p. 223Chapter VIII — Energy and Courage

“A cœur vaillant rien
d’impossible.”—Jacques Cœur.

“Den Muthigen gehört die
Welt.”—German Proverb.

“In every work that he began . . . he did it with all
his heart, and prospered.”—II. Chron. xxxi.
21.

There is a famous speech recorded
of an old Norseman, thoroughly characteristic of the
Teuton. “I believe neither in idols nor
demons,” said he, “I put my sole trust in my own
strength of body and soul.” The ancient crest of a
pickaxe with the motto of “Either I will find a way or make
one,” was an expression of the same sturdy independence
which to this day distinguishes the descendants of the
Northmen. Indeed nothing could be more characteristic of
the Scandinavian mythology, than that it had a god with a
hammer. A man’s character is seen in small matters;
and from even so slight a test as the mode in which a man wields
a hammer, his energy may in some measure be inferred. Thus
an eminent Frenchman hit off in a single phrase the
characteristic quality of the inhabitants of a particular
district, in which a friend of his proposed to settle and buy
land. “Beware,” said he, “of making a
purchase there; I know the men of that department; the pupils who
come from it to our veterinary school at Paris do nor strike
hard upon the anvil; they want energy; and you will not get a
satisfactory return on any capital you may invest
there.” A fine and just appreciation of character,
indicating the thoughtful observer; and strikingly illustrative
of the fact that it is the energy of the individual men that
gives strength to a State, and confers a value even upon the very
soil which they cultivate. As the French proverb has it:
“Tant vaut l’homme, tant vaut sa terre.”

The cultivation of this quality is of the greatest importance;
resolute determination in the pursuit of worthy objects being the
foundation of all true greatness of character. Energy
enables a man to force his way through irksome drudgery and dry
details, and carries him onward and upward in every station in
life. It accomplishes more than genius, with not one-half
the disappointment and peril. It is not eminent talent that
is required to ensure success in any pursuit, so much as
purpose,—not merely the power to achieve, but the will to
labour energetically and perseveringly. Hence energy of
will may be defined to be the very central power of character in
a man—in a word, it is the Man himself. It gives
impulse to his every action, and soul to every effort. True
hope is based on it,—and it is hope that gives the real
perfume to life. There is a fine heraldic motto on a broken
helmet in Battle Abbey, “L’espoir est ma
force,” which might be the motto of every man’s
life. “Woe unto him that is fainthearted,” says
the son of Sirach. There is, indeed, no blessing equal to
the possession of a stout heart. Even if a man fail in his
efforts, it will be a satisfaction to him to enjoy the
consciousness of having done his best. In humble life
nothing can be more cheering and beautiful than to see a man
combating suffering by patience, triumphing in his integrity, and
who, when his feet are bleeding and his limbs failing him, still
walks upon his courage.

Mere wishes and desires but engender a sort of green sickness
in young minds, unless they are promptly embodied in act and
deed. It will not avail merely to wait as so many do,
“until Blucher comes up,” but they must struggle on
and persevere in the mean time, as Wellington did. The good
purpose once formed must be carried out with alacrity and without
swerving. In most conditions of life, drudgery and toil are
to be cheerfully endured as the best and most wholesome
discipline. “In life,” said Ary Scheffer,
“nothing bears fruit except by labour of mind or
body. To strive and still strive—such is life; and in
this respect mine is fulfilled; but I dare to say, with just
pride, that nothing has ever shaken my courage. With a
strong soul, and a noble aim, one can do what one wills, morally
speaking.”

Hugh Miller said the only school in which he was properly
taught was “that world-wide school in which toil and
hardship are the severe but noble teachers.” He who
allows his application to falter, or shirks his work on frivolous
pretexts, is on the sure road to ultimate failure. Let any
task be undertaken as a thing not possible to be evaded, and it
will soon come to be performed with alacrity and
cheerfulness. Charles IX. of Sweden was a firm believer in
the power of will, even in youth. Laying his hand on the
head of his youngest son when engaged on a difficult task, he
exclaimed, “He shall do it! he shall do
it!” The habit of application becomes easy in time,
like every other habit. Thus persons with comparatively
moderate powers will accomplish much, if they apply themselves
wholly and indefatigably to one thing at a time. Fowell
Buxton placed his confidence in ordinary means and extraordinary
application; realizing the scriptural injunction,
“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy
might;” and he attributed his own success in life to his
practice of “being a whole man to one thing at a
time.”

Nothing that is of real worth can be achieved without
courageous working. Man owes his growth chiefly to that
active striving of the will, that encounter with difficulty,
which we call effort; and it is astonishing to find how often
results apparently impracticable are thus made possible. An
intense anticipation itself transforms possibility into reality;
our desires being often but the precursors of the things which we
are capable of performing. On the contrary, the timid and
hesitating find everything impossible, chiefly because it seems
so. It is related of a young French officer, that he used
to walk about his apartment exclaiming, “I will be
Marshal of France and a great general.” His ardent
desire was the presentiment of his success; for the young officer
did become a distinguished commander, and he died a Marshal of
France.

Mr. Walker, author of the ‘Original,’ had so great
a faith in the power of will, that he says on one occasion he
determined to be well, and he was so. This may
answer once; but, though safer to follow than many prescriptions,
it will not always succeed. The power of mind over body is
no doubt great, but it may be strained until the physical power
breaks down altogether. It is related of Muley Moluc, the
Moorish leader, that, when lying ill, almost worn out by an
incurable disease, a battle took place between his troops and the
Portuguese; when, starting from his litter at the great crisis of
the fight, he rallied his army, led them to victory, and
instantly afterwards sank exhausted and expired.

It is will,—force of purpose,—that enables a man
to do or be whatever he sets his mind on being or doing. A
holy man was accustomed to say, “Whatever you wish, that
you are: for such is the force of our will, joined to the Divine,
that whatever we wish to be, seriously, and with a true
intention, that we become. No one ardently wishes to be
submissive, patient, modest, or liberal, who does not become what
he wishes.” The story is told of a working carpenter,
who was observed one day planing a magistrate’s bench which
he was repairing, with more than usual carefulness; and when
asked the reason, he replied, “Because I wish to make it
easy against the time when I come to sit upon it
myself.” And singularly enough, the man actually
lived to sit upon that very bench as a magistrate.

Whatever theoretical conclusions logicians may have formed as
to the freedom of the will, each individual feels that
practically he is free to choose between good and evil—that
he is not as a mere straw thrown upon the water to mark the
direction of the current, but that he has within him the power of
a strong swimmer, and is capable of striking out for himself, of
buffeting with the waves, and directing to a great extent his own
independent course. There is no absolute constraint upon
our volitions, and we feel and know that we are not bound, as by
a spell, with reference to our actions. It would paralyze
all desire of excellence were we to think otherwise. The
entire business and conduct of life, with its domestic rules, its
social arrangements, and its public institutions, proceed upon
the practical conviction that the will is free. Without
this where would be responsibility?—and what the advantage
of teaching, advising, preaching, reproof, and correction?
What were the use of laws, were it not the universal belief, as
it is the universal fact, that men obey them or not, very much as
they individually determine? In every moment of our life,
conscience is proclaiming that our will is free. It is the
only thing that is wholly ours, and it rests solely with
ourselves individually, whether we give it the right or the wrong
direction. Our habits or our temptations are not our
masters, but we of them. Even in yielding, conscience tells
us we might resist; and that were we determined to master them,
there would not be required for that purpose a stronger
resolution than we know ourselves to be capable of
exercising.

“You are now at the age,” said Lamennais once,
addressing a gay youth, “at which a decision must be formed
by you; a little later, and you may have to groan within the tomb
which you yourself have dug, without the power of rolling away
the stone. That which the easiest becomes a habit in us is
the will. Learn then to will strongly and decisively; thus
fix your floating life, and leave it no longer to be carried
hither and thither, like a withered leaf, by every wind that
blows.”

