers in order.'

Here is the truth to be faced at the outset : ' Man has
but the choice to go a little way in many paths, or a great
way in only one.' 'Tis thus John Mill puts it. Which
will he, which should he, choose ? Both courses lead
alike to incompleteness. The universal man is no
specialist, and has to generalise without his details.
The specialist sees only through his microscope, and knows
about as much of cosmology as does his microbe. Goethe,
the most comprehensive of Seers, must needs expose his
incompleteness by futile attempts to disprove Newton's
theory of colour. Newton must needs expose his, by a
still more lamentable attempt to prove the Apocalypse
as true as his own discovery of the laws of gravitation.
All science nowadays is necessarily confined to experts.
Without illustrating the fact by invidious hints, I invite
anyone to consider the intellectual cost of the world which
such limitation entails ; nor is the loss merely negative ;

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 271

the specialist is unfortunately too often a bigot, when
beyond his contracted sphere.

This, you will say, is arguing in a circle. The univer-
sal must be given up for the detail, the detail for the
universal ; we leave off where we began. Yes, that is
the dilemma. Still, the gain to science through a devotion
of a whole life to a mere group of facts, in a single branch
of a single science, may be an incalculable acquisition to
human knowledge, to the intellectual capital of the race —
a gain that sometimes far outweighs the loss. Even if we
narrow the question to the destiny of the individual, the
sacrifice of each one for the good of the whole is doubtless
the highest aim the one can have.

But this conclusion scarcely helps us ; for remember,
the option is not given to all. Genius, or talent, or special
aptitude, is a necessary equipment for such an under-
taking. Great discoverers must be great observers,
dexterous manipulators, ingenious contrivers, and patient
thinkers.

The difficulty we started with was, what you and I,
my friend, who perhaps have to row in the same boat,
and perhaps 'with the same sculls,' without any of these
provisions, what we should do ? What point of the com-
pass should we steer for ? ' "Whatever thy hand findeth
to do, do it with thy might.' Truly there could be no
better advice. But the ' finding ' is the puzzle ; and like
the search for truth it must, I fear, be left to each one's
power to do it. And then — and then the countless thou-
sands who have the leisure without the means — who have
hands at least, and yet no work to put them to — what is
to be done for these ? Not in your time or mine, dear
friend, will that question be answered. For this, I fear
we must wait till by the ' universal law of adaptation '
we reach 'the ultimate development of the ideal man.'
' Colossal optimism,' exclaims the critic.

272 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XXXIX

In February, 1865, Eoebuck moved for a select committee
to inquire into the condition of the Army before Sebas-
topol. Lord John Eussell, who was leader of the House,
treated this as a vote of censure, and resigned. Lord
Palmerston resisted Eoebuck's motion, and generously
defended the Government he was otherwise opposed to.
But the motion was carried by a majority of 157, and
Lord Aberdeen was turned out of office. The Queen sent
for Lord Derby, but without Lord Palmerston he was
unable to form a Ministry. Lord John was then appealed
to, with like results ; and the premiership was practically
forced upon Palmerston, in spite of his unpopularity at
Court. Mr. Horsman was made Chief Secretary for
Ireland ; and through Mr. Ellice I became his private
secretary.

Before I went to the Irish Office I was all but a
stranger to my chief. I had met him occasionally in the
tennis court ; but the net was always between us. He
was a man with a great deal of manner, but with very
little of what the French call ' conviction.' Nothing
keeps people at a distance more effectually than simulated
sincerity ; Horsman was a master of the art. I was pro-
foundly ignorant of my duties. But though this was
a great inconvenience to me at first, it led to a friend-
ship which I greatly prized until its tragic end. For
all information as to the writers of letters, as to Irish

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 273

Members who applied for places for themselves, or for
others, I had to consult the principal clerk. He was him-
self an Irishman of great ability ; and though young, was
either personally or officially acquainted, so it seemed to
me, with every Irishman in the House of Commons, or
out of it. His name is too well known — it was Thomas
Bourke, afterwards Under Secretary, and one of the vic-
tims of the Fenian assassins in the Phoenix Park. His
patience and amiability were boundless ; and under his
guidance I soon learnt the tricks of my trade.

During the session we remained in London ; and for
some time it was of great interest to listen to the debates.
When Irish business was before the House, I had often to
be in attendance on my chief in the reporters' gallery.
Sometimes I had to wait there for an hour or two before
our questions came on, and thus had many opportunities
of hearing Bright, Gladstone, Disraeli, and all the leading
speakers. After a time the pleasure, when compulsory,
began to pall ; and I used to wonder what on earth could
induce the ruck to waste their time in following, sheeplike,
their bell-wethers, or waste their money in paying for that
honour. When Parliament was up we moved to Dublin.
I lived with Horsman in the Chief Secretary's lodge.
And as I had often stayed at Castle Howard before Lord
Carlisle became Viceroy, between the two lodges I saw a
great deal of pleasant society.

Amongst those who came to stay with Horsman was
Sidney Herbert, then Colonial Secretary, a man of singular
nobility of nature. Another celebrity for the day, but of
a very different character, was Lord Cardigan. He had
just returned from the Crimea, and was now in command
of the forces in Ireland. This was about six months
after the Balaklava charge. Horsman asked him one
evening to give a description of it, with a plan of the
battle. His Lordship did so ; no words could be more

T

274 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

suited to the deed. If this was ' pell-mell, havock, and
confusion,' the account of it was proportionately con-
founded. The noble leader scrawled and inked and
blotted all the phases of the battle upon the same scrap
of paper, till the batteries were at the starting-point of
the charge, the Light Brigade on the far side of the guns,
and all the points of the compass, attack and defence,
had changed their original places ; in fact, the gallant
Earl brandished his pen as valiantly as he had his sword.
When quite bewildered, like everybody else, I ventured
mildly to ask, ' But where were you, Lord Cardigan, and
where were our men when it came to this ? '

' Where ? Where ? God bless my soul ! How should
I know where anybody was ? ' And this, no doubt,
described the situation to a nicety.

My office was in the Castle, and the next room to
mine was that of the Solicitor-General Keogh, afterwards
Judge. We became the greatest of friends. It was one
of Horsman's peculiarities to do business circuitously.
He was fond of mysteries and of secrets, secrets that were
to be kept from everyone, but which were generally known
to the office messengers. When Keogh and I met in the
morning he would say, with admirable imitation of Hors-
man's manner, ' Well, it is all settled ; the Viceroy has
considered the question, and has decided to act upon my
advice. Mind you don't tell anyone — it is a profound
secret,' then, lowering his voice and looking round the
room, ' His Excellency has consented to score at the next
cricket match between the garrison and the Civil Service.'
If it were a constabulary appointment, or even a village
post-office, the Attorney or the Solicitor-General would be
strictly enjoined not to inform me, and I received similar
injunctions respecting them. In spite of his apparent
attention to details, Mr. Horsman hunted three days a
week, and stated in the House of Commons that the office
of Chief Secretary was a farce, meaning when excluded

TRACKS OF A KOLLING STONE 275

from the Cabinet. All I know is, that his private
secretary was constantly at work an hour before breakfast
by candle-light, and never got a single day's holiday
throughout the winter.

Horsman had hired a shooting — Balnaboth in Scot-
land ; here, too, I had to attend upon him in the autumn,
mainly for the purpose of copying voluminous private
correspondence about a sugar estate he owned at Singa-
pore, then producing a large income, but the subsequent
failure of which was his ruin. One year Sir Alexander
Cockburn, the Lord Chief Justice, came to stay with him ;
and excellent company he was. Horsman had sometimes
rather an affected way of talking ; and referring to some
piece of political news, asked Cockburn whether he had
seen it in the ' Courier.' This he pronounced with an
accent on the last syllable, like the French 'Courrier.'
Cockburn, with a slight twinkle in his eye, answered in
his quiet way, ' No, I didn't see it in the " Courrier,"
perhaps it is in the " Morning Post," ' also giving the
French pronunciation to the latter word.

Sir Alexander told us an amusing story about Disraeli.
He and Bernal Osborne were talking together about Mrs.
Disraeli, when presently Osborne, with characteristic
effrontery, exclaimed : ' My dear Dizzy, how could yoa
marry such a woman ? ' The answer was ; ' My dear
Bernal, you never knew what gratitude was, or you would
not ask the question.'

Keogh, Bourke, and I, made several pleasant little
excursions to such places as Bray, the Seven Churches,
Powerscourt, &c., and, with a chosen car-driver, the wit and
fun of the three clever Irishmen was no small treat. The
last time I saw either of my two friends was at a dinner-
party which Bourke gave at the ' Windham.' We were only
four, to make up a whist party ; the fourth was Fred
Clay, the composer. It is sad to reflect that two of the

T 2

276 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

lot came to violent ends — Keogh, the cheeriest of men in
society, by his own hands. Bourke I had often spoken to
of the danger he ran in crossing the Phcenix Park nightly
on his way home, on foot and unarmed. He laughed at
me, and rather indignantly — for he was a very vain man,
though one of the most good-natured fellows in the world.
In the first place, he prided himself on his physique — he
was a tall, well-built, handsome man, and a good boxer
and fencer to boot. In the next place, he prided himself
above all things on being a thorough-bred Irishman, with
a sneaking sympathy with even Fenian grievances.
' They all know me,' he would say. ' The rascals know
I'm the best friend they have. I'm the last man in the
world they'd harm, for political reasons. Anyway, I can
take care of myself.' And so it was he fell.

The end of Horsman's secretaryship is soon told. A
bishopric became vacant, and almost as much intrigue
was set agoing as we read of in the wonderful story of
' L'Anneau d'Amethyste.' Horsman, at all times a
profuse letter-vsT:iter, wrote folios to Lord Palmerston on
the subject, each letter more exuberant, more urgent than
the last. But no answer came. Finally, the whole Irish
vote, according to the Chief Secretary, being at stake —
not to mention the far more important matter of personal
and official dignity — Horsman flew off to London, boiling
over with impatience and indignation. He rushed to
10 Downing Street. His Lordship was at the Foreign
Of&ce, but was expected every minute ; would Mr. Hors-
man wait ? Mr. Horsman was shown into his Lordship's
room. Piles of letters, opened and unopened, were lying
upon the table. The Chief Secretary recognised his own
signatures on the envelopes of a large bundle, all amongst
the ' un's.' The Premier came in, an explanation extrSme-
ment vive followed ; on his return to Dublin Mr. Horsman
resigned his post, and from that moment became one of
Lord Palmerston's bitterest opponents.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 277

CHAPTEE XL

The lectures at the Eoyal Institution were of some help
to me. I attended courses by Owen, Tyndall, Huxley,
and Bain. Of these, Huxley was facile princeps, though
both Owen and Tyndall were second to no other. Bain
was disappointing. I was a careful student of his books,
and always admired the logical lucidity of his writing.
But to the mixed audience he had to lecture to —
fashionable young ladies in their teens, and drowsy
matrons in charge of them, he discreetly kept clear of
transcendentals. In illustration perhaps of some theory
of the relation of the senses to the intellect, he would tell
an amusing anecdote of a dog that had had an injured leg
dressed at a certain house, after which the recovered dog
brought a canine friend to the same house to have his
leg — or tail — repaired. Out would come all the tablets and
pretty pencil cases, and every young lady would be busy for
the rest of the lecture in recording the marvellous history.
If the dog's name had been ' Spot ' or ' Bob,' the im-
portant psychological fact would have been faithfully
registered. As to the theme of the discourse, that had
nothing to do with — millinery. And Mr. Bain doubtless
did not overlook the fact.

Owen was an accomplished lecturer ; but one's atten-
tion to him depended on two things — a primary interest
in the subject, and some elementary acquaintance with it.
If, for example, his subject were the comparative anatomy

278 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

of the cycloid and ganoid fishes, the difference in their
scales was scarcely of vital importance to one's general
culture. But if he were lecturing on fish, he would stick
to fish ; it would be essentially a jour maigre.

With Huxley, the suggestion was worth more than the
thing said. One thought of it afterwards, and wondered
whether his words implied all they seemed to imply.
One knew that the scientist was also a philosopher ; and
one longed to get at him, at the man himself, and listen
to the lessons which his work had taught him. At one
of these lectures I had the honour of being introduced to
him by a great friend of mine, John Marshall, then
President of the College of Surgeons. In later years I
used to meet him constantly at the Athenaeum.

Looking back to the days of one's plasticity, two men
are pre-eminent among my Dii Majores. To John Stuart
Mill and to Thomas Huxley I owe more, educationally,
than to any otljer teachers. Mill's logic was simply a
revelation to me. For what Kant calls ' discipline,' I still
know no book, unless it be the ' Critique ' itself, equal to it.
But perhaps it is the men themselves, their earnestness,
their splendid courage, their noble simplicity, that most
inspired one with reverence. It was Huxley's aim to
enlighten the many, and he enlightened them. It was
Mill's lot to help thinkers, and he helped them. Sapere
aude was the motto of both. How few there are who
dare to adopt it ! To love truth is valiantly professed by
all ; but to pursue it at all costs, to ' dare to be wise '
needs daring of the highest order.

Mill had the enormous advantage, to start with, of an
education unbiassed by any theological creed; and he
brought exceptional powers of abstract reasoning to bear
upon matters of permanent and supreme importance to
all men. Yet, in spite of his ruthless impartiality, I
should not hesitate to call him a religious man. This

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 279

very tendency which no imaginative mind, no man or
woman with any strain of poetical feeling, can be without,
invests Mill's character with a dash of humanity which
entitles him to a place in our affections. It is in this re-
spect that he so widely differs from Mr. Herbert Spencer.
Courageous Mr. Spencer was, but his courage seems to
have been due almost as much to absence of sympathy
or kinship with his fellow-creatures, and to his contempt
of their opinions, as from his dispassionate love of truth,
or his sometimes passionate defence of his own tenets.

My friend Napier told me an amusing little story
about John Mill when he was in the East India Com-
pany's administration. Mr. Macvey Napier, my friend's
elder brother, was the senior clerk. On John Mill's
retirement, his co-of&cials subscribed to present him with
a silver standish. Such was the general sense of Mill's
modest estimate of his own deserts, and of his aversion
to all acknowledgment of them, that Mr. Napier, though
it fell to his lot, begged others to join in the ceremony of
presentation. All declined ; the inkstand was left upon
Mill's table when he himself was out of the room.

Years after the time of which I am writing, when
Mill stood for Westminster, I had the good fortune to be
on the platform at St. James's HaU, next but one to him,
when he made his first speech to the electors. He
was completely unknown to the public, and, though I
worshipped the man, I had never seen him, nor had an
idea what he looked like. To satisfy my curiosity I tried
to get a portrait of him at the photographic shop in
Eegent Street.

' I want a photograph of Mr. Mill.'

' Mill ? Mill ? ' repeated the shopman, ' Oh yes, sir, I
know — a great sporting gent,' and he produced the por-
trait of a sportsman in top boots and a hunting cap.

Very different from this was the figure I then saw.

280 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

The hall and the platform were crowded. Where was the
principal personage ? Presently, quite alone, up the side
steps, and unobserved, came a thin but tallish man
in black, with a tail coat, and, almost unrecognised, took
the vacant front seat. He might have been, so far as
dress went, a clerk in a counting-house, or an undertaker.
But the face was no ordinary one. The wide brow, the
sharp nose of the Burke type, the compressed lips and
strong chin, were suggestive of intellect and of suppressed
emotion. There was no applause, for nothing was known
to the crowd, even of his opinions, beyond the fact that
he was the Liberal candidate for Westminster. He spoke
with perfect ease to himself, never faltering for the right
word, which seemed to be always at his command. If
interrupted by questions, as he constantly was, his answers
could not have been amended had he written them. His
voice was not strong, and there were frequent calls from
the far end to ' speak up, speak up ; we can't hear you.'
He did not raise his pitch a note. They might as well
have tried to bully an automaton. He was doing his
best, and he could do no more. Then, when, instead of
the usual adulations, instead of declamatory appeals to
the passions of a large and a mixed assembly, he gave
them to understand, in very plain language, that even
sociahsts are not infallible, — that extreme and violent
opinions, begotten of ignorance, do not constitute the
highest political wisdom; then there were murmurs of
dissent and disapproval. But if the ignorant and the
violent could have stoned him, his calm manner would
still have said, ' Strike, but hear me.'

