Part 4

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

THE LIFE AND LABOURS OF LIEUTENANT WAGHORN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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