Buxton held the conviction that a young man might be very much
what he pleased, provided he formed a strong resolution and held
to it. Writing to one of his sons, he said to him,
“You are now at that period of life, in which you must make
a turn to the right or the left. You must now give proofs
of principle, determination, and strength of mind; or you must
sink into idleness, and acquire the habits and character of a
desultory, ineffective young man; and if once you fall to that
point, you will find it no easy matter to rise again. I am
sure that a young man may be very much what he pleases. In
my own case it was so. . . . Much of my happiness, and all my
prosperity in life, have resulted from the change I made at your
age. If you seriously resolve to be energetic and
industrious, depend upon it that you will for your whole life
have reason to rejoice that you were wise enough to form and to
act upon that determination.” As will, considered
without regard to direction, is simply constancy, firmness,
perseverance, it will be obvious that everything depends upon
right direction and motives. Directed towards the enjoyment
of the senses, the strong will may be a demon, and the intellect
merely its debased slave; but directed towards good, the strong
will is a king, and the intellect the minister of man’s
highest well-being.

“Where there is a will there is a way,” is an old
and true saying. He who resolves upon doing a thing, by
that very resolution often scales the barriers to it, and secures
its achievement. To think we are able, is almost to be
so—to determine upon attainment is frequently attainment
itself. Thus, earnest resolution has often seemed to have
about it almost a savour of omnipotence. The strength of
Suwarrow’s character lay in his power of willing, and, like
most resolute persons, he preached it up as a system.
“You can only half will,” he would say to people who
failed. Like Richelieu and Napoleon, he would have the word
“impossible” banished from the dictionary.
“I don’t know,” “I can’t,”
and “impossible,” were words which he detested above
all others. “Learn! Do! Try!” he
would exclaim. His biographer has said of him, that he
furnished a remarkable illustration of what may be effected by
the energetic development and exercise of faculties, the germs of
which at least are in every human heart.

One of Napoleon’s favourite maxims was, “The
truest wisdom is a resolute determination.” His life,
beyond most others, vividly showed what a powerful and
unscrupulous will could accomplish. He threw his whole
force of body and mind direct upon his work. Imbecile
rulers and the nations they governed went down before him in
succession. He was told that the Alps stood in the way of
his armies—“There shall be no Alps,” he said,
and the road across the Simplon was constructed, through a
district formerly almost inaccessible.
“Impossible,” said he, “is a word only to be
found in the dictionary of fools.” He was a man who
toiled terribly; sometimes employing and exhausting four
secretaries at a time. He spared no one, not even
himself. His influence inspired other men, and put a new
life into them. “I made my generals out of
mud,” he said. But all was of no avail; for
Napoleon’s intense selfishness was his ruin, and the ruin
of France, which he left a prey to anarchy. His life taught
the lesson that power, however energetically wielded, without
beneficence, is fatal to its possessor and its subjects; and that
knowledge, or knowingness, without goodness, is but the incarnate
principle of Evil.

Our own Wellington was a far greater man. Not less
resolute, firm, and persistent, but more self-denying,
conscientious, and truly patriotic. Napoleon’s aim
was “Glory;” Wellington’s watchword, like
Nelson’s, was “Duty.” The former word, it
is said, does not once occur in his despatches; the latter often,
but never accompanied by any high-sounding professions. The
greatest difficulties could neither embarrass nor intimidate
Wellington; his energy invariably rising in proportion to the
obstacles to be surmounted. The patience, the firmness, the
resolution, with which he bore through the maddening vexations
and gigantic difficulties of the Peninsular campaigns, is,
perhaps, one of the sublimest things to be found in
history. In Spain, Wellington not only exhibited the genius
of the general, but the comprehensive wisdom of the
statesman. Though his natural temper was irritable in the
extreme, his high sense of duty enabled him to restrain it; and
to those about him his patience seemed absolutely
inexhaustible. His great character stands untarnished by
ambition, by avarice, or any low passion. Though a man of
powerful individuality, he yet displayed a great variety of
endowment. The equal of Napoleon in generalship, he was as
prompt, vigorous, and daring as Clive; as wise a statesman as
Cromwell; and as pure and high-minded as Washington. The
great Wellington left behind him an enduring reputation, founded
on toilsome campaigns won by skilful combination, by fortitude
which nothing could exhaust, by sublime daring, and perhaps by
still sublimer patience.

Energy usually displays itself in promptitude and
decision. When Ledyard the traveller was asked by the
African Association when he would be ready to set out for Africa,
he immediately answered, “To-morrow morning.”
Blucher’s promptitude obtained for him the cognomen of
“Marshal Forwards” throughout the Prussian
army. When John Jervis, afterwards Earl St. Vincent, was
asked when he would be ready to join his ship, he replied,
“Directly.” And when Sir Colin Campbell,
appointed to the command of the Indian army, was asked when he
could set out, his answer was, “To-morrow,”—an
earnest of his subsequent success. For it is rapid
decision, and a similar promptitude in action, such as taking
instant advantage of an enemy’s mistakes, that so often
wins battles. “At Arcola,” said Napoleon,
“I won the battle with twenty-five horsemen. I seized
a moment of lassitude, gave every man a trumpet, and gained the
day with this handful. Two armies are two bodies which meet
and endeavour to frighten each other: a moment of panic occurs,
and that moment must be turned to advantage.”
“Every moment lost,” said he at another time,
“gives an opportunity for misfortune;” and he
declared that he beat the Austrians because they never knew the
value of time: while they dawdled, he overthrew them.

India has, during the last century, been a great field for the
display of British energy. From Clive to Havelock and Clyde
there is a long and honourable roll of distinguished names in
Indian legislation and warfare,—such as Wellesley,
Metcalfe, Outram, Edwardes, and the Lawrences. Another
great but sullied name is that of Warren Hastings—a man of
dauntless will and indefatigable industry. His family was
ancient and illustrious; but their vicissitudes of fortune and
ill-requited loyalty in the cause of the Stuarts, brought them to
poverty, and the family estate at Daylesford, of which they had
been lords of the manor for hundreds of years, at length passed
from their hands. The last Hastings of Daylesford had,
however, presented the parish living to his second son; and it
was in his house, many years later, that Warren Hastings, his
grandson, was born. The boy learnt his letters at the
village school, on the same bench with the children of the
peasantry. He played in the fields which his fathers had
owned; and what the loyal and brave Hastings of Daylesford
had been, was ever in the boy’s thoughts. His
young ambition was fired, and it is said that one summer’s
day, when only seven years old, as he laid him down on the bank
of the stream which flowed through the domain, he formed in his
mind the resolution that he would yet recover possession of the
family lands. It was the romantic vision of a boy; yet he
lived to realize it. The dream became a passion, rooted in
his very life; and he pursued his determination through youth up
to manhood, with that calm but indomitable force of will which
was the most striking peculiarity of his character. The
orphan boy became one of the most powerful men of his time; he
retrieved the fortunes of his line; bought back the old estate,
and rebuilt the family mansion. “When, under a
tropical sun,” says Macaulay, “he ruled fifty
millions of Asiatics, his hopes, amidst all the cares of war,
finance, and legislation, still pointed to Daylesford. And
when his long public life, so singularly chequered with good and
evil, with glory and obloquy, had at length closed for ever, it
was to Daylesford that he retired to die.”