Mr. Eobert Grosvenor — the present Lord Ebury — then
the other Liberal member for Westminster, wrote to ask
me to take the chair at Mill's first introduction to the
Pimlico electors. Such, however, was my admiration of
Mill, I did not feel sure that I might not say too much in

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 281

his favour ; and mindful of the standish incident, I knew,
that if I did so, it would embarrass and annoy him.
Under these circumstances I declined the honour.

When Owen was delivering a course of lectures at
Norwich, my brother invited him to Holkham. I was
there, and we took several long walks together. Nothing
seemed to escape his observation. My brother had just
completed the recovery of many hundred acres of tidal
marsh by embankments. Owen, who was greatly inter-
ested, explained what would be the effect upon the sandiest
portion of this, in years to come ; what the chemical action
of the rain would be, how the sand would eventually
become soil, how vegetation would cover it, and how
manure render it cultivable. The splendid crops now
grown there bear testimony to his foresight. He had
always something instructive to impart, stopping to con-
template trifles which only a Zadig would have noticed.

' I observe,' said he one day, ' that your prevailing
wind here is north-west.'

' How do you know ? ' I asked.

' Look at the roots of all these trees ; the large roots
are invariably on the north-west side. This means that
the strain comes on this side. The roots which have to
bear it loosen the soil, and the loosened soil favours the
extension and the growth of the roots. Nature is beauti-
fully scientific'

Some years after this, I published a book called
' Creeds of the Day.' My purpose was to show, in a
popular form, the bearings of science and speculative
thought upon the religious creeds of the time. I sent
Owen a copy of the work. He wrote me one of the most
interesting letters I ever received. He had bought the
book, and had read it. But the important content of the
letter was the confession of his own faith. I have pur-
posely excluded all correspondence from these Memoirs,

282 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

but had it not been that a forgotten collector of autographs
had captured it, I should have been tempted to make an
exception in its favour. The tone was agnostic ; but
timidly agnostic. He had never freed himself from the
shackles of early prepossessions. He had not the necessary
daring to clear up his doubts. Sometimes I fancy that it
was this difference in the two men that lay at the bottom
of the unfortunate antagonism between Owen and Huxley.
There is in Owen's writing, where he is not purely
scientific, a touch of the apologist. He cannot quite make
up his mind to follow evolution to its logical conclusions.
Where he is forced to do so, it is to him like signing the
death warrant of his dearest friend. It must not be for-
gotten that Owen was born more than twenty years before
Huxley ; and great as was the offence of free-thinking in
Huxley's youth, it was nothing short of anathema in
Owen's. When I met him at Holkham, the ' Origin of
Species ' had not been published ; and Napier and I did
all we could to get Owen to express some opinion on
Lamarck's theory, for he and 1 used to talk confidentially
on this fearful heresy even then. But Owen was ever on
his guard. He evaded our questions and changed the
subject.

Whenever I pass near the South Kensington Museum
I step aside to look at the noble statues of the two illus-
trious men. A mere glance at them, and we appreciate
at once their respective characters. In the one we see
passive wisdom, in the other militant force.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 283

CHAPTER XLI

Before I went to America, I made the acquaintance of
Dr. George Bird; he continued to be one of my most
intimate friends till his death, fifty years afterwards.
When I first knew him. Bird was the medical adviser and
friend of Leigh Hunt, whose family I used often to meet
at his house. He had been dependent entirely upon his
own exertions ; had married young ; and had had a pretty
hard fight at starting to provide for his children and for
himself. His energy, his abilities, his exceeding amia-
bility, and remarkable social qualities, gradually procured
him a large practice and hosts of devoted friends. He
began looking for the season for sprats — the cheapest of
fish — to come in ; by middle life he was habitually and
sumptuously entertaining the celebrities of art and litera-
ture. With his accomplished sister, Miss Alice Bird, to
keep house for him, there were no pleasanter dinner
parties or receptions in London. His clienUle was mainly
amongst the artistic world. He was a great friend of
Miss Ellen Terry's, Mr. Marcus Stone and his sisters
were frequenters of his house, so were Mr. Swinburne,
Mr. Woolner the sculptor — of whom I was not particu-
larly fond — Horace Wigan the actor, and his father, the
Burtons, who were much attached to him — Burton dedi-
cated one volume of his ' Arabian Nights ' to him — Sir
William Crookes, Mr. Justin Macarthy and his talented
son, and many others.

284 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

The good doctor was a Eadical and Home Euler, and
attended professionally the members of one or two labour-
ing men's clubs for fees which, as far as I could learn,
were rigorously nominal. His great delight was to get an
order for the House of Commons, especially on nights
when Mr. Gladstone spoke ; and, being to the last day
of his life as simple-minded as a child, had a profound
belief in the statemanship and integrity of that renowned
orator.

As far as personality goes, the Burtons were, perhaps,
the most notable of the above-named. There was a
mystery about Burton which was in itself a fascination.
No one knew what he had done ; or consequently what
he might not do. He never boasted, never hinted that
he had done, or could do, anything different from other
men ; and, in spite of the mystery, one felt that he was
transparently honest and sincere. He was always the
same, always true to himself ; but then, that ' self ' was a
something per se, which could not be categorically classed
— precedent for guidance was lacking. There is little
doubt Burton had gipsy blood in his veins ; there was
something Oriental in his temperament, and even in
his skin.

One summer's day I found him reading the paper in
the Athenaeum. He was dressed in a complete suit of
white — white trousers, a white linen coat, and a very
shabby old white hat. People would have stared at him
anywhere.

' Hullo, Burton ! ' I exclaimed, touching his linen coat,
' Do you find it so hot — dejci, ? '

Said he : ' I don't want to be mistaken for other
people.'

' There's not much fear of that, even without your
clothes,' I replied.

Such an impromptu answer as his would, from any

TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE 285

other, have implied vanity. Yet no man could have been
less vain, or more free from affectation. It probably con-
cealed regret at finding himself conspicuous.

After dinner at the Birds' one evening we fell to talk-
ing of garrotters. About this time the police reports
were full of cases of garrotting. The victim was seized
from behind, one man gagged or burked him, while
another picked his pocket.

' What should you do. Burton ? ' the Doctor asked,
' if they tried to garrotte you ? '

' I'm quite ready for 'em,' was the answer ; and turn-
ing up his sleeve he partially pulled out a dagger, and
shoved it back again.

We tried to make him tell us what became of the
Arab boy who accompanied him to Mecca, and whose
suspicions threatened Burton's betrayal, and, of conse-
quence, his life. I don't think anyone was present except
us two, both of whom he well knew to be quite shock-
proof, but he held his tongue.

' You would have been perfectly justified in saving
your own life at any cost. You would hardly have broken
the sixth commandment by doing so in this case,' I
suggested.

' No,' said he gravely, ' and as I had broken all the ten
before, it wouldn't have so much mattered.'

The Doctor roared. It should, however, be stated that
Burton took no less delight in his host's boyish simphcity,
than the other in what he deemed his guest's superb
candour.

' Come, tell us,' said Bird, ' how many men have you
killed?'

' How many have you, Doctor ? ' was the answer.
Eichard Burton was probably the most extraordinary
linguist of his day. Lady Burton mentions, I think, in
his Life, the number of languages and dialects her

286 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

husband knew. That Mahometans should seek instruc-
tion from him in the Koran, speaks of itself for his aston-
ishing mastery of the greatest linguistic difficulties. With
Indian languages and their variations, he was as com-
pletely at home as Miss Youghal's Sais ; and, one may
suppose, could have played the role of a fakir as per-
fectly as he did that of a Mecca pilgrim. I asked him
what his method was in learning a fresh language. He
said he wrote down as many new words as he could
learn and remember each day ; and learnt the construc-
tion of the language colloquially, before he looked at a
grammar.

Lady Burton was hardly less abnormal in her way
than Sir Richard. She had shared his wanderings, and
was intimate, as no one else was, with the eccentricities
of his thoughts and deeds. "Whatever these might happen
to be, she worshipped her husband notwithstanding. For
her he was the standard of excellence ; all other men
were departures from it. And the singularity is, her
religious faith was never for an instant shaken — she
remained as strict a Eoman Catholic as when he married
her from a convent. Her enthusiasm and cosmopolitan-
ism, her naivete and the sweetness of her disposition made
her the best of company. She had lived so much the life
of a Bedouin, that her dress and her habits had an Eastern
glow. When staying with the Birds, she was attended by
an Arab girl, one of whose duties it was to prepare her
mistress' chibouk, which was regularly brought in with
the coffee. On one occasion, when several other ladies
were dining there, some of them yielded to Lady Burton's
persuasion to satisfy their curiosity. The Arab girl soon
provided the means ; and it was not long before there
were four or five faces as white as Mrs. Alfred Wigan's,
under similar circumstances, in the ' Nabob.'

Alfred Wigan's father was an unforgetable man. To

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 287

describe him in a word, he was Falstaff redivivus. In
bulk and stature, in age, in wit and humour, and morality,
he was Falstaff. He knew it and gloried in it. He would
complain with zest of ' larding the lean earth ' as he
walked along. He was as partial to whisky as his proto-
type to sack. He would exhaust a Johnsonian vocabulary
in describing his ailments ; and would appeal pathetically
to Miss Bird, as though at his last gasp, for ' just a tea-
spoonful ' of the grateful stimulant. She served him with
a liberal hand, till he cried ' Stop ! ' But if she then
stayed, he would softly insinuate ' I didn't mean it, my
dear.' Yet he was no Costigan. His brain was stronger
than casks of whisky. And his powers of digestion were
in keeping. Indeed, to borrow the well-known words
applied to a great man whom we all love, ' He tore his
dinner like a famished wolf, with the veins swelling in his
forehead, and the perspiration running down his cheeks.'
The trend of his thoughts, though he was eminently a
man of intellect, followed the dictates of his senses.
Walk with him in the fields and, from the full stores of a
prodigious memory, he would pour forth pages of the
choicest poetry. But if you paused to watch the lambs
play, or disturbed a young calf in your path, he would
almost involuntarily exclaim : ' How deliciously you smell
of mint, my pet ! ' or ' Bless your innocent face ! What
sweetbreads you will provide ! '

James Wigan had kept a school once. The late
Serjeant Ballantine, who was one of his pupils, mentions
him in his autobiography. He was a good scholar,
and when I first knew him, used to teach elocution.
Many actors went to him, and not a few members of
both Houses of ParHament. He could recite nearly the
whole of several of Shakespeare's plays ; and, with a
dramatic art I have never known equalled by any public
reader.

288 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

His later years were passed at Sevenoaks, where he
kept an establishment for imbeciles, or weak-minded
youths. I often stayed with him ; and a very comfortable
and pretty place it was. Now and then he would call on me
in London ; and, with a face full of theatrical woe, tell me,
with elaborate circumlocution, how the Earl of This, or
the Marquis of That, had implored him to take charge of
young Lord So-and-So, his son ; who, as all the world
knew, had — well, had ' no guts in his brains.' Was there
ever such a chance ? Just consider what it must lead
to ! Everybody knew — no, nobody knew — the enormous
number of idiots there were in noble families. And, such

a case as that of young Lord Dash though of course

his residence at Sevenoaks would be a profound secret,
would be patent to the whole peerage ; and, my dear sir,
a fortune to your humble servant, if — ah ! if he could
only secure it ! '

' But I thought you said you had been implored to
take him ? '

' I did say so. I repeat it. His Lordship's father
came to me with tears in his eyes. " My dear Wigan,"
were that nobleman's words, " do me this one favour and

trust me, you will never regret it ! " But ' he paused

to remove the dramatic tear, ' but, I hardly dare go on.
Yes — yes, I know your kindness ' (seizing my hand) ' I
know how ready you are to help me ' — (I hadn't said a

word) — ' but '

' How much is it this time ? and what is it for ? '
' For ? I have told you what it is for. The merest
trifle will suffice. I have the room — a beautiful room, the
best aspect in the house. It is now occupied by young
Eumagee Bumagee the great Bombay millionaire's son.
Of course he can be moved. But a bed — there positively
is not a spare bed in the house. This is all I want — a
bed, and perhaps a tuppenny ha'penny strip of carpet,

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 289

a couple of chairs, a — let me see ; if you give me a
slip of paper I can make out in a minute what it will
come to.'

' Never mind that. Will a ten-pound note serve your
purposes '? '

' Dear boy ! Dear boy ! But on one condition, on
one condition only, can I accept it — this is a loan, a loan
mind ! and not a gift. No, no — it is useless to protest ;
my pride, my sense of honour, forbids my acceptance
upon any other terms.'

A day or two afterwards I would learn from George
Bird that he and Miss Alice had accepted an invitation to
meet me at Sevenoaks. Mr. Donovan, the famous phreno-
logist, was to be of the party ; the Rector of Sevenoaks,
and one or two local magnates, had also been invited to
dine. We Londoners were to occupy the spare rooms,
for this was in the coaching days.

We all knew what we had to expect — a most enjoyable
banquet of conviviality. Young Mrs. Wigan, his second
wife, was an admirable housekeeper, and nothing could
have been better done. The turbot and the haunch of
venison were the pick of Grove's shop, the champagne
was iced to perfection, and there was enough of it, as
Mr. Donovan whispered to me, casting his eyes to the
ceiling, 'to wash an omnibus, bedad.' Mr. Donovan,
though he never refused Mr. Wigan's hospitality, balanced
the account by vilipending his friend's extravagant habits.
While Mr. Wigan, probably giving him full credit for his
gratitude, always spoke of him as ' Poor old Paddy
Donovan.'

With Alfred Wigan, the eldest son, I was on very
friendly terms. Nothing could be more unlike his father.
His manner in his own house was exactly what it was on
the stage. Albany Eonblanque, whose experiences began
nearly forty years before mine, and who was not given

XJ

290 TRACKS OP A ROLLING STONE

to waste his praise, told me he considered Alfred Wigan
the best ' gentleman ' he had ever seen on the stage.
I think this impression was due in a great measure to
Wigan's entire absence of affectation, and to his persistent
appeal to the ' judicious ' but never to the 'groundlings.'
Mrs. Alfred Wigan was also a consummate artiste.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 291

CHAPTEE XLII

Through George Bird I made the acquaintance of the
leading surgeons and physicians of the North London
Hospital, where I frequently attended the operations of
Erichsen, John Marshall, and Sir Henry Thompson,
following them afterwards in their clinical rounds.
Amongst the physicians. Professor Sydney Einger remains
one of my oldest friends. Both surgery and therapeutics
interested me deeply. With regard to the first, curiosity
was supplemented , by the incidental desire to overcome
the natural repugnance we all feel to the mere sight of
blood.

Chemistry I studied in the laboratory of a professional
friend of Dr. Bird's. After a while my teacher would
leave me to carry out small commissions of a simple
character which had been put into his hands, such as
the analysis of water, bread, or other food-stuffs. He
himself often had engagements elsewhere, and would
leave me in possession of the laboratory, with a small
urchin whom he had taught to be useful. This boy was
of the meekest and mildest disposition. Whether his
master had frightened him or not I do not know. He
always spoke in a whisper, and with downcast eyes.
He handled everything as if it was about to annihilate
him, or he it, and looked as if he wouldn't bite — even a
tartlet.

One day when I had finished my task, and we were

02

292 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

alone, I bethought me of making some laughing gas, and
trying the effect of it on the gentle youth. I offered him
a shilling for the experiment, which, however, proved
more expensive than I had bargained for. I filled a
bladder with the gas, and put a bit of broken pipe-stem
in its neck for a mouthpiece, then gave it to the boy to
suck^and suck he did. In a few seconds his eyes
dilated, his face became lividly white, and I had some
trouble to tear the intoxicating bladder from his clutches.
The moment I had done so, the true nature of the gutter-
snipe exhibited itself. He began by cutting flip-flaps and
turning windmills all round the room ; then, before I could
stop him, swept an armful of valuable apparatus from
the tables, till the whole floor was strewn with wreck
and poisonous solutions. The dismay of the chemist
when he returned may be more easily imagined than
described.

