Part 12

The earliest of topographic surveys, the model which other national surveys adopted and improved upon, was the Ordnance Survey of the United Kingdom. But the great trigonometrical survey of India, started nearly a century ago, and steadily carried on since that time by officers of the Royal Engineers, is still the most important contribution to the science of the figure of the earth, though the vast geodetic operations in the United States are now following it closely. The gravitational and other complexities incident on surveying among the great mountain masses of the Himalayas early demanded the highest mathematical assistance. The problems originally attacked in India by Archdeacon Pratt were afterwards virtually taken over by the Royal Society, and its secretary, Sir George Stokes, of Cambridge, became from 1864 onwards the adviser and referee of the survey as regards its scientific enterprises. On the retirement of Sir George Stokes this position fell very largely to Sir George Darwin, whose relations with the India Office on this and other affairs remained close, and very highly appreciated, throughout the rest of his life.

The results of the Indian survey have been of the highest importance for the general science of geodesy. . . . It came to be felt that closer co-operation between different countries was essential to practical progress and to coordination of the work of overlapping surveys.

For the further history of George's connection with the Association, I am indebted to the Secretary, Dr. van d. Sande Bakhuyzen.

On the proposal of the Royal Society the British Government, after having consulted the Director of the Ordnance Survey, in 1898, resolved upon the adhesion of Great Britain to the International Geodetic Association, and appointed as its delegate, G. H. Darwin. By his former researches and by his high scientific character, he, more than any other, was entitled to this position, which would afford him an excellent opportunity of furthering, by his recommendations, the study of theoretical geodesy. . .

We cannot relate in detail his valuable co-operation as a member of the Council in the various transactions of the Association, for instance, on the junction of the Russian and Indian triangulations through Pamir, but we must gratefully remember his great service to the Association when, at his invitation, the delegates met in 1909 for the 16th General Conference in London and Cambridge.

With the utmost care he prepared everything to render the Conference as interesting and agreeable as possible, and he fully succeeded. Through his courtesy the foreign delegates had the opportunity of making the personal acquaintance of several members of the Geodetic staff of England and its colonies, and of other scientific men, who were invited to take part in the Conference; and when after four meetings in London the delegates went to Cambridge to continue their work, they enjoyed the most cordial hospitality from Sir George and Lady Darwin, who, with her husband, procured them in Newnham Grange happy leisure hours between their scientific labours.

At this conference Darwin delivered various reports, and at the discussion on Hecker's determination of the variation of the vertical by the attraction of the moon and sun, he gave an interesting account of the researches on the same subject made by him and his brother Horace more than 20 years ago, which unfortunately failed from the bad conditions of the places of observation.

In 1912 Sir George, though already over-fatigued by the preparations for the Mathematical Congress in Cambridge, and the exertions entailed by it, nevertheless prepared the different reports on the geodetic work in the British Empire, but, alas, his illness prevented him from assisting at the conference at Hamburg, where they were presented by other British delegates. The conference thanked him, and sent him its best wishes, but at the end of the year the Association had to deplore the loss of the man who in theoretical geodesy as well as in other branches of mathematics and astronomy stood in the first rank, and who for his noble character was respected and beloved by all his colleagues in the International Geodetic Association.

Sir Joseph Larmor writes: {186}

Sir George Darwin's last public appearance was as president of the fifth International Congress of Mathematicians, which met at Cambridge on August 22-28, 1912. The time for England to receive the congress having obviously arrived, a movement was initiated at Cambridge, with the concurrence of Oxford mathematicians, to send an invitation to the fourth congress held at Rome in 1908. The proposal was cordially accepted, and Sir George Darwin, as _doyen_ of the mathematical school at Cambridge, became chairman of the organising committee, and was subsequently elected by the congress to be their president. Though obviously unwell during part of the meeting, he managed to discharge the delicate duties of the chair with conspicuous success, and guided with great verve the deliberations of the final assembly of what turned out to be a most successful meeting of that important body.

Personal Characteristics.

His daughter, Madame Raverat, writes:

I think most people might not realise that the sense of adventure and romance was the most important thing in my father's life, except his love of work. He thought about all life romantically, and his own life in particular; one could feel it in the quality of everything he said about himself. Everything in the world was interesting and wonderful to him, and he had the power of making other people feel it.