Sir Charles Napier was another Indian leader of extraordinary
courage and determination. He once said of the difficulties
with which he was surrounded in one of his campaigns, “They
only make my feet go deeper into the ground.” His
battle of Meeanee was one of the most extraordinary feats in
history. With 2000 men, of whom only 400 were Europeans, he
encountered an army of 35,000 hardy and well-armed
Beloochees. It was an act, apparently, of the most daring
temerity, but the general had faith in himself and in his
men. He charged the Belooch centre up a high bank which
formed their rampart in front, and for three mortal hours the
battle raged. Each man of that small force, inspired by the
chief, became for the time a hero. The Beloochees, though
twenty to one, were driven back, but with their faces to the
foe. It is this sort of pluck, tenacity, and determined
perseverance which wins soldiers’ battles, and, indeed,
every battle. It is the one neck nearer that wins the race
and shows the blood; it is the one march more that wins the
campaign; the five minutes’ more persistent courage that
wins the fight. Though your force be less than
another’s, you equal and outmaster your opponent if you
continue it longer and concentrate it more. The reply of
the Spartan father, who said to his son, when complaining that
his sword was too short, “Add a step to it,” is
applicable to everything in life.

Napier took the right method of inspiring his men with his own
heroic spirit. He worked as hard as any private in the
ranks. “The great art of commanding,” he said,
“is to take a fair share of the work. The man who
leads an army cannot succeed unless his whole mind is thrown into
his work. The more trouble, the more labour must be given;
the more danger, the more pluck must be shown, till all is
overpowered.” A young officer who accompanied him in
his campaign in the Cutchee Hills, once said, “When I see
that old man incessantly on his horse, how can I be idle who am
young and strong? I would go into a loaded cannon’s
mouth if he ordered me.” This remark, when repeated
to Napier, he said was ample reward for his toils. The
anecdote of his interview with the Indian juggler strikingly
illustrates his cool courage as well as his remarkable simplicity
and honesty of character. On one occasion, after the Indian
battles, a famous juggler visited the camp and performed his
feats before the General, his family, and staff. Among
other performances, this man cut in two with a stroke of his
sword a lime or lemon placed in the hand of his assistant.
Napier thought there was some collusion between the juggler and
his retainer. To divide by a sweep of the sword on a
man’s hand so small an object without touching the flesh he
believed to be impossible, though a similar incident is related
by Scott in his romance of the ‘Talisman.’ To
determine the point, the General offered his own hand for the
experiment, and he stretched out his right arm. The juggler
looked attentively at the hand, and said he would not make the
trial. “I thought I would find you out!”
exclaimed Napier. “But stop,” added the other,
“let me see your left hand.” The left hand was
submitted, and the man then said firmly, “If you will hold
your arm steady I will perform the feat.” “But
why the left hand and not the right?” “Because
the right hand is hollow in the centre, and there is a risk of
cutting off the thumb; the left is high, and the danger will be
less.” Napier was startled. “I got
frightened,” he said; “I saw it was an actual feat of
delicate swordsmanship, and if I had not abused the man as I did
before my staff, and challenged him to the trial, I honestly
acknowledge I would have retired from the encounter.
However, I put the lime on my hand, and held out my arm
steadily. The juggler balanced himself, and, with a swift
stroke cut the lime in two pieces. I felt the edge of the
sword on my hand as if a cold thread had been drawn across
it. So much (he added) for the brave swordsmen of India,
whom our fine fellows defeated at Meeanee.”

The recent terrible struggle in India has served to bring out,
perhaps more prominently than any previous event in our history,
the determined energy and self-reliance of the national
character. Although English officialism may often drift
stupidly into gigantic blunders, the men of the nation generally
contrive to work their way out of them with a heroism almost
approaching the sublime. In May, 1857, when the revolt
burst upon India like a thunder-clap, the British forces had been
allowed to dwindle to their extreme minimum, and were scattered
over a wide extent of country, many of them in remote
cantonments. The Bengal regiments, one after another, rose
against their officers, broke away, and rushed to Delhi.
Province after province was lapped in mutiny and rebellion; and
the cry for help rose from east to west. Everywhere the
English stood at bay in small detachments, beleaguered and
surrounded, apparently incapable of resistance. Their
discomfiture seemed so complete, and the utter ruin of the
British cause in India so certain, that it might be said of them
then, as it had been said before, “These English never know
when they are beaten.” According to rule, they ought
then and there to have succumbed to inevitable fate.

While the issue of the mutiny still appeared uncertain,
Holkar, one of the native princes, consulted his astrologer for
information. The reply was, “If all the Europeans
save one are slain, that one will remain to fight and
reconquer.” In their very darkest moment—even
where, as at Lucknow, a mere handful of British soldiers,
civilians, and women, held out amidst a city and province in arms
against them—there was no word of despair, no thought of
surrender. Though cut off from all communication with their
friends for months, and not knowing whether India was lost or
held, they never ceased to have perfect faith in the courage and
devotedness of their countrymen. They knew that while a
body of men of English race held together in India, they would
not be left unheeded to perish. They never dreamt of any
other issue but retrieval of their misfortune and ultimate
triumph; and if the worst came to the worst, they could but fall
at their post, and die in the performance of their duty.
Need we remind the reader of the names of Havelock, Inglis,
Neill, and Outram—men of truly heroic mould—of each
of whom it might with truth be said that he had the heart of a
chevalier, the soul of a believer, and the temperament of a
martyr. Montalembert has said of them that “they do
honour to the human race.” But throughout that
terrible trial almost all proved equally great—women,
civilians and soldiers—from the general down through all
grades to the private and bugleman. The men were not
picked: they belonged to the same ordinary people whom we daily
meet at home—in the streets, in workshops, in the fields,
at clubs; yet when sudden disaster fell upon them, each and all
displayed a wealth of personal resources and energy, and became
as it were individually heroic. “Not one of
them,” says Montalembert, “shrank or
trembled—all, military and civilians, young and old,
generals and soldiers, resisted, fought, and perished with a
coolness and intrepidity which never faltered. It is in
this circumstance that shines out the immense value of public
education, which invites the Englishman from his youth to make
use of his strength and his liberty, to associate, resist, fear
nothing, to be astonished at nothing, and to save himself, by his
own sole exertions, from every sore strait in life.”

It has been said that Delhi was taken and India saved by the
personal character of Sir John Lawrence. The very name of
“Lawrence” represented power in the North-West
Provinces. His standard of duty, zeal, and personal effort,
was of the highest; and every man who served under him seemed to
be inspired by his spirit. It was declared of him that his
character alone was worth an army. The same might be said
of his brother Sir Henry, who organised the Punjaub force that
took so prominent a part in the capture of Delhi. Both
brothers inspired those who were about them with perfect love and
confidence. Both possessed that quality of tenderness,
which is one of the true elements of the heroic character.
Both lived amongst the people, and powerfully influenced them for
good. Above all as Col. Edwardes says, “they drew
models on young fellows’ minds, which they went forth and
copied in their several administrations: they sketched a
faith, and begot a school, which are both living
things at this day.” Sir John Lawrence had by his
side such men as Montgomery, Nicholson, Cotton, and Edwardes, as
prompt, decisive, and high-souled as himself. John
Nicholson was one of the finest, manliest, and noblest of
men—“every inch a hakim,” the natives said of
him—“a tower of strength,” as he was
characterised by Lord Dalhousie. In whatever capacity he
acted he was great, because he acted with his whole strength and
soul. A brotherhood of fakeers—borne away by their
enthusiastic admiration of the man—even began the worship
of Nikkil Seyn: he had some of them punished for their folly, but
they continued their worship nevertheless. Of his sustained
energy and persistency an illustration may be cited in his
pursuit of the 55th Sepoy mutineers, when he was in the saddle
for twenty consecutive hours, and travelled more than seventy
miles. When the enemy set up their standard at Delhi,
Lawrence and Montgomery, relying on the support of the people of
the Punjaub, and compelling their admiration and confidence,
strained every nerve to keep their own province in perfect order,
whilst they hurled every available soldier, European and Sikh,
against that city. Sir John wrote to the commander-in-chief
to “hang on to the rebels’ noses before Delhi,”
while the troops pressed on by forced marches under Nicholson,
“the tramp of whose war-horse might be heard miles
off,” as was afterwards said of him by a rough Sikh who
wept over his grave.