Some years ago, there was a well-known band of
amateur musicians called the ' Wandering Minstrels.'
This band originated in my rooms in Dean's Yard. Its
nucleus was composed of the following members : Seymour
Egerton, afterwards Lord Wilton, Sir Archibald Mac-
donald my brother-in-law, Fred Clay, Bertie Mitford (the
present Lord Eedesdale — perhaps the finest amateur
cornet and trumpet player of the day), and Lord Gerald
Fitzgerald. Our concerts were given in the Hanover
Square Eooms, and we played for charities all over the
country.

To turn from the musical art to the art — or science is
it called? — of self-defence, once so patronised by the
highest fashion, there was at this time a famous pugilistic
battle — the last of the old kind — fought between the
English champion, Tom Sayers, and the American cham-
pion, Heenan. Bertie Mitford and I agreed to go and
see it.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 293

The Wandering Minstrels had given a concert in the
Hanover Square Eooms. The fight was to take place on
the following morning. When the concert was over,
Mitford and I went to some public-house where the
' Eing ' had assembled, and where tickets were to be
bought, and instructions received. Fights when gloves
were not used, and which, especially in this case, ihight
end fatally, were of course illegal ; and every precaution
had been taken by the police to prevent it. A special
train was to leave London Bridge Station about 6 a.m.
We sat up all night in my room, and had to wait an hour
in the train before the men with their backers arrived.
As soon as it was daylight, we saw mounted police gallop-
ing on the roads adjacent to the line. No one knew
where the train would pull up. Ten minutes after it did
so, a ring was formed in a meadow close at hand. The
men stripped, and tossed for places. Heenan won the
toss, and with it a considerable advantage. He was nearly
a head taller than Sayers, and the ground not being quite
level, he chose the higher side of the ring. But this was
by no means his only ' pull.' Just as the men took their
places the sun began to rise. It was in Heenan's back,
and right in the other's face.

Heenan began the attack at once with scornful con-
fidence ; and in a few minutes Sayers received a blow
on the forehead above his guard which sent him slithering
under the ropes ; his head and neck, in fact, were outside
the ring. He lay perfectly still, and in my ignorance,
I thought he was done for. Not a bit of it. He was
merely reposing quietly till his seconds put him on his
legs. He came up smiling, but not a jot the worse.
But in the course of another round or two, down he went
again. The fight was going all one way. The English-
man seemed to be completely at the mercy of the
giant. I was so disgusted that I said to my companion :

294 TRACKS or a bolling stone

' Come along, Bertie, the game's up. Sayers is good for
nothing.'

But now the luck changed. The bull-dog tenacity
and splendid condition of Sayers were proof against these
violent shocks. The sun was out of his eyes, and there was
not a mark of a blow either on his face or his body. His
temper, his presence of mind, his defence, and the rapidity
of his movements, were perfect. The opening he had
watched for came at last. He sprang off his legs, and
with his whole weight at close quarters, struck Heenan's
cheek just under the eye. It was like the kick of a cart-
horse. The shouts might have been heard half-a-mile off.
Up till now, the betting called after each round had come
to ' ten to one on Heenan ' ; it fell at once to evens.

Heenan was completely staggered. He stood for a
minute as if he did not know where he was or what had
happened. And then, an unprecedented thing occurred.
While he thus stood, Sayers put both hands behind his
back, and coolly walked up to his foe to inspect the damage
he had inflicted. I had hold of the ropes in Heenan's
corner, consequently could not see his face without lean-
ing over them. When I did so, and before time was
called, one eye was completely closed. What kind of
generosity prevented Sayers from closing the other during
the pause, is difficult to conjecture. But his forbearance
did not make much difference. Heenan became more
fierce, Sayers more daring. The same tactics were re-
peated ; and now, no longer to the astonishment of the
crowd, the same success rewarded them. Another sledge-
hammer blow from the Englishman closed the remaining
eye. The difference in the condition of the two men
must have been enormous, for in five minutes Heenan was
completely sightless.

Sayers, however, had not escaped scot-free. In
countering the last attack, Heenan had broken one of the

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 295

bones of Sayers' right arm. Still the fight went on. It
was now a brutal scene. The blind man could not defend
himself from the other's terrible punishment. His whole
face was so swollen and distorted, that not a feature was
recognisable. But he evidently had his design. Each
time Sayers struck him and ducked, Heenan made a swoop
with his long arms, and at last he caught his enemy.
With gigantic force he got Sayers' head down, and heed-
less of his captive's pounding, backed step by step to the
ring. When there, he forced Sayers' neck on to the rope,
and, with all his weight, leant upon the Englishman's
shoulders. In a few moments the face of the strangled
man was black, his tongue was forced out of his mouth,
and his eyes from their sockets. His arms fell powerless,
and in a second or two more he would have been a corpse.
With a wild yell the crowd rushed to the rescue. Warn-
ing cries of ' The police ! The police ! ' mingled with the
shouts. The ropes were cut, and a general scamper for
the waiting train ended this last of the greatest prize-
fights.

We two took it easily, and as the mob were scuttling
away from the police, we saw Sayers with his backers,
who were helping him to dress. His arm seemed to hurt
him a little, but otherwise, for all the damage he had
received, he might have been playing at football or lawn
tennis.

We were quietly getting into a first-class carriage,
when I was seized by the shoulder and roughly spun out
of the way. Turning to resent the rudeness, I found my-
self face to face with Heenan. One of his seconds had
pushed me on one side to let the gladiator get in. So
completely blind was he, that the friend had to place his
foot upon the step. And yet neither man had won the
fight.

We still think — profess to think — the barbarism of

296 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

the ' Iliad ' the highest flight of epic poetry ; if Homer had
sung this great battle, how glorious we should have
thought it ! Beyond a doubt, man ' yet partially retains
the characteristics that adapted him to an antecedent
state.'

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 297

CHAPTEE XLIII

Through the Cayley family, I became very intimate with
their near relatives the Worsleys of Hovingham, near
York. Hovingham has now become known to the musical
world through its festivals, annually held at the Hall
under the patronage of its late owner, Sir William
Worsley. It was in his father's time that this fine place,
with its delightful family, was for many years a home to
me. Here I met the Alisons, and at the kind invitation
of Sir Archibald, paid the great historian a visit at Possil,
his seat in Scotland. As men who had achieved scientific
or literary distinction inspired me with far greater awe
than those of the highest rank — of whom from my child-
hood I had seen abundance — Alison's celebrity, his
courteous manner, his oracular speech, his voluminous
works, and his voluminous dimensions, filled me with too
much diffidence and respect to admit of any freedom of
approach. One listened to him, as he held forth of an
evening when surrounded by his family, with reverential
silence. He had a strong Scotch accent ; and, if a wee
bit prosy at times, it was sententious and polished prose
that he talked ; he talked invariably like a book. His
family were devoted to him ; and I felt that no one who
knew him could help liking him.

When Thackeray was giving readings from ' The Four
Georges,' I dined with Lady Grey and Landseer, and we
three went to hear him. I had heard Dickens read ' The

298 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Trial of Bardell against Pickwick,' and it was curious to
compare the style of the two great novelists. With
Thackeray, there was an entire absence of either tone or
colour. Of course the historical nature of his subject
precluded the dramatic suggestion to be looked for in the
Pickwick trial, thus rendering comparison inapposite.
Nevertheless one was bound to contrast them. Thackeray's
features were impassive, and his voice knew no inflection.
But his elocution in other respects was perfect, admirably
distinct and impressive from its complete obliteration by
the reader.

The selection was from the reign of George the Third ;
and no part of it was more attentively listened to than
his passing allusion to himself. ' I came,' he says, ' from
India as a child, and our ship touched at an island on the
way home, where my black servant took me a long walk
over rocks and hills until we reached a garden, where we
saw a man walking. " That is he," said the black man,
" that is Bonaparte ! He eats three sheep every day, and
all the little children he can lay hands on ! " ' One went
to hear Thackeray, to see Thackeray ; and the child and
the black man and the ogre were there on the stage before
one. But so well did the lecturer perform his part, that
ten minutes later one had forgotten him, and saw only
George Selwyn and his friend Horace Walpole, and
Horace's friend. Miss Berry — whom by the way I too
knew and remember. One saw the ' poor society ghastly
in its pleasures, its loves, its revelries,' and the redeeming
vision of 'her father's darling, the Princess Amelia,
pathetic for her beauty, her sweetness, her early death,
and for the extreme passionate tenderness with which her
father loved her.' The story told, as Thackeray told it,
was as delightful to listen to as to read.

Not so with Dickens. He disappointed me. He
made no attempt to represent the different characters by

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 299

varied utterance ; but whenever something unusually comic
was said, or about to be said, he had a habit of turning
his eyes up to the ceiling ; so that, knowing what was
coming, one nervously anticipated the upcast look, and for
the moment lost the illusion. In both entertainments,
the reader was naturally the central point of interest.
But in the case of Dickens, when curiosity was satisfied,
he alone possessed one ; Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell were
put out of court.

Was it not Charles Lamb, or was it Hazlitt, that
could not bear to see Shakespeare upon the stage? I
agree with him. I have never seen a Falstaff that did
not make me miserable. He is even more impossible to
impersonate than Hamlet. A player will spoil you the
character of Hamlet, but he cannot spoil his thoughts.
Depend upon it, we are fortunate not to have seen
Shakespeare in his ghost of Eoyal Denmark.

In 1861 I married Lady Katharine Egerton, second
daughter of Lord Wilton, and we took up our abode in
Warwick Square, which, by the way, I had seen a few
years before as a turnip field. My wife was an accom-
plished pianiste, so we had a great deal of music, and
saw much of the artist world. I may mention one
artistic dinner amongst our early efforts at housekeeping,
which nearly ended with a catastrophe.

Millais and Dicky Doyle were of the party; music
was represented by Joachim, Piatti, and Halle. The
late Lord and Lady de Eos were also of the number.
Lady de Eos, who was a daughter of the Duke of
Eichmond, had danced at the ball given by her father at
Brussels the night before Waterloo. As Lord de Eos
was then Governor of the Tower, it will be understood
that he was a veteran of some standing. The great
musical trio were enchanting all ears with their faultless
performance, when the sweet and soul-stirring notes of

300 TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

the Adagio were suddenly interrupted by a loud crash and
a shriek. Old Lord de Eos was listening to the music on
a sofa at the further end of the room. Over his head was
a large picture in a heavy frame. What vibrations, what
careless hanging, what mischievous Ate or Discord was at
the bottom of it, who knows ? Down came the picture
on the top of the poor old General's head, and knocked him
senseless on the floor. He had to be carried upstairs and
laid upon a bed. Happily he recovered without serious
injury. There were many exclamations of regret, but the
only one I remember was Millais'. All he said was :
' And it is a good picture too.'

Sir Arthur Sullivan was one of our musical favourites.
My wife had known him as a chorister boy in the Chapel
Boyal ; and to the end of his days we were on terms of
the closest intimacy and friendship. Through him we
made the acquaintance of the Scott Eussells. Mr. Scott
Bussell was the builder of the Crystal Palace. He had
a delightful residence at Sydenham, the grounds of which
adjoined those of the Crystal Palace, and were beautifully
laid out by his friend Sir Joseph Paxton. One of the
daughters, Miss Eachel Eussell, was a pupil of Arthur
Sullivan's. She had great musical talent, she was re-
markably handsome, exceedingly clever and well-informed,
and altogether exceptionally fascinating. Quite apart
from Sullivan's genius, he was in every way a charming
fellow. The teacher fell in love with the pupil ; and, as
naturally, his love was returned. Sullivan was but a
youth, a poor and struggling music-master. And, very
naturally again, Mrs. Scott Eussell, who could not be
expected to know what magic button the young maestro
carried in his knapsack, thought her brilliant daughter
might do better. The music lessons were put a stop to,
and correspondence between the lovers was prohibited.

Once a week or so, either the young lady or the young

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 301

gentleman would, quite unexpectedly, pay us a visit
about tea or luncheon time. And, by the strangest
coincidence, the other would be sure to drop in while the
one was there. This went on for a year or two. But
destiny forbade the banns. In spite of the large fortune
acquired by Mr. Scott Eussell — he was the builder of the
' Great Eastern ' as well as the Crystal Palace^ill-advised
or unsuccessful ventures robbed him of his well-earned
wealth. His beautiful place at Sydenham had to be sold ;
and the marriage of Miss Eachel with young Arthur
Sullivan was abandoned. She ultimately married an
Indian official.

Her story may here be told to the end. Some years
later she returned to England to bring her two children
home for their education, going back to India without
them, as Indian mothers have to do. The day before she
sailed, she called to take leave of us in London. She was
terribly depressed, but fought bravely with her trial. She
never broke down, but shunted the subject, talking and
laughing with flashes of her old vivacity, about music,
books, friends, and ' dear old dirty London,' as she called
it. When she left, I opened the street-door for her, and
with both her hands in mine, bade her ' Farewell.' Then
the tears fell, and her parting words were : ' I am leaving
England never to see it again.' She was seized with
cholera the night she reached Bombay, and died the
following day.

To return to her father, the eminent engineer. He
was distinctly a man of genius, and what is called ' a
character.' He was always in the clouds — not in the
vapour of his engine-rooms, nor busy inventing machines
for extracting sunbeams from cucumbers, but musing on
metaphysical problems and abstract speculations about
the universe generally. In other respects a perfectly
simple-minded man.

302 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

It was in his palmy days that he invited me to run
down to Sheerness with him, and go over the ' Great
Eastern ' before she left with the Atlantic cable. This
was in 1865. The largest ship in the world, and the first
Atlantic cable, were both objects of the greatest interest.
The builder did not know the captain — Anderson — nor did
the captain know the builder. But clearly, each would be
glad to meet the other.

As the leviathan was to leave in a couple of days,
everything on board her was in the wildest confusion.
Kussell could not find anyone who could find the Captain ;
so he began poking about with me, till we accidentally
stumbled on the Commander. He merely said that he
was come to take a parting glance at his ' child,' which
did not seem of much concern to the over-busy captain.
He never mentioned his own name, but introduced me as
' my friend Captain Cole.' Now, in those days, Captain
Cole was well known as a distinguished naval officer. To
Bussell's absent and engineering mind, ' Coke ' had
suggested ' Cole,' and ' Captain ' was inseparable from the
latter. It was a name to conjure with. Captain
Anderson took off his cap, shook me warmly by the hand,
expressed his pleasure at making my acquaintance, and
hoped I, and my friend Mr. — ahem — would come into his
cabin and have luncheon, and then allow him to show me
over his ship. Scott Eussell was far too deeply absorbed
in his surroundings to note any peculiarity in this neglect
of himself and marked respect for ' Captain Cole.' We
made the round of the decks, then explored the engine
room. Here the designer found himself in an Mirthly
paradise. He button-holed the engineer and inquired into
every crank, and piston, and valve, and every bolt, as it
seemed to me, till the officer in charge unconsciously
began to ask opinions instead of offering explanations.
By degrees the captain was equally astonished at the

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 303

visitor's knowledge, and when at last my friend asked
what had become of some fixture or other which he missed,
Captain Anderson turned to him and exclaimed, ' Why,
you seem to know more about the ship than I do.'

' Well, so I ought,' says my friend, never for a moment
supposing that Anderson was in ignorance of his identity.

' Indeed ! Who then are you, pray ? '

' Who ? Why, Scott Eussell of course, the builder ! '

There was a hearty laugh over it all. I managed to
spare the captain's feelings by preserving my incognito,
and so ended a pleasant day.

304 TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTER XLIV

In November, 1862, my wife and I received an invitation
to spend a week at Compiegne v?ith their Majesties the
Emperor and Empress of the French. This was due to
the circumstance that my wife's father. Lord Wilton, as
Commodore of the Eoyal Yacht Squadron, had entertained
the Emperor during his visit to Cowes.

We found an express train with the imperial carriages
awaiting the arrival of the English guests at the station
du Nord. The only other English besides ourselves were
Lord and Lady Winchilsea with Lady Florence Paget,
and Lord and Lady Castlerosse, now Lord and Lady
Kenmare. These, however, had preceded us, so that with
the exception of M. Drouyn de Lhuys, we had the saloon
carriage to ourselves.

