CHAPTER XXIII

THE ‘ONE MAN WHO CARED FOR INDIA’

Defeated at Brighton—Spectacles and the Man—Elected for Hackney.

[Sidenote: Effect of Speeches in India.]

In spite of many warnings that his Indian policy would be unpopular, his adherence to his high ideal of a truly Imperial citizenship proved a good campaign asset, and Fawcett’s constituents were proud of him, and absorbed in his expositions of Indian affairs.

Notwithstanding that he lost his seat at Brighton at the next general election, he was soon in the House again, representing another constituency. The prominence of his position in the House of Commons and out of it was much enhanced by the power of his Indian speeches.

His popularity in Cambridge was unquestioned. On his return to residence there, his home was a merry meeting-place for his many friends old and new. His original ways were a byword. He once began a new acquaintanceship in this fashion. Shaking hands warmly with a young student who had just been introduced, Fawcett said jovially, ‘What do you do—ride, or row or fish? I smoke!’

In speaking of Fawcett, the present head Master of Trinity used these words: ‘We all had a veneration for Fawcett, and loved to see the way he won every one. A friend of all of ours with whom Fawcett stayed tried us very much by insisting that all his guests should go to bed by ten o’clock. One of them vowed that “he’d be hanged if he would go to bed at ten o’clock.” We were greatly relieved and amused that when Fawcett appeared on the scene, his conversation so completely charmed his host that it was impossible to get him to bed until long after midnight.’

[Sidenote: Mastership of Trinity Hall.]

When a vacancy occurred in the Mastership of Trinity Hall, Fawcett was asked to stand, and though he retired from the candidature in favour of Sir Henry Maine, it is an interesting evidence of Fawcett’s close interest in his old college that no new interests could weaken.

At this time his chief exercise seems to have been riding. A friend who often accompanied him gives this description of one adventurous morning ride: ‘His riding was like the driving of Jehu. He was entirely fearless, seemed to know all the road, the turnings, the signposts, and the houses, where the turf began that was good to go on, and where the horse must be allowed to walk.

[Sidenote: Spectacles and the Man.]

‘We were going together at a moderate pace on his favourite road. I was a yard in front; suddenly I heard a noise as of a fall, and looking back saw to my horror Fawcett lying on the ground, and his horse standing quietly by. How it happened I don’t know. I jumped down in terror, but was soon reassured by Fawcett calling out in his natural voice, “Just look for my spectacles, will you?” When I had helped him up and brought him to his horse, he remounted without the least appearance of flurry or alarm. He explained to me as we cantered on, that he thought that in case of a fall, he was in less danger than a seeing man, as he did not attempt to move or struggle. He seemed to think no more of his fall, beyond expressing a wish that I should not speak of it at home, and thus cause alarm and nervousness when he was riding again.’

[Sidenote: Enjoying the Sunset.]

This courage is the more remarkable in view of the fact that Fawcett once said: ‘The happiest moments I spend in my life are when I am in the companionship of some friend who will forget that I have lost my eyesight, who will talk to me as if I could see, who will describe to me the persons I meet, a beautiful sunset, or scenes of great beauty through which we may be passing. For so wonderful is the adaptability of the human mind, that when for instance some scene of great beauty has been described to me, I recall that scene in after years, and I speak about it in such a manner that sometimes I have to check myself and consider for a moment whether the impression was produced when I had my sight or was conveyed by the description of another.’

It is not conceivable that the man who so thoroughly saw through the vision given to him by others, could have been deficient in the power to imagine vividly, acutely, all possible dangers. It meant a very deliberate courage to overcome all slowness and hesitancy—to gallop alone, trusting entirely to his horse to save him from, may be, serious collisions. Yet, so complete was Fawcett’s self-mastery that he thrust fear utterly behind him, and found only hearty, high-spirited joy in his outings.

[Sidenote: Hackney. A model campaign.]