The siege and storming of Delhi was the most illustrious event
which occurred in the course of that gigantic struggle, although
the leaguer of Lucknow, during which the merest skeleton of a
British regiment—the 32nd—held out, under the heroic
Inglis, for six months against two hundred thousand armed
enemies, has perhaps excited more intense interest. At
Delhi, too, the British were really the besieged, though
ostensibly the besiegers; they were a mere handful of men
“in the open”—not more than 3,700 bayonets,
European and native—and they were assailed from day to day
by an army of rebels numbering at one time as many as 75,000 men,
trained to European discipline by English officers, and supplied
with all but exhaustless munitions of war. The heroic
little band sat down before the city under the burning rays of a
tropical sun. Death, wounds, and fever failed to turn them
from their purpose. Thirty times they were attacked by
overwhelming numbers, and thirty times did they drive back the
enemy behind their defences. As Captain
Hodson—himself one of the bravest there—has said,
“I venture to aver that no other nation in the world would
have remained here, or avoided defeat if they had attempted to do
so.” Never for an instant did these heroes falter at
their work; with sublime endurance they held on, fought on, and
never relaxed until, dashing through the “imminent deadly
breach,” the place was won, and the British flag was again
unfurled on the walls of Delhi. All were
great—privates, officers, and generals. Common
soldiers who had been inured to a life of hardship, and young
officers who had been nursed in luxurious homes, alike proved
their manhood, and emerged from that terrible trial with equal
honour. The native strength and soundness of the English
race, and of manly English training and discipline, were never
more powerfully exhibited; and it was there emphatically proved
that the Men of England are, after all, its greatest
products. A terrible price was paid for this great chapter
in our history, but if those who survive, and those who come
after, profit by the lesson and example, it may not have been
purchased at too great a cost.

But not less energy and courage have been displayed in India
and the East by men of various nations, in other lines of action
more peaceful and beneficent than that of war. And while
the heroes of the sword are remembered, the heroes of the gospel
ought not to be forgotten. From Xavier to Martyn and
Williams, there has been a succession of illustrious missionary
labourers, working in a spirit of sublime self-sacrifice, without
any thought of worldly honour, inspired solely by the hope of
seeking out and rescuing the lost and fallen of their race.
Borne up by invincible courage and never-failing patience, these
men have endured privations, braved dangers, walked through
pestilence, and borne all toils, fatigues, and sufferings, yet
held on their way rejoicing, glorying even in martyrdom
itself. Of these one of the first and most illustrious was
Francis Xavier. Born of noble lineage, and with pleasure,
power, and honour within his reach, he proved by his life that
there are higher objects in the world than rank, and nobler
aspirations than the accumulation of wealth. He was a true
gentleman in manners and sentiment; brave, honourable, generous;
easily led, yet capable of leading; easily persuaded, yet himself
persuasive; a most patient, resolute and energetic man. At
the age of twenty-two he was earning his living as a public
teacher of philosophy at the University of Paris. There
Xavier became the intimate friend and associate of Loyola, and
shortly afterwards he conducted the pilgrimage of the first
little band of proselytes to Rome.

When John III. of Portugal resolved to plant Christianity in
the Indian territories subject to his influence, Bobadilla was
first selected as his missionary; but being disabled by illness,
it was found necessary to make another selection, and Xavier was
chosen. Repairing his tattered cassock, and with no other
baggage than his breviary, he at once started for Lisbon and
embarked for the East. The ship in which he set sail for
Goa had the Governor on board, with a reinforcement of a thousand
men for the garrison of the place. Though a cabin was
placed at his disposal, Xavier slept on deck throughout the
voyage with his head on a coil of ropes, messing with the
sailors. By ministering to their wants, inventing innocent
sports for their amusement, and attending them in their sickness,
he wholly won their hearts, and they regarded him with
veneration.

Arrived at Goa, Xavier was shocked at the depravity of the
people, settlers as well as natives; for the former had imported
the vices without the restraints of civilization, and the latter
had only been too apt to imitate their bad example. Passing
along the streets of the city, sounding his handbell as he went,
he implored the people to send him their children to be
instructed. He shortly succeeded in collecting a large
number of scholars, whom he carefully taught day by day, at the
same time visiting the sick, the lepers, and the wretched of all
classes, with the object of assuaging their miseries, and
bringing them to the Truth. No cry of human suffering which
reached him was disregarded. Hearing of the degradation and
misery of the pearl fishers of Manaar, he set out to visit them,
and his bell again rang out the invitation of mercy. He
baptized and he taught, but the latter he could only do through
interpreters. His most eloquent teaching was his
ministration to the wants and the sufferings of the wretched.

On he went, his hand-bell sounding along the coast of Comorin,
among the towns and villages, the temples and the bazaars,
summoning the natives to gather about him and be
instructed. He had translations made of the Catechism, the
Apostles’ Creed, the Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer,
and some of the devotional offices of the Church.
Committing these to memory in their own tongue he recited them to
the children, until they had them by heart; after which he sent
them forth to teach the words to their parents and
neighbours. At Cape Comorin, he appointed thirty teachers,
who under himself presided over thirty Christian Churches, though
the Churches were but humble, in most cases consisting only of a
cottage surmounted by a cross. Thence he passed to
Travancore, sounding his way from village to village, baptizing
until his hands dropped with weariness, and repeating his
formulas until his voice became almost inaudible. According
to his own account, the success of his mission surpassed his
highest expectations. His pure, earnest, and beautiful
life, and the irresistible eloquence of his deeds, made converts
wherever he went; and by sheer force of sympathy, those who saw
him and listened to him insensibly caught a portion of his
ardour.

Burdened with the thought that “the harvest is great and
the labourers are few,” Xavier next sailed to Malacca and
Japan, where he found himself amongst entirely new races speaking
other tongues. The most that he could do here was to weep
and pray, to smooth the pillow and watch by the sick-bed,
sometimes soaking the sleeve of his surplice in water, from which
to squeeze out a few drops and baptize the dying. Hoping
all things, and fearing nothing, this valiant soldier of the
truth was borne onward throughout by faith and energy.
“Whatever form of death or torture,” said he,
“awaits me, I am ready to suffer it ten thousand times for
the salvation of a single soul.” He battled with
hunger, thirst, privations and dangers of all kinds, still
pursuing his mission of love, unresting and unwearying. At
length, after eleven years’ labour, this great good man,
while striving to find a way into China, was stricken with fever
in the Island of Sanchian, and there received his crown of
glory. A hero of nobler mould, more pure, self-denying, and
courageous, has probably never trod this earth.

Other missionaries have followed Xavier in the same field of
work, such as Schwartz, Carey, and Marshman in India; Gutzlaff
and Morrison in China; Williams in the South Seas; Campbell,
Moffatt and Livingstone in Africa. John Williams, the
martyr of Erromanga, was originally apprenticed to a furnishing
ironmonger. Though considered a dull boy, he was handy at
his trade, in which he acquired so much skill that his master
usually entrusted him with any blacksmiths work that required the
exercise of more than ordinary care. He was also fond of
bell-hanging and other employments which took him away from the
shop. A casual sermon which he heard gave his mind a
serious bias, and he became a Sunday-school teacher. The
cause of missions having been brought under his notice at some of
his society’s meetings, he determined to devote himself to
this work. His services were accepted by the London
Missionary Society; and his master allowed him to leave the
ironmonger’s shop before the expiry of his
indentures. The islands of the Pacific Ocean were the
principal scene of his labours—more particularly Huahine in
Tahiti, Raiatea, and Rarotonga. Like the Apostles he worked
with his hands,—at blacksmith work, gardening,
shipbuilding; and he endeavoured to teach the islanders the art
of civilised life, at the same time that he instructed them in
the truths of religion. It was in the course of his
indefatigable labours that he was massacred by savages on the
shore of Erromanga—none worthier than he to wear the
martyr’s crown.