The party was a very large one, including the
Walewskis, the Persignys, the Metternichs — he, the
Austrian Ambassador — Prince Henri VII. of Reuss,
Prussian Ambassador, the Prince de la Moskdwa, son of
Marshal Ney, and the Labedoyeres, amongst the historical
names. Amongst those of art and literature, of whom
there were many, the only one whom I made the acquaint-
ance of was Octave Eeuillet. I happened to have brought
his 'Comedies et Proverbes' and another of his books
with me, never expecting to meet him ; this so pleased
him that we became allies. I was surprised to find that

TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE 305

he could not even read English, which I begged him to
learn for the sake of Shakespeare alone.

We did not see their Majesties till dinner-time. "When
the guests were assembled, the women and the men vs^ere
arranged separately on opposite si'des of the room. The
Emperor and Empress then entered, each respectively
welcoming those of their own sex, shaking hands and
saying some conventional word in passing. Me, he asked
whether I had brought my guns, and hoped we should
have a good week's sport. To each one a word. Every
night during the week we sat down over a hundred to
dinner. The Army was largely represented. For the first
time I tasted here the national frog, which is neither fish
nor flesh. The wine was, of course, supreme ; but after
every dish a different wine was handed round. The
evening entertainments were varied. There was the
theatre in the Palace, and some of the best of the Paris
artistes were requisitioned for the occasion. With them
came Dejazet, then nearly seventy, who had played before
Buonaparte.

Almost every night there was dancing. Sometimes
the Emperor would walk through a quadrille, but as a
rule he would retire with one of his ministers, though
only to a smaller boudoir at the end of the suite, where a
couple of whist-tables were ready for the more sedate of
the party. Here one evening I found Prince Metternich
showing his Majesty a chess problem, of which he was
the proud inventor. The Emperor asked whether I was
fond of chess. I was very fond of chess, was one of
the regular habitues of St. George's Chess Club, and had
made a study of the game for years. The Prince
challenged me to solve his problem in four moves. It
was not a very profound one. I had the hardihood to
discover that three, rather obvious moves, were sufficient.
But as I was not Gil Bias, and the Prince was not the

s

306 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Archbisliop of Grenada, it did not much matter. Like
the famous prelate, his Excellency proffered his felicita-
tions, and doubtless also wished me ' un peu plus de golt '
with the addition of ' un peu moins de perspicacite.'

One of the evening performances was an exhibition of
poses-plastiques, the subjects being chosen from celebrated
pictures in the Louvre. Theatrical costumiers, under the
command of a noted painter, were brought from Paris.
The ladies of the court were carefully rehearsed, and the
whole thing was very perfectly and very beautifully done.
All the English ladies were assigned parts. But, as
nearly all these depended less upon the beauties of drapery
than upon those of nature, the English ladies were more
than a little staggered by the demands of the painter and
of the — M^tdressers. To the young and handsome Lady
Castlerosse, then just married, was allotted the figure of
Diana. But when informed that, in accordance with the
original, the drapery of one leg would have to be looped
up above the knee, her ladyship used very firm language ;
and, though of course perfectly ladylike, would, rendered
into masculine terms, have signified that she would ' see

the painter d d first.' The celebrated 'Cruche cassee '

of Greuze, was represented by the reigning beauty, the
Marquise de Gallifet, with complete fidelity and success.

There was one stage of the performance which neither
I nor Lord Castlerosse, both of us newly married, at all
appreciated. This was the privileges of the Green-room,
or rather of the dressing-rooms. The exhibition was
given in the ball-room. On one side of this, until the
night of the performances, an enclosure was boarded off.
Within it, were compartments in which the ladies dressed
and — undressed. At this operation, as we young husbands
discovered, certain young gentlemen of the court were
permitted to assist — I think I am not mistaken in saying
that his Majesty was of the number. What kind of

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 307

assistance was offered or accepted, Castlerosse and I, being
on the wrong side of the boarding, were not in a position
to know.

There was a door in the boarding, over which one
expected to see, ' No admittance except on business,' or
perhaps, ' on pleasure.' At this door I rapped, and rapped
again impatiently. It was opened, only as wide as her
face, by the empress.

' What do you want, sir ? ' was the angry demand.

' To see my wife, madame,' was the submissive reply.

' You can't see her ; she is rehearsing.'

' But, madame, other gentlemen '

' Ah ! Mais, c'est un enfantillage ! Allez-vous-en

And the door was incontinently slammed in my face.

' Well,' thought I, ' the right woman is in the right
place there, at all events.'

Another little incident at the performance itself also
recalled the days and manners of the court of Louis XV.
Between each tableau, which was lighted solely from the
raised stage, the lights were put out, and the whole room
left in complete darkness. Whenever this happened, the
sounds of immoderate kissing broke out in all directions,
accompanied by little cries of resistance and protestation.
Until then, I had always been under the impression that
humour of this kind was confined to the servants' hall.
One could not help thinking of another court, where
things were managed differently.

But the truth is, these trivial episodes were sympto-
matic of a pervading tone. A no inconsiderable portion
of the ladies seemed to an outsider to have been invited
for the sake of their personal charms. After what
has just been related, one could not help fancying that
there were some amongst them who had availed them-
selves of the privilege which, according to Tacitus, was
claimed by Vistilia before the .^diles. So far, however,

X 2

308 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

from any of these noble ladies being banished to the Isle
of Seriphos, they seemed as much attached to the court as
the court to them; and whatever the Eoman Emperor
might have done, the Emperor of the French was all that
was most indulgent.

There were two days' shooting, one day's stag hunting,
an expedition to Pierrefonds, and a couple of days spent
in riding and skating. The shooting was very much after
the fashion of that already described at Prince Ester-
hazy's, though of a much more Imperial character. As
in Hungary, the game had been driven into coverts cut
down to the height of the waist, with paths thirty to
forty yards apart, for the guns.

The weather was cold, with snow on the ground,
but it was a beautifully sunny day. This was the party :
the two ambassadors, the Prince de la Moskowa, Persigny,
Walewski — Bonaparte's natural son, and the image of his
father — the Marquis de Toulongeon, Master of the Horse,
and we three Englishmen. We met punctually at eleven
in the grand saloon. Here the Emperor joined us, with
his cigarette in his mouth, shook hands with each, and
bade us take our places in the char-a-bancs. Four
splendid Normandy greys, with postilions in the pic-
turesque old costume, glazed hats and huge jack-boots,
took us through the forest at full gallop, and in half an
hour we were at the covert side. The Emperor was very
cheery all the way. He cautioned me not to shoot back
for the beaters' sakes, and asked me how many guns I
had brought.

' Two only? that's not enough, I will lend you some
of mine.'

Arrived at our beat — ' Tire de Eoyallieu,' we found a
squadron of dismounted cavalry drawn up in line, ready
to commence operations. They were in stable dress, with
canvas trousers and spurs to their boots. Several officers

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 309

were galloping about giving orders, the whole being
under the command of a moimted chief in green uniform
and cocked hat ! The place of each shooter had been
settled by M. de Toulongeon. I, being the only Nobody
of the lot, was put on the extreme outside. The Emperor
was in the middle ; and although, as I noticed, he made
some beautiful shots at rocketers, he was engaged much
of the time in talking to ministers who walked behind, or
beside, him.

Our servants were already in the places allotted to
their masters, and each of us had two keepers to carry
spare guns (the Emperor had not forgotten to send
me two of his, which I could not shoot with, and
never used), and a sergeant with a large card to prick
off each head of game, not as it fell to the gun, but only
after it was picked up. This conscientious scoring
amused me greatly; for, as it chanced, my bag was a
heavy one, and the Emperor's marker sent constant
messages to mine to compare notes, and so arrange, as it
transpired, to keep His Majesty at the top of the score.

About half-past one we reached a clearing where
dejeuner was awaiting us. The scene presented was
striking. Around a tent in which every delicacy was
spread out were numbers of little charcoal fires, where a
still greater number of cooks in white caps and jackets
were preparing dainty dishes ; while the Imperial footmen
bustling about brightened the picture with colour. After
coffee all the cards were brought to his Majesty. When
he had scanned them, he said to me across the table :

' I congratulate you, Mr. Coke, upon having killed the
most.'

My answer was, ' After you. Sir.'

' Yes,' said he, giving his moustache an upward twist,
but with perfect gravity, ' I always kill the most.'

Just then the Empress and the whole court drove up.

310 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Presently she came into the tent and, addressing her
husband, exclaimed :

' Avez-vous bient6t fini, vous autres ? Ah ! que vous
^tes des gourmands ! '

Till the finish, she and the rest walked with the
shooters. By four it was over. The total score was
1,387 head. Mine was 182, which included thirty-six
partridges, two woodcocks, and four roedeer. This, in
three and a half hours' shooting, with two muzzle-
loaders (breech-loaders were not then in use), was an
unusually good bag.

Fashion is capricious. When lunch was over I went to
one of the charcoal fires, quite in the background, to light
a cigarette. An aide-de-camp immediately pounced upon
me, with the information that this was not permitted in
company with the Empress. It reminded one at once of
the ejaculation at Oliver Twist's bedside, 'Ladies is
present, Mr. Giles.' After the shooting, I was told to go
to tea with the Empress — a terrible ordeal, for one had
to face the entire feminine force of the palace, nearly
every one of whom, from the highest to the lowest, was
provided with her own cavaliere servente.

The following night, when we assembled for dinner, I
received orders to sit next to the Empress. This was
still more embarrassing. It is true, one does not speak to
a sovereign unless one is spoken to ; but still one is per-
mitted to make the initiative easy. I found that I was
expected to take my share of the task ; and by a happy
inspiration, introduced the subject of the Prince Imperial,
then a child of eight years old. The mondaine Empress
was at once merged in the adoring mother ; her whole soul
was wrapped up in the boy. It was easy enough then to
speculate on his career, at least so far as the building of
castles in the air for fantasies to roam in. "What a future
he had before him ! — to consolidate the Empire ! to perfect
the great achievement of his father, and render permanent

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 311

the foundation of the Napoleonic dynasty ! to build a
superstructure as transcendent for the glories of Peace, as
those of his immortal ancestor had been for War ! '

It was not difficult to play the game with such court
cards in one's hand, Nor was it easy to coin these
phrases de sucrecandi without sober and earnest reflec-
tions on the import of their contents. "What, indeed,
might or might not be the consequences to millions, of
the wise or unwise or evil development of the life of that
bright and handsome little fellow, now trotting around
the dessert table, with the long curls tumbling over his
velvet jacket, and the flowers in his hand for some pretty
lady who was privileged to kiss him ? Who could foretell
the cruel doom — heedless of such favours and such
splendid promises — that awaited the pretty child ? Who
could hear the brave young soldier's last shrieks of solitary
agony ? Who could see the forsaken body slashed with
knives and assegais ? Ah ! who could dream of that fond
mother's heart, when the end came, which eclipsed even
the disasters of a nation !

One by-day, when my wife and I were riding with the
Emperor through the forest of Compiegne, a rough-look-
ing man in a blouse, with a red comforter round his neck,
sprang out from behind a tree ; and before he could be
stopped, seized the Emperor's bridle. In an instant the
Emperor struck his hand with a heavy hunting stock ;
and being free, touched his horse with the spur and
cantered on. I took particular notice of his features and
his demeanour, from the very first moment of the surprise.
Nothing happened but what I have described. The man
seemed fierce and reckless. The Emperor showed not the
faintest signs of discomposure. All he said was, turning to
my wife, ' Comme il avait I'air sournois, cet homme ! ' and
resumed the conversation at the point where it was
interrupted.

Before we had gone a hundred yards I looked back to

312 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

see what had become of the offender. He was in the
hands of two gens d'armes, who had been invisible till
then.

' Poor devil,' thought I, ' this spells dungeon for you.'

Now, with Kinglake's acrimonious charge of the
Emperor's personal cowardice ranning in my head, I felt
that this exhibition of sang froid, when taken completely
unawares, went far to refute the imputation. "What
happened later in the day strongly confirmed this opinion.

After dark, about six o'clock, I took a stroll by myself
through the town of Compiegne. Coming home, when
crossing the bridge below the Palace, I met the Emperor
arm-in-arm with Walewski. Not ten minutes afterwards,
whom should I stumble upon but the ruffian who had
seized the Emperor's bridle? The same red comforter
was round his neck, the same wild look was in his face.
I turned after he had passed, and at the same moment he
turned to look at me.

Would this man have been at large but for the
Emperor's orders ? Assuredly not. For, supposing he
were crazy, who could have answered for his deeds?
Most likely he was shadowed ; and to a certainty the
Emperor would be so. Still, what could save the latter
from a pistol- shot ? Yet, here he was, sauntering about
the badly lighted streets of a town where his henspeckle
figure was familiar to every inhabitant. Call this fatalism
if you will ; but these were not the acts of a coward. I
told this story to a friend who was well ' posted ' in the
club gossip of the day. He laughed.

'Don't you know the meaning of Kinglake's spite
against the Emperor ? ' said he. ' Cherchez la femme.
Both of them were in love with Mrs. '

This is the way we write our histories.

Wishing to explore the grounds about the palace
before anyone was astir, I went out one morning about

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 313

half-past eight. Seeing what I took to be a mausoleum,
I walked up to it, found the door opened, and peeped in.
It turned out to be a museum of Eoman antiquities, and
the Emperor was inside, arranging them. I immediately
withdrew, but he called to me to come in.

He was at this time busy with his Life of Csesar ; and,
in his enthusiasm, seemed pleased to have a listener to
his instructive explanations ; he even encouraged the
curiosity which the valuable collection and his own
remarks could not fail to awaken.

Not long ago, I saw some correspondence in the
' Times ' and other papers about what Heine calls ' Das
kleine welthistorische Hiitchen,' which the whole of
Europe knew so well, to its cost. Some six or seven of
the Buonaparte hats, so it appears, are still in existence.
But I noticed, that though all were located, no mention
was made of the one in the Luxembourg.

When we left Compiegne for Paris we were magnifi-
cently furnished with orders for royal boxes at theatres,
and for admission to places of interest not open to the
public. Thus provided, we had access to many objects of
historical interest and of art — amongst the former, the
relics of the great conqueror. In one glass case, under
lock and key, was the ' world-historical little hat.' The
oificial who accompanied us, having stated that we were
the Emperor's guests, requested the keeper to take it out
and show it to us. I hope no Frenchman will know it,
but, I put the hat upon my head. In one sense it was a
' little ' hat — that is to say, it fitted a man with a moderate
sized skull — but the flaps were much larger than pictures
would lead one to think, and such was the weight that I
am sure it would give any ordinary man accustomed
to our head-gear a stiff neck to wear it for an hour.
What has become of this hat if it is not still in the
Luxembourg ?

314 TKACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XLV

About this time I joined a society for the relief of distress,
of which Bromley Davenport was the nominal leader.
The ' managing director,' so to speak, was Dr. Gilbert,
father of Mr. W. S . Gilbert. To him I went for instructions.
I told him I wanted to see the worst. He accordingly
sent me to Bethnal Green. For two winters and part of
a third I visited this district twice a week regularly.
"What I saw in the course of those two years was matter
for a thoughtful — ay, or a thoughtless — man to think of for
the rest of his days.

My system was to call first upon the clergyman of
the parish, and obtain from him a guide to the severest
cases of destitution. The guide would be a Scripture
reader, and, as far as I remember, always a woman. I do not
know whether the labours of these good creatures were
gratuitous — they themselves were certainly poor, yet
singularly earnest and sympathetic. The society supplied
tickets for coal, blankets, and food. Needless to say, had
these supplies been a thousand-fold as great, they would
have done as little permanent good as those at my
command.

In Bethnal Green the principal industry is, or was,
silk-weaving by hand looms. Nearly all the houses were
ancient and dilapidated. A weaver and his family would
occupy part of a flat, consisting of two rooms perhaps,
one of which would contain his loom. The room might

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 315

be about seven feet high, nearly dark, lighted only by a
lattice window, half of the panes of which would be
replaced by dirty rags or old newspaper. As the loom was
placed against the window the light was practically ex-
cluded. The foulness of the air and filth which this
entailed may be too easily imagined. A couple of cases,
taken almost at random, will sample scores as bad.