He had a passion for going everywhere and seeing everything; learning every language, knowing the technicalities of every trade; and all this emphatically _not_ from the scientific or collector's point of view, but from a deep sense of the romance and interest of everything. It was splendid to travel with him; he always learned as much as possible of the language, and talked to everyone; we had to see simply everything there was to be seen, and it was all interesting, like an adventure. For instance, at Vienna I remember being taken to a most improper music hall, and at Schonbrunn hearing from an old forester the whole secret history of the old Emperor's son. My father would tell us the stories of the places we went to with an incomparable conviction and sense of the reality and dramaticness of the events. It is absurd, of course, but in that respect he always seemed to me a little like Sir Walter Scott. {187}

The books he used to read to us when we were quite small, and which we adored, were Percy's _Reliques_ and the _Prologue to the __Canterbury Tales_. He used often to read Shakespeare to himself, I think generally the historical plays; also Chaucer, _Don Quixote_ in Spanish, and all kind of books like Joinville's _Life of St. Louis_ in the old French.

I remember the story of the death of Gordon told so that we all cried, I think; and Gladstone could hardly be mentioned in consequence. All kinds of wars and battles interested him, and I think he liked archery more because it was romantic than because it was a game.

During his last illness his interest in the Balkan war never failed. Three weeks before his death he was so ill that the doctor thought him dying. Suddenly he rallied from the half-unconscious state in which he had been lying for many hours, and the first words he spoke on opening his eyes were, "Have they got to Constantinople yet?" This was very characteristic. I often wish he was alive now, because his understanding and appreciation of the glory and tragedy of this war would be like no one else's.

His daughter Margaret writes:

He was absolutely unselfconscious, and it never seemed to occur to him to wonder what impression he was making on others. I think it was this simplicity which made him so good with children. He seemed to understand their point of view, and to enjoy with them in a way that is not common with grown-up people. I shall never forget how when our dog had to be killed he seemed to feel the horror of it just as I did, and how this sense of his really sharing my grief made him able to comfort me as nobody else could.

He took a transparent pleasure in the honours that came to him, especially in his membership of foreign Academies, in which he and Sir David Gill had a friendly rivalry or "race," as they called it. I think this simplicity was one of his chief characteristics, though most important of all was the great warmth and width of his affections. He would take endless trouble about his friends, especially in going to see them if they were lonely or ill; and he was absolutely faithful and generous in his love.

After his mother came to live in Cambridge I believe he hardly ever missed a day in going to see her, even though he might only be able to stay a few minutes. She lived at some distance off, and he was often both busy and tired. This constancy was very characteristic. It was shown once more in his many visits to Jim Harradine, the marker at the tennis court, on what proved to be his death-bed.

His energy and his kindness of heart were shown in many cases of distress. For instance, a guard on the Great Northern Railway was robbed of his savings by an absconding solicitor, and George succeeded in collecting some 300 pounds for him. In later years, when his friend the guard became bedridden, George often went to see him. Another man whom he befriended was a one-legged man at Balsham, whom he happened to notice in bicycling past. He took the trouble to see the village authorities, and succeeded in sending the man to London to be fitted with an artificial leg.

In these and similar cases there was always the touch of personal sympathy. For instance, he pensioned the widow of his gardener, and he often made the payment of her weekly allowance the excuse for a visit.

In another sort of charity he was equally kindhearted, viz., in answering the people who wrote foolish letters to him on scientific subjects--and here as in many points he resembled his father.

His sister, Mrs. Litchfield, has truly said {190} of George, that he inherited his father's power of work and much of his "cordiality and warmth of nature, with a characteristic power of helping others." He resembled his father in another quality, that of modesty. His friend and pupil, Professor E. W. Brown, writes:

He was always modest about the importance of his researches. He would often wonder whether the results were worth the labour they had cost him, and whether he would have been better employed in some other way.

His nephew Bernard, speaking of George's way of taking pains to be friendly and forthcoming to anyone with whom he came in contact, says:

He was ready to take other people's pleasantness and politeness at its apparent value and not to discount it. If they seemed glad to see him, he believed that they _were_ glad. If he liked somebody, he believed that the somebody liked him, and did not worry himself by wondering whether they really did like him.

Of his energy we have evidence in the _amount_ of material contained in his collected works. There was nothing dilatory about him, and here he again resembled his father, who had markedly the power of doing things at the right moment, and thus avoiding waste of time and discomfort to others. George had none of a characteristic which was defined in the case of Henry Bradshaw, as "always doing something else." After an interruption he could instantly reabsorb himself in his work, so that his study was not kept as a place sacred to peace and quiet.