The career of Dr. Livingstone is one of the most interesting
of all. He has told the story of his life in that modest
and unassuming manner which is so characteristic of the man
himself. His ancestors were poor but honest Highlanders,
and it is related of one of them, renowned in his district for
wisdom and prudence, that when on his death-bed he called his
children round him and left them these words, the only legacy he
had to bequeath—“In my life-time,” said he,
“I have searched most carefully through all the traditions
I could find of our family, and I never could discover that there
was a dishonest man among our forefathers: if, therefore, any of
you or any of your children should take to dishonest ways, it
will not be because it runs in our blood; it does not belong to
you: I leave this precept with you—Be honest.”
At the age of ten Livingstone was sent to work in a cotton
factory near Glasgow as a “piecer.” With part
of his first week’s wages he bought a Latin grammar, and
began to learn that language, pursuing the study for years at a
night school. He would sit up conning his lessons till
twelve or later, when not sent to bed by his mother, for he had
to be up and at work in the factory every morning by six.
In this way he plodded through Virgil and Horace, also reading
extensively all books, excepting novels, that came in his way,
but more especially scientific works and books of travels.
He occupied his spare hours, which were but few, in the pursuit
of botany, scouring the neighbourhood to collect plants. He
even carried on his reading amidst the roar of the factory
machinery, so placing the book upon the spinning jenny which he
worked that he could catch sentence after sentence as he passed
it. In this way the persevering youth acquired much useful
knowledge; and as he grew older, the desire possessed him of
becoming a missionary to the heathen. With this object he
set himself to obtain a medical education, in order the better to
be qualified for the work. He accordingly economised his
earnings, and saved as much money as enabled him to support
himself while attending the Medical and Greek classes, as well as
the Divinity Lectures, at Glasgow, for several winters, working
as a cotton spinner during the remainder of each year. He
thus supported himself, during his college career, entirely by
his own earnings as a factory workman, never having received a
farthing of help from any other source. “Looking back
now,” he honestly says, “at that life of toil, I
cannot but feel thankful that it formed such a material part of
my early education; and, were it possible, I should like to begin
life over again in the same lowly style, and to pass through the
same hardy training.” At length he finished his
medical curriculum, wrote his Latin thesis, passed his
examinations, and was admitted a licentiate of the Faculty of
Physicians and Surgeons. At first he thought of going to
China, but the war then waging with that country prevented his
following out the idea; and having offered his services to the
London Missionary Society, he was by them sent out to Africa,
which he reached in 1840. He had intended to proceed to
China by his own efforts; and he says the only pang he had in
going to Africa at the charge of the London Missionary Society
was, because “it was not quite agreeable to one accustomed
to work his own way to become, in a manner, dependent upon
others.” Arrived in Africa he set to work with great
zeal. He could not brook the idea of merely entering upon
the labours of others, but cut out a large sphere of independent
work, preparing himself for it by undertaking manual labour in
building and other handicraft employment, in addition to
teaching, which, he says, “made me generally as much
exhausted and unfit for study in the evenings as ever I had been
when a cotton-spinner.” Whilst labouring amongst the
Bechuanas, he dug canals, built houses, cultivated fields, reared
cattle, and taught the natives to work as well as worship.
When he first started with a party of them on foot upon a long
journey, he overheard their observations upon his appearance and
powers—“He is not strong,” said they; “he
is quite slim, and only appears stout because he puts himself
into those bags (trowsers): he will soon knock up.”
This caused the missionary’s Highland blood to rise, and
made him despise the fatigue of keeping them all at the top of
their speed for days together, until he heard them expressing
proper opinions of his pedestrian powers. What he did in
Africa, and how he worked, may be learnt from his own
‘Missionary Travels,’ one of the most fascinating
books of its kind that has ever been given to the public.
One of his last known acts is thoroughly characteristic of the
man. The ‘Birkenhead’ steam launch, which he
took out with him to Africa, having proved a failure, he sent
home orders for the construction of another vessel at an
estimated cost of 2000l. This sum he proposed to
defray out of the means which he had set aside for his children
arising from the profits of his books of travels.
“The children must make it up themselves,” was in
effect his expression in sending home the order for the
appropriation of the money.

The career of John Howard was throughout a striking
illustration of the same power of patient purpose. His
sublime life proved that even physical weakness could remove
mountains in the pursuit of an end recommended by duty. The
idea of ameliorating the condition of prisoners engrossed his
whole thoughts and possessed him like a passion; and no toil, nor
danger, nor bodily suffering could turn him from that great
object of his life. Though a man of no genius and but
moderate talent, his heart was pure and his will was
strong. Even in his own time he achieved a remarkable
degree of success; and his influence did not die with him, for it
has continued powerfully to affect not only the legislation of
England, but of all civilised nations, down to the present
hour.

Jonas Hanway was another of the many patient and persevering
men who have made England what it is—content simply to do
with energy the work they have been appointed to do, and go to
their rest thankfully when it is done—

“Leaving no memorial but a world
Made better by their lives.”

He was born in 1712, at Portsmouth, where his father, a
storekeeper in the dockyard, being killed by an accident, he was
left an orphan at an early age. His mother removed with her
children to London, where she had them put to school, and
struggled hard to bring them up respectably. At seventeen
Jonas was sent to Lisbon to be apprenticed to a merchant, where
his close attention to business, his punctuality, and his strict
honour and integrity, gained for him the respect and esteem of
all who knew him. Returning to London in 1743, he accepted
the offer of a partnership in an English mercantile house at St.
Petersburg engaged in the Caspian trade, then in its
infancy. Hanway went to Russia for the purpose of extending
the business; and shortly after his arrival at the capital he set
out for Persia, with a caravan of English bales of cloth making
twenty carriage loads. At Astracan he sailed for Astrabad,
on the south-eastern shore of the Caspian; but he had scarcely
landed his bales, when an insurrection broke out, his goods were
seized, and though he afterwards recovered the principal part of
them, the fruits of his enterprise were in a great measure
lost. A plot was set on foot to seize himself and his
party; so he took to sea and, after encountering great perils,
reached Ghilan in safety. His escape on this occasion gave
him the first idea of the words which he afterwards adopted as
the motto of his life—“Never
Despair.” He afterwards resided in St. Petersburg
for five years, carrying on a prosperous business. But a
relative having left him some property, and his own means being
considerable, he left Russia, and arrived in his native country
in 1755. His object in returning to England was, as he
himself expressed it, “to consult his own health (which was
extremely delicate), and do as much good to himself and others as
he was able.” The rest of his life was spent in deeds
of active benevolence and usefulness to his fellow men. He
lived in a quiet style, in order that he might employ a larger
share of his income in works of benevolence. One of the
first public improvements to which he devoted himself was that of
the highways of the metropolis, in which he succeeded to a large
extent. The rumour of a French invasion being prevalent in
1755, Mr. Hanway turned his attention to the best mode of keeping
up the supply of seamen. He summoned a meeting of merchants
and shipowners at the Royal Exchange, and there proposed to them
to form themselves into a society for fitting out landsmen
volunteers and boys, to serve on board the king’s
ships. The proposal was received with enthusiasm: a society
was formed, and officers were appointed, Mr. Hanway directing its
entire operations. The result was the establishment in 1756
of The Marine Society, an institution which has proved of much
national advantage, and is to this day of great and substantial
utility. Within six years from its formation, 5451 boys and
4787 landsmen volunteers had been trained and fitted out by the
society and added to the navy, and to this day it is in active
operation, about 600 poor boys, after a careful education, being
annually apprenticed as sailors, principally in the merchant
service.