It is one of the darkest days of December. The
Thames is nearly frozen at Waterloo Bridge. On the

second floor of an old house in Lane, in an

unusually spacious room (or does it only look spacious
because there is nothing in it save four human beings ?)
are a father, a mother, and a grown-up son and daughter.
They scowl at the visitor as the Scripture reader opens
the door. What is the meaning of the intrusion ? Is he
too come with a Bible instead of bread ? ' The four are
seated side by side on the floor, leaning against the wall,
waiting for — death. Bedsteads, chairs, table, and looms
have been burnt this week or more for fuel. The grate is
empty now, and lets the freezing draught blow down the
chimney. The temporary relief is accepted, but not with
thanks. These four stubbornly prefer death to the work-
house.

One other case. It is the same hard winter. The
scene: a small garret in the roof, a low slanting little
skylight, now covered six inches deep in snow. No
fireplace here, no ventilation, so put your scented cambric
to your nose, my noble Dives. The only furniture a
scanty armful of —what shall we call it ? It was straw
once. A starving woman and a baby are lying on it,
notwithstanding. The baby surely will not be there
to-morrow. It has a very bad cold — and the mucus, and
the — pah ! The woman in a few rags — just a few — is
gnawing a raw carrot. The picture is complete. There's
nothing more to paint. The rest — the whole indeed, that

316 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

is the consciousness of it — was, and remains, with the
Unseen.

You will say, ' Such things cannot be ' ; you will say,
' There are relieving of&cers, whose duty &c., &c.' May
be. I am only telling you what I myself have seen.
There is more goes on in big cities than even relieving
officers can cope with. And who shall grapple v?ith the
causes ? That's the point.

Here's something else that I have seen. I have seen
a family of six in one room. Of these, four were brothers
and sisters, all in, none over, their teens. There were
three beds between the six. When I came upon them they
were out of work, — the young ones in bed to keep warm.
I took them for very young married couples. It was the
Scripture reader who undeceived me. This is not the
exception to the rule, look you, but the rule itself. How
will you deal with it ? It is with Nature, immoral Nature
and her heedless instincts that you have to deal. "With
what kind of fork will you expel her ? It is with Nature's
wretched children, the betes humaines,

Quos venerem incertam rapientes more ferarum,

that your account lies. Will they cease to listen to her
maddening whispers : ' Unissez-vous, multipliez, il n'est
d'autre loi, d'autre but, que I'amour ? ' What care they
for her aside — ' Et durez apres, si vous lepouvez ; cela ne
me regarde plus ' ? It doesn't regard them either.

The infallible panacea, so the ' Progressive ' tell us, is
education — lessons on the piano, perhaps ? Doctor Mal-
thus would be more to the purpose ; but how shall we
administer his prescriptions ? One thing we might try to
teach to advantage, and that is the elementary principles
of hygiene. I am heart and soul with the Progressive
as to the ultimate remedial powers of education. Moral

TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 317

advancement depends absolutely on the humanising in-
fluences of intellectual advancement. The foreseeing of
consequences is a question of intelligence. And the
appreciation of consequences which follov? is the basis
of morality. But we must not begin at the wrong end.
The true foundation and condition of intellectual and
moral progress postulates material and physical improve-
ment. The growth of artificial wants is as much the
cause as the effect of civilisation : they proceed pari
passu. A taste of comfort begets a love of comfort.
And this kind of love militates, not impotently, against
the other ; for self-interest is a persuasive counsellor, and
gets a hearing when the blood is cool. Life must be more
than possible, it must be endurable ; man must have
some leisure, some repose, before his brain-needs have a
chance with those of his belly. He must have a coat to
his back before he can stick a rose in its button-hole.
The worst of it is, he begins — in Bethnal Green at least —
with the rose-bud ; and indulges, poor devil ! in a luxury
which is just the most expensive, and — in Bethnal Green
— the most suicidal he could resort to.

There was one method I adopted with a show of
temporary success now and then. It frequently happens
that a man succumbs to difficulties for which he is not
responsible, and which timely aid may enable him to
overcome. An artisan may have to pawn or sell the tools
by which he earns his living. The redemption of these,
if the man is good for anything, will often set him on
his legs. Thus, for example, I found a cobbler one day
surrounded by a starving family. His story was common
enough, severe illness being the burden of it. He was an
intelligent httle fellow, and, as far as one could judge,
full of good intentions. His wife seemed devoted to him,
and this was the best of vouchers. ' If he had but a
shining or two to redeem his tools, and buy two or three

318 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

old cast-off shoes in the rag-market which he could patch
up and sell, he wouldn't ask anyone for a copper.'

We went together to the pawnbroker's, then to the
rag-market, and the little man trotted home with an
armful of old boots and shoes, some without soles, some
without uppers ; all, as I should have thought, picked out
of dust-bins and rubbish heaps, his sunken eyes sparkling
with eagerness and renovated hope. I looked in upon
him about three weeks later. The family were sitting
round a well provided tea-table, close to a glowing fire,
the cheeks of the children smeared with jam, and the
little cobbler hammering away at his last, too busy to
partake of the bowl of hot tea which his wife had placed
beside him.

The same sort of treatment was sometimes very suc-
cessful with a skilful workman — like a carpenter, for
instance. Here a double purpose might be served.
Nothing more common in Bethnal Green than broken
looms, and consequent disaster. There you had the
ready-made job for the reinstated carpenter ; and good
could be done in a small way, at very little cost. Of
course much discretion is needed ; still, the Scripture
readers or the relieving officers would know the characters
of the destitute, and the visitor himself would soon learn
to discriminate.

A system similar to this was the basis of the aid
rendered by the Eoyal Society for the Assistance of Dis-
charged Prisoners, which was started by my friend, Mr.
Whitbread, the present owner of Southill, and which I
joined in its early days at his instigation. The earnings
of the prisoner were handed over by the gaols to the
Society, and the Society employed them for his advantage —
always, in the case of an artisan, by supplying him with
the needful implements of the trade. But relief in which

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 319

the pauper has no productive share, of which he is but
a mere consumer, is of no avail.

One cannot but think that if instead of the selfish
principles which govern our trades-unions, and which are
driving their industries out of the country, trade-schools
could be provided — such, for instance, as the cheap carving
schools to be met vdth in many parts of Germany and the
Tyrol — much might be done to help the bread-earners.
Why could not schools be organised for the instruction of
shoemakers, tailors, carpenters, smiths of all kinds, and
the scores of other trades which in former days were
learnt by compulsory apprenticeship ? Under our present
system of education the greater part of what the poor
man's children learn is clean forgotten in a few years ;
and if not, serves mainly to create and foster discontent,
which vents itself in a passion for mass-meetings and the
fuliginous oratory of our Hyde Parks.

The emigration scheme for poor-law children as ad-
vocated by Mrs. Close is the most promising, in its way,
yet brought before the public, and is deserving of every
support.

In the absence of any such projects as these, the
hopelessness of the task, and the depressing effect of the
contact with much wretchedness, wore me out. I had a
nursery of my own, and was not justified in risking in-
fectious diseases. A saint would have been more heroic,
and could besides have promised that sweetest of con-
solations to suffering millions — the compensation of
Eternal Happiness. I could not give them even hope,
for I had none to spare. The root-evil I felt to be the
overcrowding due to the reckless intercourse of the sexes ;
and what had Providence to do with the law of Nature,
the obedience to which entailed unspeakable misery ?

320 TEACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

CHAPTEE XL VI

In the autumn following the end of the Franco-German
war, Dr. Bird and I visited all the principal battle-fields.
In England the impression was that the bloodiest battle
was fought at Gravelotte. The error was due, I believe,
to our having no war correspondent on the spot. Com-
pared with that on the plains between St. Marie and St.
Privat, Gravelotte was but a cavalry skirmish. We were
fortunate enough to meet a German artillery officer at St.
Marie who had been in the action, and who kindly ex-
plained the distribution of the forces. Large square
mounds were scattered about the plain where the German
dead were buried, little wooden crosses being stuck into
them to denote the regiment they had belonged to. At
Gravelotte we saw the dogs unearthing the bodies from
the shallow graves. The officer told us he did not think
there was a family in Germany unrepresented in the
plains of St. Privat.

It was interesting, so soon after the event, to sit
quietly in the little summer-house of the Chateau de
Bellevue, commanding a view of Sedan, where Bismarck
and Moltke and General de Wimpfen held their memorable
Council. ' Un terrible homme,' says the story of the
' Debacle,' 'ce general de Moltke, qui gagnait des batailles
du fond de son cabinet a coups d'algebre.'

We afterwards made a walking tour through the
Tyrol, and down to Venice. On our way home, while
staying at Lucerne, we went up the Eigi. Soon after

TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 321

leaving the Kulm, on our descent to the railway, which
was then uncompleted, we lost each other in the mist.
I did not get to Vitznau till late at night, but luckily
found a steamer just starting for Lucerne. The cabin
was crammed with German students, each one smoking
his pipe and roaring choruses to alternate singers. All
of a sudden, those who were on their legs were knocked
off them. The panic was instantaneous, for every one
of us knew it was a collision. But the immediate peril
was in the rush for the deck. Violent with terror, rough
by nature, and full of beer, these wild young savages
were formidable to themselves and others. Having arrived
late, I had not got further than the cabin door, and was
up the companion ladder at a bound. It was pitch dark,
and piteous screams came up from the surrounding waters.
At first it was impossible to guess what had happened.
Were we rammed, or were we rammers? I pulled off
my coats ready for a swim. But it soon became apparent
that we had run into and sunk another boat.

The next morning the doctor and I went on to
England. A week after I took up the ' Illustrated News.'
There was an account of the accident, with an illustration
of the cabin of the sunken boat. The bodies of passengers
were depicted as the divers had found them.

On the very day the peace was signed I chanced to call
on Sir Anthony Eothschild in New Court. He took me
across the court to see his brother Lionel, the head of
the firm. Sir Anthony bowed before him as though the
great man were Plutus himself. He sat at a table alone,
not in his own room, but in the immense counting-room,
surrounded by a brigade of clerks. This was my first
introduction to him. He took no notice of his brother,
but received me as Napoleon received the emperors and
kings at Erfurt — in other words, as he would have received
his slippers from his valet, or as he did receive the

y

322 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

telegrams which were handed to him at the rate of about
one a minute.

The King of Kings was in difficulties with a little
slip of black sticking-plaster. The thought of Gumpelino's
Hyacinthos, alias Hirsch, flashed upon me. Behold !
the mighty Baron Nathan come to life again ; but instead
of Hyacinthos paring his mightiness's Huhneraugen, he
himself, in paring his own nails, had contrived to cut his
finger.

' Come to buy Spanish ? ' he asked, with eyes intent
upon the sticking-plaster.

' Oh no,' said I, ' I've no money to gamble with.'

'Hasn't Lord Leicester bought Spanish?' — never
looking off the sticking-plaster, nor taking the smallest
notice of the telegrams.

' Not that I know of. Are they good things ? '

' I don't know ; some people think so.'

Here a message was handed in, and something was
whispered in his ear.

' Very well, put it down.'

' From Paris,' said Sir Anthony, guessing perhaps at
its contents.

But not until the plaster was comfortably adjusted
did Plutus read the message. He smiled and pushed it
over to me. It was the terms of peace, and the German
bill of costs.

• £200,000,000 ! ' I exclaimed. ' That's a heavy reckon-
ing. Will France ever be able to pay it ? '

' Pay it ? Yes. If it had been twice as much ! ' And
Plutus returned to his sticking-plaster. That was of real
importance.

TKACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 323

CHAPTER XL VII

A MAN whom I had known from my school-days, Frederick
Thistlethwayte, coming into a huge fortune when a
subaltern in a marching regiment, had impulsively married
a certain Miss Laura Bell. In her early days, when she
made her first appearance . in London and in Paris,
Lamra Bell's extraordinary beauty was as much admired
by painters as by men of the world. Amongst her re-
puted lovers were Dhuleep Singh, the famous Marquis
of Hertford, and Prince Louis Napoleon. She was the
daughter of an Irish constable, and began life on the
stage at Dublin. Her Irish wit and sparkling merriment,
her cajolery, her good nature and her feminine artifice,
were attractions which, in the eyes of the male sex, fully
atoned for her youthful indiscretions.

My intimacy with both Mr. and Mrs. Thistlethwayte
extended over many years ; and it is but justice to her
memory to aver that, to the best of my belief, no wife
was ever more faithful to her husband. I speak of the
Thiatlethwaytes here for two reasons — absolutely uncon-
nected in themselves, yet both interesting in their own
way. The first is, that at my friend's house in Grosvenor
Square I used frequently to meet Mr. Gladstone, sometimes
alone, sometimes at dinner. As may be supposed, the
dinner parties were of men, but mostly of men eminent in
public life. The last time I met Mr. Gladstone there the
Duke of Devonshire and SirW.Harcourt were both present.
I once dined with Mrs. Thistlethwayte in the absence

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324 TKACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

of her husband, when the only others were Munro of
Novar — the friend of Turner, and the envied possessor of
a splendid gallery of his pictures — and the Duke of
Newcastle — then a Cabinet Minister. Such were the
notabilities whom the famous beauty gathered about her.
But it is of Mr. Gladstone that I would say a word.
The fascination which he exercised over most of those
who came into contact with him is incontestable ; and
everyone is entitled to his own opinion, even though
unable to account for it. This, at least, must be my plea,
for to me, Mr. Gladstone was more or less a Dr. Fell.
Neither in his public nor in his private capacity had I any
liking for him. Nobody cares a button for what a ' man
in the street ' like me says or thinks on subject matters
upon which they have made up their minds. I should not
venture, even as one of the crowd, to deprecate a popu-
larity which I believe to be fast passing away, were it not
that better judges and wiser men think as I do, and have
represented opinions which I sincerely share. ' He was
born,' says Huxley, 'to be a leader of men, and he has
debased himself to be a follower of the masses. If work-
ing men were to-day to vote by a majority that two and
two made five, to-morrow Gladstone would believe it, and
find them reasons for it which they had never dreamt of.'
Could any words be truer ? Yes ; he was not bom to be
a leader of men. He was born to be, what he was — a
misleader of men. Huxley says he could be made to
believe that two and two made five. He would try to
make others believe it ; but would he himself believe it ?
His friends will plead, ' he might deceive himself by the
excessive subtlety of his mind.' This is the charitable
view to take. But some who knew him long and well
put another construction upon this facile self-deception.
There were, and are, honourable men of the highest
standing who failed to ascribe disinterested motives to the

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 325

man who suddenly and secretly betrayed his colleagues,
his party, and his closest friends, and tried to break up the
Enapire to satisfy an inordinate ambition, and an insati-
able craving for power. ' He might have been mistaken,
but he acted for the best ' ? Was he acting conscien-
tiously for the best in persuading the ' masses ' to look upon
the ' classes ' — the war cries are of his coining — as their
natural enemies, and worthy only of their envy and
hatred ? Is this the part of a statesman, of a patriot ?

And for what else shall we admire Mr. Gladstone ?
Walter Bagehot, alluding to his egotism, wrote of him in
his lifetime, ' He longs to pour forth his own belief ; he
cannot rest till he has contradicted everyone else.' And
what was that belief worth ? ' He has scarcely,' says
the same writer, 'given us a sentence that lives in the
memory.'

Even his eloquent advocate, Mr. Morley, confesses
surprise at his indifference to the teaching of evolution ;
in other words, his ignorance of, and disbelief in, a
scientific theory of nature which has modified the theo-
logical and moral creeds of the civilised world more pro-
foundly than did the Copernican system of the Universe.

The truth is, Mr. Gladstone was half a century behind
the age in everything that most deeply concerned the
destiny of man. He was a politician, and nothing but a
politician ; and had it not been for his extraordinary gift
of speech, we should never have heard of him save as a
writer of scholia, or as a college don, perhaps. Not for
such is the temple of Fame.

Fama di loro il moudo esser nou lassa.

Whatever may be thought now, Mr. Gladstone is not
the man whom posterity will ennoble with the title of
either ' great ' or ' good.'

My second reason for mentioning Frederick Thistle-

326 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

thwayte was one which at first sight may seem trivial,
and yet, when we look into it, is of more importance than
the renown of an ex-Prime Minister. If these pages are
ever read, what follows will be as distasteful to some of
my own friends as the above remarks to Mr. Gladstone's.