His wife is my authority for saying that although he got so much done, it was not by working long hours. Moreover, the days that he was away from home made large gaps in his opportunities for steady application. His diaries show in another way that his researches by no means took all his time. He made a note of the books he read, and these make a considerable record. Although he read much good literature with honest enjoyment, he had not a delicate or subtle literary judgment. Nor did he care for music. He was interested in travels, history, and biography, and as he could remember what he read or heard, his knowledge was wide in many directions. His linguistic power was characteristic. He read many European languages. I remember his translating a long Swedish paper for my father. And he took pleasure in the Platt Deutsch stories of Fritz Reuter.

The discomfort from which he suffered during the meeting at Cambridge of the International Congress of Mathematicians in August 1912 was, in fact, the beginning of his last illness. An exploratory operation showed that he was suffering from malignant disease. Happily he was spared the pain that gives its terror to this malady. His nature was, as we have seen, simple and direct, with a pleasant residue of the innocence and eagerness of childhood. In the manner of his death these qualities were ennobled by an admirable and most unselfish courage. As his vitality ebbed away his affection only showed the stronger. He wished to live, and he felt that his power of work and his enjoyment of life were as strong as ever, but his resignation to the sudden end was complete and beautiful. He died on December 7, 1912, and was buried at Trumpington.

HONOURS, MEDALS, DEGREES, SOCIETIES, ETC.

_Order_. K.C.B. 1905.

_Medals_. {192a}

1883. Telford Medal of the Institution of Civil Engineers.

1884. Royal Medal. {192b}

1892. Royal Astronomical Society's Medal.

1911. Copley Medal of the Royal Society.

1912. Royal Geographical Society's Medal.

_Offices_.

Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, and Plumian Professor in the University.

Vice-President of the International Geodetic Association, Lowell Lecturer at Boston U.S. (1897).

Member of the Meteorological and Solar Physics Committees.

Past President of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, {193} Royal Astronomical Society, British Association.

_Doctorates_, _etc._, _of Universities_.

Oxford, Dublin, Glasgow, Pennsylvania, Padua (Socio onorario), Gottingen, Christiania, Cape of Good Hope, Moscow (honorary member).

_Foreign or Honorary Membership of Academies_, _etc._

Amsterdam (Netherlands Academy), Boston (American Academy), Brussels (Royal Society), Calcutta (Math. Soc.), Dublin (Royal Irish Academy), Edinburgh (Royal Society), Halle (K. Leop.-Carol. Acad.), Kharkov (Math. Soc.), Mexico (Soc. "Antonio Alzate"), Moscow (Imperial Society of the Friends of Science), New York, Padua, Philadelphia (Philosophical Society), Rome (Lincei), Stockholm (Swedish Academy), Toronto (Physical Society), Washington (National Academy), Wellington (New Zealand Inst.).

_Correspondent of Academies_, _etc._, _at_

Acireale (Zelanti), Berlin (Prussian Academy), Buda Pest (Hungarian Academy), Frankfort (Senckenberg. Natur. Gesell.), Gottingen (Royal Society), Paris, St. Petersburg, Turin, Istuto Veneto, Vienna. {194}

XI WAR MUSIC

AN ADDRESS TO A SOCIETY OF MORRIS DANCERS DECEMBER 21, 1914

According to the _Dictionary of Music_ {195} the military march is meant "not only to stimulate courage but also to ensure the orderly advance of troops." In other words, military music serves to incite and to regulate movement. But these cannot always be discriminated. The tramp tramp of marching soldiers is ordered by the rhythm of the band. This is obvious, but we cannot say how far the bravery of the tune puts strength into tired legs, and this would be incitement,--and how far it is the unappeasable rhythm that forces the men to keep going, and this may perhaps be called regulation. There are occasions when the trumpet comes as a signal to troops waiting to make some sublime effort, and where the fierce imperious sound has a lift and a sting which perhaps no pre-concerted signal of a weaker type could give. This is an example of incitement, but in as much as it determines the moment of attack it is also a regulating agent.