Mr. Hanway devoted the other portions of his spare time to
improving or establishing important public institutions in the
metropolis. From an early period he took an active interest
in the Foundling Hospital, which had been started by Thomas Coram
many years before, but which, by encouraging parents to abandon
their children to the charge of a charity, was threatening to do
more harm than good. He determined to take steps to stem
the evil, entering upon the work in the face of the fashionable
philanthropy of the time; but by holding to his purpose he
eventually succeeded in bringing the charity back to its proper
objects; and time and experience have proved that he was
right. The Magdalen Hospital was also established in a
great measure through Mr. Hanway’s exertions. But his
most laborious and persevering efforts were in behalf of the
infant parish poor. The misery and neglect amidst which the
children of the parish poor then grew up, and the mortality which
prevailed amongst them, were frightful; but there was no
fashionable movement on foot to abate the suffering, as in the
case of the foundlings. So Jonas Hanway summoned his
energies to the task. Alone and unassisted he first
ascertained by personal inquiry the extent of the evil. He
explored the dwellings of the poorest classes in London, and
visited the poorhouse sick wards, by which he ascertained the
management in detail of every workhouse in and near the
metropolis. He next made a journey into France and through
Holland, visiting the houses for the reception of the poor, and
noting whatever he thought might be adopted at home with
advantage. He was thus employed for five years; and on his
return to England he published the results of his
observations. The consequence was that many of the
workhouses were reformed and improved. In 1761 he obtained
an Act obliging every London parish to keep an annual register of
all the infants received, discharged, and dead; and he took care
that the Act should work, for he himself superintended its
working with indefatigable watchfulness. He went about from
workhouse to workhouse in the morning, and from one member of
parliament to another in the afternoon, for day after day, and
for year after year, enduring every rebuff, answering every
objection, and accommodating himself to every humour. At
length, after a perseverance hardly to be equalled, and after
nearly ten years’ labour, he obtained another Act, at his
sole expense (7 Geo. III. c. 39), directing that all parish
infants belonging to the parishes within the bills of mortality
should not be nursed in the workhouses, but be sent to nurse a
certain number of miles out of town, until they were six years
old, under the care of guardians to be elected triennially.
The poor people called this “the Act for keeping children
alive;” and the registers for the years which followed its
passing, as compared with those which preceded it, showed that
thousands of lives had been preserved through the judicious
interference of this good and sensible man.

Wherever a philanthropic work was to be done in London, be
sure that Jonas Hanway’s hand was in it. One of the
first Acts for the protection of chimney-sweepers’ boys was
obtained through his influence. A destructive fire at
Montreal, and another at Bridgetown, Barbadoes, afforded him the
opportunity for raising a timely subscription for the relief of
the sufferers. His name appeared in every list, and his
disinterestedness and sincerity were universally
recognized. But he was not suffered to waste his little
fortune entirely in the service of others. Five leading
citizens of London, headed by Mr. Hoare, the banker, without Mr.
Hanway’s knowledge, waited on Lord Bute, then prime
minister, in a body, and in the names of their fellow-citizens
requested that some notice might be taken of this good
man’s disinterested services to his country. The
result was, his appointment shortly after, as one of the
commissioners for victualling the navy.

Towards the close of his life Mr. Hanway’s health became
very feeble, and although he found it necessary to resign his
office at the Victualling Board, he could not be idle; but
laboured at the establishment of Sunday Schools,—a movement
then in its infancy,—or in relieving poor blacks, many of
whom wandered destitute about the streets of the
metropolis,—or, in alleviating the sufferings of some
neglected and destitute class of society. Notwithstanding
his familiarity with misery in all its shapes, he was one of the
most cheerful of beings; and, but for his cheerfulness he could
never, with so delicate a frame, have got through so vast an
amount of self-imposed work. He dreaded nothing so much as
inactivity. Though fragile, he was bold and indefatigable;
and his moral courage was of the first order. It may be
regarded as a trivial matter to mention that he was the first who
ventured to walk the streets of London with an umbrella over his
head. But let any modern London merchant venture to walk
along Cornhill in a peaked Chinese hat, and he will find it takes
some degree of moral courage to persevere in it. After
carrying an umbrella for thirty years, Mr. Hanway saw the article
at length come into general use.

Hanway was a man of strict honour, truthfulness, and
integrity; and every word he said might be relied upon. He
had so great a respect, amounting almost to a reverence, for the
character of the honest merchant, that it was the only subject
upon which he was ever seduced into a eulogium. He strictly
practised what he professed, and both as a merchant, and
afterwards as a commissioner for victualling the navy, his
conduct was without stain. He would not accept the
slightest favour of any sort from a contractor; and when any
present was sent to him whilst at the Victualling Office, he
would politely return it, with the intimation that “he had
made it a rule not to accept anything from any person engaged
with the office.” When he found his powers failing,
he prepared for death with as much cheerfulness as he would have
prepared himself for a journey into the country. He sent
round and paid all his tradesmen, took leave of his friends,
arranged his affairs, had his person neatly disposed of, and
parted with life serenely and peacefully in his 74th year.
The property which he left did not amount to two thousand pounds,
and, as he had no relatives who wanted it, he divided it amongst
sundry orphans and poor persons whom he had befriended during his
lifetime. Such, in brief, was the beautiful life of Jonas
Hanway,—as honest, energetic, hard-working, and
true-hearted a man as ever lived.

The life of Granville Sharp is another striking example of the
same power of individual energy—a power which was
afterwards transfused into the noble band of workers in the cause
of Slavery Abolition, prominent among whom were Clarkson,
Wilberforce, Buxton, and Brougham. But, giants though these
men were in this cause, Granville Sharp was the first, and
perhaps the greatest of them all, in point of perseverance,
energy, and intrepidity. He began life as apprentice to a
linen-draper on Tower Hill; but, leaving that business after his
apprenticeship was out, he next entered as a clerk in the
Ordnance Office; and it was while engaged in that humble
occupation that he carried on in his spare hours the work of
Negro Emancipation. He was always, even when an apprentice,
ready to undertake any amount of volunteer labour where a useful
purpose was to be served. Thus, while learning the
linen-drapery business, a fellow apprentice who lodged in the
same house, and was a Unitarian, led him into frequent
discussions on religious subjects. The Unitarian youth
insisted that Granville’s Trinitarian misconception of
certain passages of Scripture arose from his want of acquaintance
with the Greek tongue; on which he immediately set to work in his
evening hours, and shortly acquired an intimate knowledge of
Greek. A similar controversy with another
fellow-apprentice, a Jew, as to the interpretation of the
prophecies, led him in like manner to undertake and overcome the
difficulties of Hebrew.