Pardon a word about the writer himself — it is needed
to emphasise and justify these obiter dicta. I was
brought up as a sportsman : I cannot remember the days
when I began to shoot. I had a passion for all kinds of
sport, and have had opportunities of gratifying it such as
fall to the lot of few. After the shootings of Glenquoich
and Invergarry were lost to me through the death of Mr.
Ellice, I became almost the sole guest of Mr. Thistlethwayte
for twelve years at his Highland shooting of Kinlochmohr,
not very far from Fort William. He rented the splendid
deer forest of Mamore, extensive grouse moors, and a
salmon river within ten minutes' walk of the lodge. His
marriage and his eccentricities of mind and temper led
him to shun all society. We often lived in bothies at
opposite ends of the forest, returning to the lodge on
Saturday till Monday morning. For a sportsman, no hfe
could be more enjoyable. I was my own stalker, taking
a couple of gillies for the ponies, but finding the deer for
myself — always the most difficult part of the sport — and
stalking them for myself.

I may here observe that, not very long after I married,
qualms of conscience smote me as to the justifiability of
killing, and wounding, animals for amusement's sake.
The more I thought of it, the less it bore thinking about.
Finally, I gave it up altogether. But I went on several
years after this with the deer-stalking ; the true explana-
tion of this inconsistency would, I fear, be that I bad had
enough of the one, but would never have enough of the
other — one's conscience adapts itself without much
difficulty to one's inclinations.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 327

Between my host and myself, there was a certain
amount of rivalry ; and as the head forester was his
stalker, the rivalry between our men aroused rancorous
jealousy. I think the gillies on either side would have spoilt
the others' sport, could they have done so with impunity.
Eor two seasons, a very big stag used occasionally to find
its way into our forest from the Black Mount, where it
was also known. Thistlethwayte had had a chance, and
missed it ; then my turn came. I got a long snap-shot
end on at the galloping stag. It was an unsportsmanlike
thing to do, but considering the rivalry and other
temptations I fired, and hit the beast in the haunch. It
was late in the day, and the wounded animal escaped.

Nine days later I spied the ' big stag ' again. He was
nearly in the middle of a herd of about twenty, mostly
hinds, on the look-out. They were on a large open moss
at the bottom of a corrie, whence they could see a moving
object on every side of them. A stalk where they were
was out of the question. I made up my mind to wait
and watch.

Now comes the moral of my story. For hours I
watched that stag. Though three hundred yards or so
away from me, I could through my glass see almost the
expression of his face. Not once did he rise or attempt
to feed, but lay restlessly beating his head upon the ground
for hour after hour. I knew well enough what that
meant. I could not hear his groans. His plaints could
not reach my ears, but they reached my heart. The
refrain varied little : ' How long shall I cry and thou wilt
not hear?' — that was the monotonous burden of the
moans, though sometimes I fancied it changed to : ' Lord
how long shall the wicked, how long shall the wicked
triumph ? '

The evening came, and then, as is their habit, the deer
began to feed up wind. The wounded stag seemed loth

328 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

to stir. By degrees the last watchful hind fed quietly
out of sight. With throbbing pulse and with the instincts
of a fox — or prehistoric man, 'tis all the same — I crawled
and dragged myself through the peat bog and the pools
of water. But nearer than two hundred yards it was
impossible to get ; even to raise my head or find a tussock
whereon to rest the rifle would have started any deer but
this one. From the hollow I was in, the most I could
see of him was the outline of his back and his head and
neck. I put up the 200 yards sight and killed him.

A vivid description of the body is not desirable. It
was almost fleshless, wasted away, except his wounded
haunch. That was nearly twice its normal size ; about
one half of it was maggots. The stench drove us all
away. This I had done, and I had done it for my
pleasure !

After that year I went no more to Scotland. I blame
no one for his pursuit of sport. But I submit that he
must follow it, if at all, with Eeason's eyes shut.
Happily, your true sportsman does not violate his
conscience. As a friend of mine said to me the other day,
' Unless you give a man of that kind something to kill,
his own life is not worth having.' This, to be sure, is
all he has to think about.

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 329

CHAPTEE XLVIII

Fob eight or nine years, while my sons were at school,
I lived at Eickmansworth. Unfortunately the Leweses
had just left it. Moor Park belonged to Lord Ebury,
my wife's uncle, and the beauties of its magnificent park
and the amenities of its charming house were at all
times open to us, and freely taken advantage of. During
those nine years I lived the life of a student, and wrote
and published the book I have elsewhere spoken of, the
' Creeds of the Day.'

Of the visitors of note whose acquaintance I made
while he was staying at Moor Park, by far the most
illustrious was Froude. He was too reserved a man to
lavish his intimacy when taken unawares ; and if he
suspected, as he might have done by my probing, that one
wanted to draw him out, he was much too shrewd to
commit himself to definite expressions of any kind until
he knew something of his interviewer. Eeticence of this
kind, on the part of such a man, is both prudent and
commendable. But is not this habit of cautiousness
sometimes carried to the extent of ambiguity in his ' Short
Studies on Great Subjects ' ? The careful reader is left
in no sort of doubt as to Froude's own views upon Biblical
criticism, as to his theological dogmas, or his speculative
opinions. But the conviction is only reached by compar-
ing him vdth himself in different moods, by collating essay
with essay, and one part of an essay with another part of
the same essay. Sometimes we have an astute defence of

330 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

doctrines worthy at least of a temperate apologist, and a
few pages further on we wonder whether the writer was
not masking his disdain for the credulity which he now
exposes and laughs at. Neither excessive caution nor
timidity are implied by his editing of the Carlyle papers ;
and he may have failed — who that has done so much
has not ? — in keeping his balance on the swaying slack-
rope between the judicious and the injudicious. In his
own line, however, he is, to my taste, the most scholarly,
the most refined, and the most suggestive, of our essay-
ists. The man himself in manner and in appearance
was in perfect keeping with these attractive qualities.

While speaking of Moor Park and its kind owner I
may avail myself of this opportunity to mention an early
reminiscence of Lord Ebury's concerning the Grosvenor
estate in London.

Mr. Gladstone was wont to amuse himself with specu-
lations as to the future dimensions of London ; what had
been its growth within his memory ; what causes might
arise to check its increase. After listening to his remarks
on the subject one day at dinner, I observed that I had
heard Lord Ebury talk of shooting over ground which is
now Eaton Square. Mr. Gladstone did not doubt it ; but
some of the young men smiled incredulously. I after-
wards wrote to Lord Ebury to make sure that I had not
erred. Here is his reply :

' Moor Park, Eiekmansworth : January 9, 1883.
' My dear Henry, — What you said I had told you
about snipe-shooting is quite true, though I think I ought
to have mentioned a space rather nearer the river than
Eaton Square. In the year 1816, when the battle of
Waterloo was fought, there was nothing behind Grosvenor

Place but the ( ?) fields — so called, a place something

like the Scrubbs, where the household troops drilled.

TRACKS OF A ROUTING STONE 331

That part of Grosvenor Place where the Grosvenor Place
houses now stand was occupied by the Lock Hospital and
Chapel, and it ended where the small houses are now to
be found. A little farther, a somewhat tortuous lane
called the King's Eoad led to Chelsea, and, I think, where
now St. Peter's, Pimlico, was afterwards built. I re-
member going to a breakfast at a villa belonging to Lady
Buckinghamshire. The Chelsea Waterworks Company
had a sort of marshy place with canals and osier beds,
now, I suppose, Ebury Street, and here it was that I was
permitted to go and try my hand at snipe-shooting, a
special privilege given to the son of the freeholder.

' The successful fox-hunt terminating in either Bedford
or Eussell Square is very strange, but quite appropriate,
commemorated, I suppose, by the statue ^ there erected.

' Yours affectionately,

'E.'

The successful ' fox-hunt ' was an event of which I
told Lord Ebury as even more remarkable than his snipe-
shooting in Belgravia. As it is still more indicative of the
growth of London in recent times it may be here recorded.

In connection with Mr. Gladstone's forecasts, I had
written to the last Lord Digby, who was a grandson of
my father's, stating that I had heard — whether from my
father or not I could not say — that he had killed a fox
where now is Bedford Square, with his own hounds.
Lord Digby replied :

' Minterne, Dorset : January 7, 1883.

' My dear Henry, — My grandfather killed a fox with
his hounds either in Bedford or Eussell Square. Old
Jones, the huntsman, who died at Holkham when you were
a child, was my informant. I asked my grandfather if it
was correct. He said " Yes "—he had kennels at Epping

' Alluding to the statue of Pox.

332 TRACKS OF A EOLLING STONE

Place, and hunted the roodings of Essex, which, he said,
was the best scenting-ground in England.

' Yours affectionately,

'DiGBY.'

(My father was born in 1754.)

Mr. W. S. Gilbert had been a much valued friend of
ours before we lived at Eickmansworth. We had been
his guests for the ' first night ' of almost every one of his
plays — plays that may have a thousand imitators, but the
speciality of whose excellence will remain unrivalled and
inimitable. His visits to us introduced him, I think, to
the picturesque country which he has now made his home.
When Mr. Gilbert built his house in Harrington Gardens
he easily persuaded us to build next door to him. This
led to my acquaintance with his neighbour on the other
side, Mr. Walter Cassels, now well known as the author
of ' Supernatural Eeligion.'

When first published in 1874, this learned work,
summarising and elaborately examining the higher criti-
cism of the four Gospels up to date, created a sensation
throughout the theological world, which was not a little
intensified by the anonymity of its author. The virulence
with which it was attacked by Dr. Lightfoot, the most
erudite bishop on the bench, at once demonstrated its
weighty significance and its destructive force ; while Mr.
Morley's high commendation of its literary merits and the
scrupulous equity of its tone, placed it far above the level
of controversial diatribes.

In my ' Creeds of the Day ' I had made frequent
references to the anonymous book ; and soon after my
introduction to Mr. Cassels spoke to him of its im-
portance, and asked him whether he had read it. He
hesitated for a moment, then said :

' We are very much of the same way of thinking on

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 333

these subjects. I will tell you a secret which I kept for
some time even from my publishers — I am the author of
" Supernatural Religion." '

From that time forth, we became the closest of allies.
I know no man whose tastes and opinions and interests
are more completely in accord with my own than those of
Mr. Walter Cassels. It is one of my greatest pleasures
to meet him every summer at the beautiful place of our
mutual and sympathetic friend, Mrs. Eobertson, on the
skirts of the Ashtead forest, in Surrey.

The winter of 1888 I spent at Cairo under the roof of
General Sir Frederick Stephenson, then commanding the
English forces in Egypt. I had known Sir Frederick as
an ensign in the Guards. He was adjutant of his regiment
at the Alma, and at Inkerman. He is now Colonel of
the Coldstreams and Governor of the Tower. He has
often been given a still higher title, that of ' the most
popular man in the army.'

Everybody in these days has seen the Pyramids, and
has been up the Nile. There is only one name I have
to mention here, and that in one of the best-known in the
world. Mr. Thomas Cook was the son of the original
inventor of the ' Globe-trotter.' But it was the extra-
ordinary energy and powers of organisation of the son
that enabled him to develop to its present efficiency the
initial scheme of the father.

Shortly before the General's term expired, he invited
Mr. Cook to dinner. The Nile share of the Gordon EeKef
Expedition had been handed over to Cook. The boats,
the provisioning of them, and the river transport service
up to Wady Haifa, were contracted for and undertaken
by Cook.

A most entertaining account he gave of the whole affair.
He told us how the Mudir of Dongola, who was by way
of rendering every possible assistance, had offered him an

334 TRACKS OF A BOLLING STONE

enormous bribe to wreck the most valuable cargoes on
their passage through the Cataracts.

Before Mr. Cook took leave of the General, he ex-
pressed the regret felt by the British residents in Cairo at
the termination of Sir Frederick's command ; and wound up
a pretty little speech by a sincere request that he might be
allowed to furnish Sir Frederick gratis with, all the means at
his disposal for a tour through the Holy Land. The liberal
and highly complimentary offer was gratefully acknow-
ledged, but at once emphatically declined. The old soldier,
(at least, this was my guess,) brave in all else, had not the
courage to face the tourists' profanation of such sacred scenes.

Dr. Bird told me a nice story, a pendant to this, of
Mr. Thomas Cook's liberality. One day, before the Gordon
Expedition, which was then in the air. Dr. Bird was
smoking his cigarette on the terrace in front of Shepherd's
Hotel, in company with four or five other men, strangers
to him and to one another. A discussion arose as to the
best means of relieving Gordon. Bach had his own
favourite general. Presently the doctor exclaimed : ' Why
don't they put the thing into the hands of Cook ? I'll be
bound to say he would undertake it, and do the job better
than anyone else.'

' Do you know Cook, sir ? ' asked one of the smokers
who had hitherto been silent.

' No, I never saw him, but everybody knows he has a
genius for organisation; and I don't believe there is a
general in the British Army to match him.'

When the company broke up, the silent stranger asked
the doctor his name and address, and introduced himself
as Thomas Cook. The following winter Dr. Bird received
a letter enclosing tickets for himself and Miss Bird for a
trip to Egypt and back, free of expense, ' in return for his
good opinion and good wishes.'

After my General's departure, and a month up the

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 335

Nile, I — already disillusioned, alas ! — rode through Syria,
following the beaten track from Jerusalem to Damascus.
On my way from Alexandria to Jaffa I had the good
fortune to make the acquaintance of an agreeable fellow-
traveller, Mr. Henry Lopes, afterwards member for North-
ampton, also bound for Palestine. We went to Con-
stantinople and to the Crimea together, then through
Greece, and only parted at Charing Cross.

It was easy to understand Sir Frederick Stephenson's
(supposed) unwillingness to visit Jerusalem. It was pro-
bably far from being what it is now, or even what it was
when Pierre Loti saw it, for there was no railway from
Jaffa in our time. Still, what Loti pathetically describes
as 'une banalite de banlieiie parisienne,' was even then
too painfully casting its vulgar shadows before it. And
it was rather with the forlorn eyes of the sentimental
Frenchman than with the veneration of Dean Stanley,
that we wandered about the ever-sacred Aceldama of
mortally wounded and dying Christianity.

One dares not, one could never, speak irreverently of
Jerusalem. One cannot think heartlessly of a disappointed
love. One cannot tear out creeds interwoven with the
tenderest fibres of one's heart. It is better to be silent.
Yet is it a place for unwept tears, for the deep sadness
and hard resignation borne in upon us by the eternal loss
of something dearer once than life. All we who are
weary and heavy laden, in whom now shall we seek the
rest which is not nothingness '?

My story is told, but I fain would take my leave with
words less sorrowful. If a man has no better legacy to
bequeath than bid his fellow-beings despair, he had better
take it with him to his grave.

"We know all this, we know !

But it is in what we do not know that our hope and
our religion lies. Thrice blessed are we in the certainty

336 TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

that here our range is infinite. This infinite that makes
our brains reel, that begets the feeling that makes us
' shrink,' is perhaps the most portentous argument in the
logic of the sceptic. Since the days of Laplace, we have
been haunted in some form or other with the ghost of the
Micanique Celeste. Take one or two commonplaces from
the text-books of astronomy :

Every half-hour we are about ten thousand miles
nearer to the constellation of Lyra. ' The sun and his
system must travel at his present rate for far more than a
million years (divide this into half-hours) before we have
crossed the abyss between our present position and the
frontiers of Lyra ' (Ball's ' Story of the Heavens ').

' Sirius is about one million times as far from us as the
sun. If we take the distance of Sirius from the earth and
sub-divide it into one million equal parts, each of these
parts would be long enough to span the great distance of
92,700,000 miles from the earth to the sun,' yet Sirius is
one of the nearest of the stars to us.

The velocity with which light traverses space is
186,300 miles a second, at which rate it has taken the
rays from Sirius which we may see to-night, nine years to
reach us. The proper motion of Sirius through space is
about one thousand miles a minute. Yet 'careful align-
ment of the eye would hardly detect that Sirius was
moving, in . . . even three or four centuries.'