This same courage stood him in good stead in the general election in 1874, which resulted in a great victory for the Conservatives. In Brighton both the Liberal candidates were thrown out, though Fawcett polled forty-nine more votes than before. Within six weeks he was again an M.P., this time enthusiastically elected for Hackney; and the management of his election for that borough was so inexpensive that it was long cited as a model of electioneering efficiency and economy.

The Indian papers spoke strongly of his ‘unique position,’ and a fund of £400 was raised and transmitted to England to pay the expenses of another contest. It arrived too late, but went towards the expenses of the contest at Hackney in 1880. Another sum of £350 was then raised in India, which was placed in the hands of trustees with a view to a future election, and in due time was devoted to some purpose connected with India.

Fawcett’s first speech to his Hackney constituents was delivered in March. What he said there, then and later, was distinguished by his fearless and frank adherence to what were considered unpopular principles. He denounced what he deemed the unworthy competition between Gladstone and Disraeli, saying that when the former announced that in case of his election he would repeal the Income Tax, the latter promptly announced that he would do the same. Fawcett considered that neither could carry out this promise, and that it was merely a discreditable bid for votes. He said that he would continue in his efforts for India, then threatened anew by famine.

[Sidenote: The Times.]

The _Saturday Review_, not usually favourable to his party, hoped for his return as the ‘one man,’ out of official circles, who cared for India. The _Times_ said ‘he offended publicans by refusing to use their houses as committee rooms; he offended the advocates of the Permissive Bill by declaring his resolution to vote against it; he offended shopkeepers by his zeal in favour of the co-operative movement; he offended working men by his opposition to the latest movement for limiting the hours of labour of adult women; he offended old-fashioned Liberals, and Liberals who are getting old-fashioned, by his persistent advocacy of reforms that had not come within the range of their education when they were young; and Liberals of a later growth remembered how often Fawcett had found himself unable to acquiesce in Mr. Gladstone’s policy and plans. Yet he must have secured the support of men of all these sections, who concurred in sending him to Parliament, because they believed that his presence there would be advantageous, in spite of errors of opinion which each section in turn lamented.’

His short absence between his defeat at Brighton and his fresh appearance as the representative for Hackney was sincerely regretted in the House of Commons on all sides. Warm friends missed his genial personality and the jovial meetings at his seat, whence many merry stories and much gossip emanated. Those who saw Fawcett casually found it difficult to believe that he was blind. It was his unfailing habit to turn to the person to whom he was speaking as if he saw them. He knew his way about the House of Commons so well that he was quick and sure in all his movements. He would cross the floor of the House and, bowing to the Speaker, take his seat with familiar assurance. His father used often to come up from Salisbury, and Fawcett would take him to the privileged strangers’ seats under the gallery, and bring his Parliamentary friends to talk to the old gentleman.

One of the favourite ways of drawing attention to departmental misdeeds is to ask questions of the Minister of State concerned to be answered by him at the beginning of the sitting. These questions were sent up in writing and then read aloud to the House by the members who asked them. The Rt. Hon. Thomas Burt, one of the first working-class representatives, and an old friend of Fawcett’s, says: ‘Mr. Fawcett often put long questions, and he repeated them word for word as they were printed on the order paper, never a slip, never the slightest hesitation.’

[Sidenote: The hard-worked Hen.]

Fawcett was at once added to the committee on Indian finance appointed a few days before his election. This was the fourth year that this committee had worked. _Punch_ said that it reminded him ‘of the hen that laid so many eggs she could never come to the hatching of any.’ And indeed it never published a report, though it collected a great deal of most valuable evidence.

It was before this committee that Lord Salisbury gave evidence on the difficulty for an Indian Secretary of State to withstand the demands of the Treasury. Continued resistance on his part was ‘to stop the machine.’ ’so,’ said Fawcett, ‘you must either stop the machine, or resign, or go on tacitly submitting to injustice.’ ‘I should accept the statement,’ replied Lord Salisbury, ‘barring the word tacitly. I should go on submitting with loud remonstrances.’

But a strong echo in the public conscience would be necessary for these remonstrances to be of any value to India, and this is what Fawcett saw.