But the circumstance which gave the bias and direction to the
main labours of his life originated in his generosity and
benevolence. His brother William, a surgeon in Mincing
Lane, gave gratuitous advice to the poor, and amongst the
numerous applicants for relief at his surgery was a poor African
named Jonathan Strong. It appeared that the negro had been
brutally treated by his master, a Barbadoes lawyer then in
London, and became lame, almost blind, and unable to work; on
which his owner, regarding him as of no further value as a
chattel, cruelly turned him adrift into the streets to
starve. This poor man, a mass of disease, supported himself
by begging for a time, until he found his way to William Sharp,
who gave him some medicine, and shortly after got him admitted to
St. Bartholomew’s hospital, where he was cured. On
coming out of the hospital, the two brothers supported the negro
in order to keep him off the streets, but they had not the least
suspicion at the time that any one had a claim upon his
person. They even succeeded in obtaining a situation for
Strong with an apothecary, in whose service he remained for two
years; and it was while he was attending his mistress behind a
hackney coach, that his former owner, the Barbadoes lawyer,
recognized him, and determined to recover possession of the
slave, again rendered valuable by the restoration of his
health. The lawyer employed two of the Lord Mayor’s
officers to apprehend Strong, and he was lodged in the Compter,
until he could be shipped off to the West Indies. The
negro, bethinking him in his captivity of the kind services which
Granville Sharp had rendered him in his great distress some years
before, despatched a letter to him requesting his help.
Sharp had forgotten the name of Strong, but he sent a messenger
to make inquiries, who returned saying that the keepers denied
having any such person in their charge. His suspicions were
roused, and he went forthwith to the prison, and insisted upon
seeing Jonathan Strong. He was admitted, and recognized the
poor negro, now in custody as a recaptured slave. Mr. Sharp
charged the master of the prison at his own peril not to deliver
up Strong to any person whatever, until he had been carried
before the Lord Mayor, to whom Sharp immediately went, and
obtained a summons against those persons who had seized and
imprisoned Strong without a warrant. The parties appeared
before the Lord Mayor accordingly, and it appeared from the
proceedings that Strong’s former master had already sold
him to a new one, who produced the bill of sale and claimed the
negro as his property. As no charge of offence was made
against Strong, and as the Lord Mayor was incompetent to deal
with the legal question of Strong’s liberty or otherwise,
he discharged him, and the slave followed his benefactor out of
court, no one daring to touch him. The man’s owner
immediately gave Sharp notice of an action to recover possession
of his negro slave, of whom he declared he had been robbed.

About that time (1767), the personal liberty of the
Englishman, though cherished as a theory, was subject to grievous
infringements, and was almost daily violated. The
impressment of men for the sea service was constantly practised,
and, besides the press-gangs, there were regular bands of
kidnappers employed in London and all the large towns of the
kingdom, to seize men for the East India Company’s
service. And when the men were not wanted for India, they
were shipped off to the planters in the American colonies.
Negro slaves were openly advertised for sale in the London and
Liverpool newspapers. Rewards were offered for recovering
and securing fugitive slaves, and conveying them down to certain
specified ships in the river.

The position of the reputed slave in England was undefined and
doubtful. The judgments which had been given in the courts
of law were fluctuating and various, resting on no settled
principle. Although it was a popular belief that no slave
could breathe in England, there were legal men of eminence who
expressed a directly contrary opinion. The lawyers to whom
Mr. Sharp resorted for advice, in defending himself in the action
raised against him in the case of Jonathan Strong, generally
concurred in this view, and he was further told by Jonathan
Strong’s owner, that the eminent Lord Chief Justice
Mansfield, and all the leading counsel, were decidedly of opinion
that the slave, by coming into England, did not become free, but
might legally be compelled to return again to the
plantations. Such information would have caused despair in
a mind less courageous and earnest than that of Granville Sharp;
but it only served to stimulate his resolution to fight the
battle of the negroes’ freedom, at least in England.
“Forsaken,” he said, “by my professional
defenders, I was compelled, through the want of regular legal
assistance, to make a hopeless attempt at self-defence, though I
was totally unacquainted either with the practice of the law or
the foundations of it, having never opened a law book (except the
Bible) in my life, until that time, when I most reluctantly
undertook to search the indexes of a law library, which my
bookseller had lately purchased.”

The whole of his time during the day was occupied with the
business of the ordnance department, where he held the most
laborious post in the office; he was therefore under the
necessity of conducting his new studies late at night or early in
the morning. He confessed that he was himself becoming a
sort of slave. Writing to a clerical friend to excuse
himself for delay in replying to a letter, he said, “I
profess myself entirely incapable of holding a literary
correspondence. What little time I have been able to save
from sleep at night, and early in the morning, has been
necessarily employed in the examination of some points of law,
which admitted of no delay, and yet required the most diligent
researches and examination in my study.”

Mr. Sharp gave up every leisure moment that he could command
during the next two years, to the close study of the laws of
England affecting personal liberty,—wading through an
immense mass of dry and repulsive literature, and making extracts
of all the most important Acts of Parliament, decisions of the
courts, and opinions of eminent lawyers, as he went along.
In this tedious and protracted inquiry he had no instructor, nor
assistant, nor adviser. He could not find a single lawyer
whose opinion was favourable to his undertaking. The
results of his inquiries were, however, as gratifying to himself,
as they were surprising to the gentlemen of the law.
“God be thanked,” he wrote, “there is nothing
in any English law or statute—at least that I am able to
find out—that can justify the enslaving of
others.” He had planted his foot firm, and now he
doubted nothing. He drew up the result of his studies in a
summary form; it was a plain, clear, and manly statement,
entitled, ‘On the Injustice of Tolerating Slavery in
England;’ and numerous copies, made by himself, were
circulated by him amongst the most eminent lawyers of the
time. Strong’s owner, finding the sort of man he had
to deal with, invented various pretexts for deferring the suit
against Sharp, and at length offered a compromise, which was
rejected. Granville went on circulating his manuscript
tract among the lawyers, until at length those employed against
Jonathan Strong were deterred from proceeding further, and the
result was, that the plaintiff was compelled to pay treble costs
for not bringing forward his action. The tract was then
printed in 1769.

In the mean time other cases occurred of the kidnapping of
negroes in London, and their shipment to the West Indies for
sale. Wherever Sharp could lay hold of any such case, he at
once took proceedings to rescue the negro. Thus the wife of
one Hylas, an African, was seized, and despatched to Barbadoes;
on which Sharp, in the name of Hylas, instituted legal
proceedings against the aggressor, obtained a verdict with
damages, and Hylas’s wife was brought back to England
free.

Another forcible capture of a negro, attended with great
cruelty, having occurred in 1770, he immediately set himself on
the track of the aggressors. An African, named Lewis, was
seized one dark night by two watermen employed by the person who
claimed the negro as his property, dragged into the water,
hoisted into a boat, where he was gagged, and his limbs were
tied; and then rowing down river, they put him on board a ship
bound for Jamaica, where he was to be sold for a slave upon his
arrival in the island. The cries of the poor negro had,
however, attracted the attention of some neighbours; one of whom
proceeded direct to Mr. Granville Sharp, now known as the
negro’s friend, and informed him of the outrage.
Sharp immediately got a warrant to bring back Lewis, and he
proceeded to Gravesend, but on arrival there the ship had sailed
for the Downs. A writ of Habeas Corpus was obtained, sent
down to Spithead, and before the ship could leave the shores of
England the writ was served. The slave was found chained to
the main-mast bathed in tears, casting mournful looks on the land
from which he was about to be torn. He was immediately
liberated, brought back to London, and a warrant was issued
against the author of the outrage. The promptitude of head,
heart, and hand, displayed by Mr. Sharp in this transaction could
scarcely have been surpassed, and yet he accused himself of
slowness. The case was tried before Lord
Mansfield—whose opinion, it will be remembered, had already
been expressed as decidedly opposed to that entertained by
Granville Sharp. The judge, however, avoided bringing the
question to an issue, or offering any opinion on the legal
question as to the slave’s personal liberty or otherwise,
but discharged the negro because the defendant could bring no
evidence that Lewis was even nominally his property.