' There may be, and probably are, stars from which
Noah might be seen stepping into the Ark, Eve listening to
the temptation of the serpent, or that older race, eating the
oysters and leaving the shell-heaps behind them, when the
Baltic was an open sea ' (Froude's ' Science of History ').

Facts and figures such as these simply stupefy us.
They vaguely convey the idea of something immeasurably
great, but nothing further. They have no more effect
upon us than words addressed to some poor bewildered

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE 337

creature, stunned and paralysed by awe ; no more than the
sentence of death to the terror-stricken wretch at the bar.
Indeed, it is in this sense that the sceptic uses them for
our warning.

' Seit Kopernikus,' says Schopenhauer, ' kommen die
Theologen mit dem lieben Gott in Verlegenheit.' ' No one,'
he adds, ' has so damaged Theism as Copernicus.' As
if limitation and imperfection in the celestial mechanism
would make for the belief in God ; or, as if immortality
were incompatible with dependence. Des Cartes, for one,
(and he counts for many,) held just the opposite opinion.

Our sun and all the millions upon millions of suns
whose light will never reach us are but the aggregation of
atoms drawn together by the same force that governs
their orbit, and which makes the apple fall. When their
heat, however generated, is expended, they die to frozen
cinders ; possibly to be again diffused as nebulae, to begin
again the eternal round of change.

What is life amidst this change ? ' When I consider
the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars which
Thou hast ordained, what is man that Thou art mindful
of him ? '

But is He mindful of us ? That is what the sceptic
asks. Is He mindful of life here or anywhere in all this
boundless space ? We have no ground for supposing (so
we are told) that life, if it exists at all elsewhere, in the
solar system at least, is any better than it is here ?
' Analogy compels us to think,' says M. France, one of the
most thoughtful of living writers, ' that our entire solar
system is a gehenna where the animal is born for suffer-
ing. . . . This alone would suffice to disgust me with the
universe.' But M. France is too deep a thinker to abide
by such a verdict. There must be something ' behind the
veil.' ' Je sens que ces immensit^s ne sont rien, et
qu'enfin, s'il y a quelque chose, ce quelque chose n'est pas

z

338 TRACKS OP A ROLLING STONE

oe que nous voyons.' That is it. All these immensities
are not ' rien,' but they are assuredly not what we take
them to be. They are the veil of the Infinite, behind
which we are not permitted to see.

It were the seeing Him, no flesh shall dare.

The very greatness proves our impotence to grasp it,
proves the futility of our speculations, and should help us
best of all, though outwardly so appalling, to stand calm
while the snake of unbelief writhes beneath our feet. The
unutterable insignificance of man and his little world
connotes the infinity which leaves his possibilities as
limitless as itself.

Spectrology informs us that the chemical elements of
matter are everywhere the same ; and in a boundless
universe where such unity is manifested there must be
conditions similar to those which support life here. It is
impossible to doubt, on these grounds alone, that life does
exist elsewhere. Were we rashly to assume from
scientific data that no form of animal life could obtain
except under conditions similar to our own, would not
reason rebel at such an inference, on the mere ground
that to assume that there is no conscious being in the
universe save man, is incomparably more unwarrantable,
and in itself incredible ?

Admitting, then, the hypothesis of the universal distri-
bution of life, has anyone the hardihood to believe that
this is either the best or worst of worlds ? Must we not
suppose that hfe exists in every stage of progress, in every
state of imperfection, and, conversely, of advancement?
Have we still the audacity to believe with the ancient
Israelites, or as the Church of Eome believed only three
centuries ago, that the universe was made for us, and
we its centre? Or must we not believe that — infinity
given — the stages and degrees of life are infinite as their

TEACKS OF A. ROLLING STONE 339

conditions ? And where is this to stop ? There is no halting
place for imagination till we reach the Anima Mundi.

The materialist and the sceptic have forcible argu-
ments on their side. They appeal to experience and to
common sense, and ask pathetically, yet triumphantly,
whether aspiration, however fervid, is a pledge for its
validity, ' or does being weary prove that he hath where
to rest?' They smile at the flights of poetry and
imagination, and love to repeat :

Fools ! that so often here

Happiness mocked our prayer,

I thmk might make us fear

A like event elsewhere ;

Make us not fly to dreams, but moderate desire.

But then, if the other view is true, the Elsewhere is
not the Here, nor is there any conceivable likeness between
the two. It is not mere repugnance to truths, or specula-
tions rather, which we dread, that makes us shrink from
a creed so shallow, so palpably inept, as atheism. There
are many sides to our nature, and I see not that reason,
doubtless our trustiest guide, has one syllable to utter
against our loftiest hopes. Our higher instincts are just
as much a part of us as any that we listen to ; and reason,
to the end, can never dogmatise with what it is not
conversant.

■8 2

INDEX

Aberdeen, Lord, 272
Acapulco, port, 218, 219
Adair, Sir Robert, 249
Adelaide, Queen, 2, 3
Ahmadnagar, 49
Airey, Astronomer Boyal, 54
Albany, U.S.A., 129
Albemarle, Lord, 4
(George), 3
Albert, Prince Consort, 60, 264
Alboni, vocalist, 101
Alexandria, 335
Alison, Sir Archibald, 5, 297
Allen, Dr., 54
Alnwick, 53
Alresford, 257
Althorp, Lord, 51
' Amethyst,' frigate, 29
Amoy, 31, 35

Anderson, Captain, 302, 303
Anglesey, Lord, 3-5
Anson, Lady, 61
Arago, M., 221
Arcedeckne, Andrew, 105-108, 111,

129
Argamasilla, 235
Argyll, Duchess of, 246
Ashburton, Lady, 257
Ashley, Lord, 242
Ashstead, 333
Astor, John Jacob, 129
Athenaeum Club, 278, 284
Auguste, manservant, 17, 18, 20, 23
Austin, Mrs., 13
Austria, Emperors of, 84

B , Mr., 53, 54

B , Mrs., 54

Bacon, guoted, 67

Bagehot, Walter, 249, 325
Bain, Professor, 277
Balaclava Charge, 273, 274
' Balder,' poem, 69
Balfour, Arthur J., 259

Lady Blanche, 259
Ball, Sir Eobert, 336
Ballantine, Serjeant, 287
Balnaboth, 275
Balzac, quoted, 255
Bancroft, historian, 131
Barbadoes, 107
Barre, 75

Barrington, Charles, 69
Bartlett, Jimmy, 29
Batavia, 49
Bavaria, 94
Bayonne, 225
Beachamwell, 59
Beethoven, composer, 89, 90, 102
Bell, Miss Laura, 323
Beninsky, Polish Jew, 98-100
Benoit, 18, 19, 21
Bentham, quoted, 115-118
Berlin, 81
Berry, Miss, 298
Bethnal Green, 314-318
Birch, Arthur, 237-8
Bird, Miss Alice, 126, 283, 287, 289,

334
Dr. George, 126, 283-285, 289,

291, 820, 324
Bismarck, Prince, 320
Black Mount, 327
Blakeney, 72, 79
Blazzard, Mr., 135
' Blenheim,' H.M.S., 34, 45
'Blonde,' H.M.S., 26, 29, 31, 85,

45-47
Blonde Islands, 45

342

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Blue Mountains, 162, 190, 191

Bohemia, 94

Bombay, 49, 301

' Book of Job,' 231

Botany Bay, 215

Bottesini, musician, 102

Bouchier, Sir Thomas, 26, 36, 37,

47-50
Bouohier Islands, 45
Bourg-la-Eeine, 15, 19-22
Bourke, Thomas, 273-276
Bouverie, Lady Mary, 242, 243
Bowen, Sir George, 84
Bray, 276
Breslau, 83
Bright, John, 273
' Britannia,' H.M.S., 26
Brooks, Shirley, 70
Brooks's Club, 242
Brougham, Lord, 11, 67, 249
Brummell, Beau, 258
Brussels, 299

Buckinghamshire, Lady, 331
Buffalo, U.S.A., 129
Buffalo-hunting, 137-147
Buller, Charles, 257
Burgos, 225

Burke, Edmund, 245, 280
' Burney's Bull-dogs,' 26
Burntisland, 261
Burton, Sir Eiohard and Lady,

283-286
Byng, George, 249

Frederick, 257, 258
Byron, Lord, 76, 77, 244, 249

Cadiz, 223

Cairo, 383, 334

Caius College, 67

Calais, 49

' Caledonia,' H.M.S., 49

California, 104, 130-133, 153, 155,

162, 195, 210, 219
Califomian gold mines, 212-217
' Calliope,' H.M.S., 34
Calthorpe, Lord Frederick, 69, 111,

129, 134-142, 148-160, 189, 194-

222
Cambridge, 53, 58, 68 seq., 81, 82,

152, 221, 238, 265, 266
Cannes, 259
Canton, 35,

Canton river, 31, 37
Capital punishment, 113-119
Cardigan, Lord, 273, 274
Cardington, 6
Carlisle, Lord, 273
Carlyle, Mrs., 257

Thomas, 67, 136, 256, 257
270, 330
Carpathian Mountains, 92, 93
Cascade Mountains, 195

Eapids, 196
Casilda, 110

Cassels, Walter, 332, 333
Castle Howard, 273
Castlerosse, Lady, 304, 306

Lord, 304, 306, 307
Catlin's, ' North American Indians,'

137
Cayley, George, 69, 70, 223-237, 245,
265, 266

Mr. (senior), 240, 265-7, 297
Cento, dancer, 101, 221
Cervantes, Don Miguel de, 280-236
Channing, 56, 267
Charles V., 237
Charles X., 14
Charlestown, 120
Chartists, 81

Chelsea Waterworks Co., 330
Chicago, 129
China, 27, 50, 52, 70
Chinese War, of 1840, 31 seg.
Chinhai, 43

Clissold, Joseph, 221, 222
Cholmondeley, Miss, 265

Beginald, 265
' Christian Science,' 127
Chusan, 35
Cienfuegos, 110
Clay, Frederick, 275, 292
Close, Mrs., 319
Cockburn, Sir Alexander, 275
Codrington, Admiral Sir Edward,

49, 50
Coke, Chief Justice, 59

Lady Katharine, 299, 300,
304-313
Cole, Captain, 302
Coleridge, Lord, 244
Coleshill, 239-242
CoUyer, Bev. Robert, 68, 61-66
Columbia, river, 130, 165, 195, 201
Compiegne, 304, 311-813

INDEX

343

Comte, quoted, 39, 40
Conjuring, 120-128
Constantinople, 249, 336
Cook, Thomas, 333, 334
Cooper, miisician, 102
Cordova, 225
' Corsair,' brig, 210
Cosmopolitan Club, 70
Costa, musician, 101, 102
Cotton, Col. Frederick, 49
Courvoisier, murderer, 5
Coyent Garden Opera, 101, 102
Cowes, 304
Cowper, Lady, 60

Spencer, 60
Cracow, 94
Crauford, Mr., Ill
' Creeds of the Day,' 281, 329, 332
Creevey Papers, 11, 59, 242
Cricklade, 238-40
Crimea, 335
Crimean War, 272, 273
Crookes, Sir William, 126, 283
Crystal Palace, 300
Cuba, 110
Cuenca, 236

DaiiHousie, Lobd, 258
Dalles, 190, 192, 195, 196
Damascus, 335
Daniel, Major, 35
Danube, river, 195
Darlington, 260
Darwin, Charles, 256, 282
Davenport, Bromley, 314
de Broglie, Duo, 258
de Coubrier, AdMe. 15, 16

AglSe, 16-18, 20, 21

family, 221

Henriette, 16, 20, 23

Marquis, 14

Marquise, 15, 19-23
de Flahault, Comte, 258
de Langford, family, 59
de Lhuys, Drouyn, 304
de Bos, Lady, 299

Lord, 299, 300
de Toulongeon, Marquis, 308, 309
de Wimpfen, General, 320
' Debacle,' 320
' Deerslayer, The,' 104
DSjazet, actor, 305 '

Delane, 244, 258
Dent & Co., 48
Derby, Lord, 69, 239, 272
Des Cartes, 337
Devonshire, Duke of, 323
Dickens, Charles, 70, 119, 297-299
Digby, Lord, 331, 332
Disraeli, Benjamin, 77, 239, 273,
275

Mrs., 275
D'Iznaga, Marquis, 110
' Don Quixote,' 229-236
Dongola, Mudir of, 333
Donovan, Mr., phrenologist, 289
Doyle, Percy, 221

Eichard, 70, 258, 259, 299
Dragonetti, musician, 101
Drake, Sir Francis, 252
Dresden, 95, 96
' Druid," H.M.S., 34
Dublin, 273, 276, 323
Dufferin, Lady, 259

Lord, 258, 259
Dulcken, Madame, 102
Dundonald, Lord, 249, 250
Durham, Lord, 69, 104, 107, 108,
111, 120, 129

East India Co., 279
East Sheen, 9, 221
Ebury, Lord, 280, 329-331
Edinburgh, 260-262
Bishop of, 67
' Edinburgh Eeview,' 66
Edward VII., King, 60, 61
Bgerton, Lady Katherine, 299 (see

also under Coke, Lady)
Egerton, Seymour (see under

Wilton, Lord)
Egyptian Hall, 120, 121
Eisenstadt, 90
Elbe, river, 195
Elgin, Lady, 260

Lord, 258, 261
EUa, John, 102, 103
Ellioe, Edward, 12-14, 20, 54, 58,
60, 79, 129, 238, 242, 248,
249, 257-259, 262, 272, 326
Mrs. Edward, 249, 263
Mrs. Eobert, 263
Elliot, Captain, 45
Islands, 45

344

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Elsler, Fanny, 101
Ely, 54, 58, 260

Bishop of, 54

Dean of, 54
Erichsen, surgeon, 291
Ernst, musician, 102, 103
Esterhazy, Prince Paul, 90-93, 308
Eton, 237, 249
Erfurt, 321

Eugenie, ex-Empress, 304-313
Exeter Hall, 102

Fane, Julian, 69

Ferdinand I., Emperor of Austria, 84
Ferguson, General Sir Eonald, 9
Feuillet, Octave, 304
Fielding, Henry, 255
Fitzclarence, Lady Mary, 11
Fitzgerald, Lord Gerald, 292
Fonblanque, Albany, 257, 289
Forbes, Mr., 107
Fort Bois^, 130, 162

Hall, 130, 162

Laramie, 130, 132, 135, 138,
142, 148-152, 158-160

Vancouver, 198, 201

Wayne, 133

William, 326
Fortnum and Mason, 99
Foster, Mr., 70
Fox, Lieutenant, 36

General Charles, 11 (note)

Charles, 61, 243

Charles James, 245

Miss Kate, 126
France, Emperor and Empress of,
304-313, 323

Prince Imperial of, 310, 311

M. Anatole, 204, 255, 337
Francis Joseph, Emperor of Austria,

84
Franco-German War, 320
' Eraser's Magazine,' 127
Frederick the Great, 267
Fremont, Colonel, 129
Frobisher, 252
Froude, J. A., 56, 127, 329, 336

Gallifkt, Mahquise de, 306
Galton, quoted, 115, 116
Garibaldi, General, 77
Garriok Club, 105, 106

George IV., 2
Gibbon, 245
Gibraltar, 225
Gibson, sculptor, 265
Gilbert, naval hsro, 252

Dr., 314

W. S., 203, 314, 332
Gladstone, W. E., 273, 284, 323-

325, 330, 331
Glasgow, 260, 261
' Glenarvon,' 76

Glenquoich, 14, 258, 262, 263, 326
Glevering Hall, 105
Goddard, Arabella, 102

Mr., 239
Goethe, 177, 270
Golden Grove Estate, 105-110
Gordon Belief Expedition, 333, 334
Gosport, 25
Graham, Colonel (see under Lyne-

doch. Lord)
Graham, Sir James, 257
Grant, Mr., 162
Gravelotte, battle of, 320
Gray's ' Elegy,' 268
' Great Eastern,' steamer, 301-303
Great Western Eailway, 239
Greece, 335
Greenwich, 196
Greuze, 306
Greville, Bichard, 252
Grey, Lady, 83, 297