Marching is still of importance,--in spite of the part taken by railways in modern strategy. I should like to know whether the magnificent marches of the Russians are made to the accompaniment of a band or of the regimental choir. One sees in our volunteer army the tendency to sing on the march. But it must be allowed that neither words or tunes are particularly inspiring. The Englishman is habitually afraid of being solemn, and though his marching songs may contain good things they are apt to be treated in a light spirit. There is one which includes the words, "Rule, Rule, Britannia!" and "God Save the Queen!" but these famous phrases serve as chorus to lighthearted fragments, _e.g._ nursery rhymes, such as "Little Miss Muffett." I regret to add that even this classic is not respectfully used. It should run, "There came a great spider and sat down beside her and frightened Miss Muffett away." I forget the precise words of the parody, except its ending, "And Little Miss Muffett said, 'Bother the creature!'" I still remember the fine effect of German soldiers heard many years ago singing the "Wacht am Rhein" on the march. Once, too, I listened to Zouaves, and no greater contrast can be imagined. It was hardly more than a murmur, a chatter of diverse scraps, and had no inspiring effect. These magnificent troops may need no artificial stimulus, but ordinary folk are certainly kept going by martial music. I remember, as a boy, marching to the tune of the "British Grenadiers," which has foolish words, and is not striking from a musical point of view, but it seemed to take us along. This march-tune comes in finely in Rudyard Kipling's story of the _Drums of the Fore and Aft_. An untried British regiment is cut up by Afghans and retires in a helter-skelter rush, leaving behind two boys of the Band, who strike up the "British Grenadiers" with the solitary squeak of a fife and the despairing roll of a drum. The answer comes in a great cheer from the Highlanders and Gurkas waiting on the heights, and in a charge that turns defeat into victory. I wish that Kipling had allowed the boys to survive, but the tragedy of their death is after all the effective close. To return to marching-tunes. For average people all that is needed is a well marked rhythm: "John Brown's body," etc., is an admirable march, though taken from its context of tramping soldiers it is hardly a fine tune. But so far as words are concerned it must be allowed that the refrain, "His soul goes marching along," is in the right mood for a war song.

It may be objected that if all I want is rhythm I should be satisfied with instruments of percussion alone. To this I reply that the effect of drums is splendidly martial. I was at Aix at the outbreak of the war, and every day the regiment quartered there used to march out to the music of drums, and of bugles which played simple tunes on the common chord. When the buglers were out of breath, the drums thundered on with magnificent fire, until once more the simple and spirited fanfare came in with its brave out-of-doors flavour--a romantic dash of the hunting song, and yet with something of the seriousness of battle. And indeed this is the sort of melody that suits the dauntless spirit of our allies. As I watched these men, so soon to fight for their country, I was reminded of that white-faced boy pictured by Stevenson, striding over his dead comrades, the roll of his drum leading the living to victory or death. Drums are said (incorrectly I believe) to be made of donkey's skin, and Stevenson imagines how, after death, the poor beast takes this magical revenge for the blows received in life, by leading cruel man to destruction. The old English military music seems to have been played by drums alone. King Charles I issued a warrant in the following words: {198a} "Whereas . . . the March of this our nation so famous in all honourable achievements and glorious warres of this our Kingdom in forraigne parts was through the negligence and carelessness of drummers . . . so altered and changed from the ancient gravity and majestic thereof as it was in danger utterly to have been lost and forgotten. . . ." He therefore wills and commands drummers to play only what is recorded in the curious old notation of that day. It must be remembered that drums and trumpets had something of the sacredness of Royalty in the 17th century. No one was allowed to play them in public without a license from the Sergeant Trumpeter, {198b} an officer who certainly existed a few years ago, and may, for all I know, still survive. In the 17th century it was a post of some dignity, and gave its holder the title of Esquire.

During the great retreat in the winter of 1914 the effect of music was magnificently illustrated. Mr. Conan Doyle {199} writes, "Exhausted as the troops were, there could he no halt or rest until they had extricated themselves from the immediate danger. At the last point of human endurance they still staggered on through the evening and the night time, amid roaring thunder and flashing lightning, down the St. Quentin road. Many fell from fatigue, and having fallen continued to sleep. . . . In the case of some of the men the collapse was so complete that it was almost impossible to get them on. Major Tom Bridges, of the 4th Royal Irish Dragoons being sent to round up and hurry forward 250 stragglers at St. Quentin, found them nearly comatose with fatigue. With quick wit he bought a toy drum, and accompanied by a man with a penny whistle he fell them in and marched them, laughing in all their misery, down the high road towards Ham." When he stopped he found that the men stopped also, so he was compelled to march and play the whole way to Roupy.

In Sir Henry Newbolt's _Song of the Great Retreat_ (_The Times_, Dec. 16, 1914), this triumphant success is described:

"Cheerly goes the dark road, cheerly goes the night, Cheerly goes the blood to keep the beat: Half a thousand dead men marching on to fight, With a little penny drum to lift their feet."

This song ought to be especially interesting to our Society, because the effect of a small drum and a penny whistle is roughly the same as that of the pipe and tabor, and these are the traditional instruments for English Folk Dances. It is perhaps worth noting that they must in old days have been used in war, for there is an illustration in an ancient manuscript of a taborer piping at the head of a body of troops marching out from a town.