Lord, 11, 14, 108, 248

William, 81-83
Grisi, Carlotta, 101
Grosvenor, Lady Constance, 246
Grote, Mr. and Mrs., 244, 248, 249
Guadalajara silver mines, 221
Guadalquivir, river, 223
Guadiana water-mills, 232
Guanajuata silver mines, 221
Guizot, 14, 258

Halle, Sir Chables, 102, 299
Hamilton, Sir W., 259
Hanover Square Booms, 292, 293
Hareourt, Sir William, 69, 244, 266,

323
Haslar Hospital, 34
Hatherley, Lord Chancellor, 267
Havana, 110-113, 120
Haydn, Joseph, 91

INDEX

345

Hazlitt, 299
Heaviside, Canon, 54
Heenan, pugilist, 292-296
Heine, qtioted, 136, 313
Henri VII. of Beuss, Prince, 304
Herbert, Sidney, 273
Hertford, Marquis of, 323
Hill, musician, 102
Holkham, 5, 7, 22, 23, 58-61, 66, 71,
79, 90, 93, 281, 282, 331

Library, 56
Holland Bay, 108

House, 11-13

Lady, 11-13, 77

Lord, 11, 12

Park, 12
Homer's ' Iliad,' 296
Hong Kong, 34, 45
Honolulu, 201-209
Horner, Francis, 67
Horsman, Mr., 272-275
Houghton, Lord, 244, 265
House of Commons, 273, 284
Hovingham, 297
Hudson Bay Co., 162, 201
Hudson, river, 161
Humanitarian League, 251
Hume, quoted, 42
Hunt, Leigh, 283
Huntingfield, Lord, 105
Huxley, Professor T. H., 174, 175,
277, 278, 282, 324

Illustrated London News, 321
Indian tribes, 130, 131, 142, 152, 184-

187, 195, 196
Invergarry, 326
Inverness, 260, 261
lonides, Mr., 127
' Isabel,' steamer, 120, 122

Jacob, cook, 132, 141, 149, 155-159,

194
Jacques, Saint Jean, 82
Jaffa, 335
Jalapa, 221
Jamaica, 105, 109
Jardine and Matheson, 48, 49
Jeffrey, 11, 67

Jellachich, Ban of Croatia, 83, 84
Jennings, Canon, 268

Jersey, Lady, 77, 91

Jerusalem, 335

Jim, huUan servant, 132-134,

140-143
Joachim, Joseph, 103, 299
Johnson, Dr., 72, 245
Jack, 28, 44, 45
Jones, huntsman, 331
Jullien, Mons., 102

Kant, quoted, 40, 278

Keats, John, 244

KemWe, Adelaide, 264

Kenmare, Lord and Lady, 304

Kennington Common, 81

Kensington, 2, 3

Keogh, Judge, 274-276

Keppel, Admiral Sir Henry, 5, 25

Kinglake, 312

Kingsley Charles, 175

Kingston, Jamaica, 108

Kinlochmohr, 326

Koran, 286

Kossuth, General, 84

Kruger, President, 252

La Valetta, 49
Labedoy^re, 304
Lablache, vocalist, 101
Lake Brie, 129
Lamarck, 282
Lamb, Charles, 195, 299

Lady Caroline, 76, 77
Landseer, Sir Edwin, 258-260, 297
'L'Anneau d'Am^thyste,' 276
Laplace, 336
Laramie, river, 148
Larue, village, 15, 19-24, 221
' Last of the Mohicans,' 104
Latour, Count, 83
Lawrence, Lord, 258, 260
Lee, Caroline, 107
Leech, John, 70, 106
Leicester, Earl of, 6, 58, 322

Countesses of, 66, 78
Leighton, Lord, 70, 264
Leitch, artist, 264
Lewes, G. H., 329
Lewis, Cornewall, 244, 257
Liau-tung, Gulf of, 45
Lichfield, Lord, 61

346

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

Lightfoot, Dr., 332

Lincoln's Inn, 266

Lind, Jenny, 101

Lindley, musician, 101

Loch Hourne, 258

Looker, Frederick, 70

London & South Western Railway,

257
Longford, 5, 58
Lopes, Henry, 385
Loti, Pierre, 335

Louis, servant, 132, 134, 142, 159
Louis XV., 307
Louis Napoleon, Prince (Napoleon

III.), 323 (see also Napoleon HI.)
LouisNapoleon, Prince Imperial, 310,

311
Louis Philippe, King, 14, 81
Louvre, 306
Lubbock, Sir John, 41
Lucerne, 320, 321
Lucian, quoted, 178
Lucretius, quoted, 57
Luxembourg, 313
Lynedoch, Lord, 5, 6
Lytton, Lord, 69, 77, 78

Macao, 48

Maoarthy, Justin, 283
Macaulay, Aulay, 9

Hector, 9

Kenneth, 9

Lord, 11, 31, 67, 244, 245
Macdonald, Sir Archibald, 292
Madrid, 225, 226, 237, 238
Magenis, Mr., 90, 92
Mahon, Lord, 249
Malaga, 225, 227
Malebranche, quoted, 173
Malmesbury, 241
MalthuB, Dr., 316
Mamore, deer forest, 326
Manila, 49

Mantua, siege of, 5, 6
Marcet, Mrs., 267
Mario, vocalist, 101
Marryat, Captain, 79, 80

Miss Florence, 79
Marshall, Prof. John, 278, 291
' Mary Dare,' brig, 201
Marysville, 212

' Herald,' 212

Massett, Stephen, 212

Maumee, Ohio, 133

Mauthner, Herr, 89

May, Phil, 193

Mayano, Don Gregorio, 230

Mecca, 285, 286

Melbourne, Lord, 76, 248

' Melville,' three decker, 34

M6rim6e, Prosper, 258, 259

Metternich, Prince, 304-306

Mexico, city, 218-222, 252

Mich^le, M^re, 21

' Midshipman Easy,' 80

Mill, John Stuart, 174, 180, 270,

278, 279
Millais, Sir E., 70, 266, 299, 300
Miller, General, 202, 203, 210

Hugh, 55
Milnes, Monckton, 244, 265
Missouri, river, 130
Mitford, Sertie (see under Bedesdale,

Lord)
Moltke, Count von, 320
Moor Park, 329, 330
Moore, Thomas, 244, 245
Morgan, Lady, 76-78
Morley, John, 325, 332
Mormons, 135, 136
' Morning Post,' 275
Morris, mule driver, 132, 159-162
Moskowa, Prince de la, 304, 308
Motley, 258, 259
Motteux, John, 59, 60
Mozart, comjgoser, 102
Mozeley, Dr., 173
Miiller, Max, qu/jted, 41
Munro of Novar, 324
' Mysterious Lady,' 120-122

Napier, Bev. Albxandee, 66-74,
79, 80, 279, 282
Macvey, 66, 279
Naples, 49
Napoleon III., 304-313, 323

Buonaparte, 11, 245, 298, 305,
308, 313, 821
Nelson, servant, 132, 134, 159, 194
Lord, 245

WiUiam, 132, 133, 155, 158-
170, 181, 186
' Nettle,' fox terrier, 5
Neville, Latimer, 69

INDEX

347

Newcastle, Duke of, 324

Newton, Sir Isaac, 176, 270

New York, X20, 129

Ney, Marshal, 304

Nieholson, Sir Frederick, 31, 32, 44

Nieia, Mr., 239

' Niemen,' ship, 29

Nile, river, 335

Ningpo, river, 35, 43

North London Hospital, 291

North Platte, river, 130, 135-138,

142, 146
Northampton, 335
Norton, Mrs., 244, 258
Norwich, 281

O'CoNNOB, Feabscs, 82

Oliphant, Laurence, 266

Omaha, 130

Oregon, 149, 162

' Oregon question,' 50

' Origin of Species,' 282

Osborne, Bernal, 275

Owen, Professor, 277, 278, 281, 282

Owyhee, 210

Paget, Lady Floebnoe, 304
Palmerston, Lady, 60

Lord, 31, 69, 96, 97, 239, 272,
276
Panizzi, 61, 62, 258, 259
Paris, 14, 20, 21, 60, 81, 221, 306,

313, 322
Parker, Judge, 216

Theodore, 267

Sir William, 84
' Pathfinder, The,' 104
Paxton, Sir Joseph, 300
Peacock, Dr., 54
' Peak,' H.M.S., 48
P61issier, Count, 258
Penzance, Lord, 243
Persigny, 304, 308
Phelps (Master of Sydney College),

64
Philharmonic Society, 102
Philip II., King of Spain, 237
' Phlegethon,' H.M.S., 46
Phcenix Park murders, 273, 276
Piatti, rrMsician, 102, 299
Pierrefonds, 308
Pinkney, Dr., 9, 25

Pitt, William, 244, 245

Plymouth, 49

Ponsonby, Lord, 81, 86, 97

Poonah, 49

Pope's ' Essay on Man,' 268

Popocatepetl mountain, 218

Portsmouth, 26, 27, 45

Possil, 297

Potosi silver mines, 221

Potter, mule driver, 132, 159-162

Powerscourt, 275

Prescott's ' History of Mexico,' 221

' Punch,' 106

Quesada, 229, 230
Quidenham, 4

Badnor, Loed, 239-243
Baleigh, Sir Walter, 252
Eanelagh, 101
' Realm, The,' 265
Eedesdale, Lord, 292-296
Eenan, qzwted, 177, 180
Bhete, Captain, 148
Rhine, river, 196
Richards, mason, 269
Richmond, Duke of, 299
Rickmansworth, 329, 332
' Ride over the Rocky Mountains, A,'
130 seg., 191 ; publication of, 243
Eigi, 320
Eigi Kuhn, 321
Ringer, Professor Sydney, 291
Roberts, Lord, 252
Robertson, Frederick, 267

Mrs., 333
Rocky Mountains, 69, 112, 129, 130,

149
' Roebuck's Motion,' 272
Rogers, Samuel, 244, 245
Rome, 264

Ronconi, vocalist, 101
Rose, cook, 17, 18, 21, 23
Rosebery, Lord, 51
Rothschild, Sir Anthony, 321, 322

Lionel, 321
Rousseau, J. J., 56
Row, Canon, 175
Royal Geographical Society, 243

Institution, 277

Society for the Assistance of
Discharged Prisoners, 318

348

TRACKS OF A ROLLING STONE

' Rule Britannia,' 198

EuBsell, Lord John, 69, 239, 248, 272

Miss Eaohel, 300, 301

Scott, 800-803

Mrs. Soott, 800

Lord William, 5
Euxton's ' Life in the Far West,' 104

S , Mr., 58, 205

Sacramento, 212-215

Sahara Desert, 162, 163

St. Andrews, 263

St. George's Chess Club, 305

St. Helens, I.W., 27

St. James's Hall, 279

Palace, 2
St. John's, Westminster, 267
St. Leon, violinist, 221
St. Louis, 129, 149
St. Marie, 320
St. Petersburg, 60
St. Privat, 320
Sainton, musician, 101, 102
Salisbury, Lord, 248
Salt Lake City, 135, 155, 159, 167, 194
'Samson,' 111, 129, 135, 144-146,

151-172, 182, 187-202, 210
Samuel, George, 85
San Francisco, 195, 210-214
Sandringham, 59-61
Sandwich Islands, 195, 201
Sartoris, Mrs., 264
Savannah, village, 130
Sayers, Tom, 292-296
Schonbrunn, 84, 85
Schopenhauer, quoted, 39, 41, 337
Schumann, Madame, 102
Soott, General, 197

Sir Walter, 244, 255
Sebastopol, 272
Sedan, 320
Sedgwick, 54, 55
Segovia, 236
Selwyn, George, 54, 298
Sevenoaks, 288, 289
SeviUe, 228-226, 229
Seymour, Lady, 258

Sir Michael, 29
Shaftesbury, Lord, 242
Shakespeare, William, 208, 299, 305
Sheerness, 302
Shelley, P. B., 244

Sheridan, 245

Misses, 258
Shirley, Walter, 109, 110
Shrivenham, 241
Sierra Nevada Mountains, 162
Simpson, Sir George, 162, 243
Singapore, 49, 275
Singh, Dhuleep, 323
Sivori, miisician, 102
Smith, Albert, 106

Sydney, 11, 78, 79 ; Memoirs,
piloted, 13

Sydney, vice-consul at
Havana, 112
Snake, river, 165, 166, 194
Somerset, Duchess of, 258
Somner, Colonel, 148, 149
South Kensington Museum, 282
South Pass, 129, 152, 161, 162
Southampton, 106, 222
Southill, 318
Spain, 239 sej.
Spencer, Herbert, 89, 41, 256, 279

Lord, 51, 54
Stafford House, 77, 246
Stanfield, artist, 79
Stanley, Dean, 335
Stanley of Alderley, Lord, 69
Statius, quoted, 41
Stephenson, Sir Augustus, 69

General Sir Frederick, 333-
335
Stirling, William (of Keir), 70, 266
Stone, Marcus, 283
Strafford, Lord, 249
Strauss, composer, 89
' Strawberry,' mule, 192
Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 800, 301
Sussex, Duke of, 61
Sutherland, Duchess of, 246
Swedenborg, 247
Sweetwater, 151, 158, 161
Swinburne, A. C, 283
Swindon, 289, 240
Syria, 335

Tacitus, quoted, 307
Taglioni, daiicer, 101
Taine, quoted, 252
Talleyrand, 14
Tamburini, vocalist, 101
Tamehameha III., King, 202, 204
Taylor, Tom, 70

INDEX

349

Temple Grove School, 9, 13, 14
Tennyson, Lord, 70, 245-247, 265,

266
Terry, Miss Ellen, 283
Thackeray, W. M., 70, 105, 106,

255, 265, 297, 298
Thiers, 14, 258
Thistlethwayte, Frederick, 323-327

Mrs., 323
Thorn, Chinese interpreter, 31, 32
Thomas, Admiral, 50
Thompson, Sir Henry, 291
' Times,' 49, 119, 222, 250, 313
Toboso, 232, 233
Toledo, 225, 237
' Tom Jones,' 53
Trafalgar, battle of, 245
Trelawny, Jamaica, 109
Trinity College, 67-70, 83
Tucker, Major, 193-195
Turner, artist, 324
Tyndall, Professor, 277

Valladolid, 225
Vancouver Island, 130
Vauxhall, 101
Velasquez, 237
Venice, 320
Vera Cruz, 221, 222
' Vestiges of the Creation,' 55
Viardot, vocaUst, 101
Victoria Cross, 33
Tower, 269
Vienna, 81, 82 ; insurrection in, 83-

89, 94, 99
Vienna Embassy, 81, 83, 90, 94
Vieuxtemps, musician, 102
Villiers, Lady Sarah, 91
Vincent, Mons., tutor, 19, 20
Vistula, river, 94
Vitznau, 321
' Vivian Grey,' 77
Voltaire, 56

Wabash, river, 133

Wady Haifa, 338

Walewski, Prince, 304, 308, 312

Walpole, Horace, 298
' Wandering Minstrels,' 292, 293
Ward, Artemus, 136
Warham, 58

St. Mary's, 61
Warsaw, 94, 95, 100
Waterloo, battle of, 3, 197, 245, 299

Bridge, 315
Wellington, College, 9

Duke of, 81, 197
West Indies, 104
Westminster, Duchess of, 246

Election, 279, 280
Whampo, 37
Whewell (Master of Trinity College),

70
Whitbread, Miss, 6

Mr., 76, 318
Wigan, Alfred, 286, 289, 290

Mrs. Alfred, 286, 290

Horace, 283

James, 287-289

Mrs. James, 289
Wild, Sir James, 243
' Wild Irish Girl,' 76
Wiley, Mr., 203, 204
William IV., 2, 3, 11 {note)
Willis's Booms, 102
Wilson, 67

WUton, Lord, 292, 299, 304
Winchelsea, Lord and Lady, 304
Wind Eiver Chain Mountains, 161
Windisohgratz, Prince, 84, 85
Woahoo, 201, 205
Wood, Sir Charles, 257

Page, 267
Woolner, sculptor, 283
Wootton Bassett, 241
Wordsworth, William, 244, 268
Worsley, Sir William, 297
Wrightson, Thomas, 246, 247

YouQHAL, Miss, 286
Young, Brigham, 136
Yrun, 238
Yuba Porks, 212, 214

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