The question of the personal liberty of the negro in England
was therefore still undecided; but in the mean time Mr. Sharp
continued steady in his benevolent course, and by his
indefatigable exertions and promptitude of action, many more were
added to the list of the rescued. At length the important
case of James Somerset occurred; a case which is said to have
been selected, at the mutual desire of Lord Mansfield and Mr.
Sharp, in order to bring the great question involved to a clear
legal issue. Somerset had been brought to England by his
master, and left there. Afterwards his master sought to
apprehend him and send him off to Jamaica, for sale. Mr.
Sharp, as usual, at once took the negro’s case in hand, and
employed counsel to defend him. Lord Mansfield intimated
that the case was of such general concern, that he should take
the opinion of all the judges upon it. Mr. Sharp now felt
that he would have to contend with all the force that could be
brought against him, but his resolution was in no wise
shaken. Fortunately for him, in this severe struggle, his
exertions had already begun to tell: increasing interest was
taken in the question, and many eminent legal gentlemen openly
declared themselves to be upon his side.

The cause of personal liberty, now at stake, was fairly tried
before Lord Mansfield, assisted by the three justices,—and
tried on the broad principle of the essential and constitutional
right of every man in England to the liberty of his person,
unless forfeited by the law. It is unnecessary here to
enter into any account of this great trial; the arguments
extended to a great length, the cause being carried over to
another term,—when it was adjourned and
re-adjourned,—but at length judgment was given by Lord
Mansfield, in whose powerful mind so gradual a change had been
worked by the arguments of counsel, based mainly on Granville
Sharp’s tract, that he now declared the court to be so
clearly of one opinion, that there was no necessity for referring
the case to the twelve judges. He then declared that the
claim of slavery never can be supported; that the power claimed
never was in use in England, nor acknowledged by the law;
therefore the man James Somerset must be discharged. By
securing this judgment Granville Sharp effectually abolished the
Slave Trade until then carried on openly in the streets of
Liverpool and London. But he also firmly established the
glorious axiom, that as soon as any slave sets his foot on
English ground, that moment he becomes free; and there can be no
doubt that this great decision of Lord Mansfield was mainly owing
to Mr. Sharp’s firm, resolute, and intrepid prosecution of
the cause from the beginning to the end.

It is unnecessary further to follow the career of Granville
Sharp. He continued to labour indefatigably in all good
works. He was instrumental in founding the colony of Sierra
Leone as an asylum for rescued negroes. He laboured to
ameliorate the condition of the native Indians in the American
colonies. He agitated the enlargement and extension of the
political rights of the English people; and he endeavoured to
effect the abolition of the impressment of seamen.
Granville held that the British seamen, as well as the African
negro, was entitled to the protection of the law; and that the
fact of his choosing a seafaring life did not in any way cancel
his rights and privileges as an Englishman—first amongst
which he ranked personal freedom. Mr. Sharp also laboured,
but ineffectually, to restore amity between England and her
colonies in America; and when the fratricidal war of the American
Revolution was entered on, his sense of integrity was so
scrupulous that, resolving not in any way to be concerned in so
unnatural a business, he resigned his situation at the Ordnance
Office.

To the last he held to the great object of his life—the
abolition of slavery. To carry on this work, and organize
the efforts of the growing friends of the cause, the Society for
the Abolition of Slavery was founded, and new men, inspired by
Sharp’s example and zeal, sprang forward to help him.
His energy became theirs, and the self-sacrificing zeal in which
he had so long laboured single-handed, became at length
transfused into the nation itself. His mantle fell upon
Clarkson, upon Wilberforce, upon Brougham, and upon Buxton, who
laboured as he had done, with like energy and stedfastness of
purpose, until at length slavery was abolished throughout the
British dominions. But though the names last mentioned may
be more frequently identified with the triumph of this great
cause, the chief merit unquestionably belongs to Granville
Sharp. He was encouraged by none of the world’s
huzzas when he entered upon his work. He stood alone,
opposed to the opinion of the ablest lawyers and the most rooted
prejudices of the times; and alone he fought out, by his single
exertions, and at his individual expense, the most memorable
battle for the constitution of this country and the liberties of
British subjects, of which modern times afford a record.
What followed was mainly the consequence of his indefatigable
constancy. He lighted the torch which kindled other minds,
and it was handed on until the illumination became complete.

Before the death of Granville Sharp, Clarkson had already
turned his attention to the question of Negro Slavery. He
had even selected it for the subject of a college Essay; and his
mind became so possessed by it that he could not shake it
off. The spot is pointed out near Wade’s Mill, in
Hertfordshire, where, alighting from his horse one day, he sat
down disconsolate on the turf by the road side, and after long
thinking, determined to devote himself wholly to the work.
He translated his Essay from Latin into English, added fresh
illustrations, and published it. Then fellow labourers
gathered round him. The Society for Abolishing the Slave
Trade, unknown to him, had already been formed, and when he heard
of it he joined it. He sacrificed all his prospects in life
to prosecute this cause. Wilberforce was selected to lead
in parliament; but upon Clarkson chiefly devolved the labour of
collecting and arranging the immense mass of evidence offered in
support of the abolition. A remarkable instance of
Clarkson’s sleuth-hound sort of perseverance may be
mentioned. The abettors of slavery, in the course of their
defence of the system, maintained that only such negroes as were
captured in battle were sold as slaves, and if not so sold, then
they were reserved for a still more frightful doom in their own
country. Clarkson knew of the slave-hunts conducted by the
slave-traders, but had no witnesses to prove it. Where was
one to be found? Accidentally, a gentleman whom he met on
one of his journeys informed him of a young sailor, in whose
company he had been about a year before, who had been actually
engaged in one of such slave-hunting expeditions. The
gentleman did not know his name, and could but indefinitely
describe his person. He did not know where he was, further
than that he belonged to a ship of war in ordinary, but at what
port he could not tell. With this mere glimmering of
information, Clarkson determined to produce this man as a
witness. He visited personally all the seaport towns where
ships in ordinary lay; boarded and examined every ship without
success, until he came to the very last port, and found
the young man, his prize, in the very last ship that
remained to be visited. The young man proved to be one of
his most valuable and effective witnesses.

During several years Clarkson conducted a correspondence with
upwards of four hundred persons, travelling more than thirty-five
thousand miles during the same time in search of evidence.
He was at length disabled and exhausted by illness, brought on by
his continuous exertions; but he was not borne from the field
until his zeal had fully awakened the public mind, and excited
the ardent sympathies of all good men on behalf of the slave.

After years of protracted struggle, the slave trade was
abolished. But still another great achievement remained to
be accomplished—the abolition of slavery itself throughout
the British dominions. And here again determined energy won
the day. Of the leaders in the cause, none was more
distinguished than Fowell Buxton, who took the position formerly
occupied by Wilberforce in the House of Commons. Buxton was
a dull, heavy boy, distinguished for his strong self-will, which
first exhibited itself in violent, domineering, and headstrong
obstinacy. His father died when he was a child; but
fortunately he had a wise mother, who trained his will with great
care, constraining him to obey, but encouraging the habit of
deciding and acting for himself in matters which might safely be
left to him. His mother believed that a strong will,
directed upon worthy objects, was a valuable manly quality if
properly guided, and she acted accordingly. When others
about her commented on the boy’s self-will, she would
merely say, “Never mind—he is self-willed
now—you will see it will turn out well in the
end.” Fowell learnt very little at school, and was
regarded as a dunce and an idler. He got other boys to do
his exercises for him, while he romped and scrambled about.
He returned home at fifteen, a great, growing, awkward lad, fond
only of boating, shooting, riding, and field
sports,—spending his time principally with the gamekeeper,
a man possessed of a good heart,—an intelligent observer of
life and nature, though he could neither read nor write.
Buxton had excellent raw material in him, but he wanted culture,
training, and development. At this juncture of his life,
when his habits were being formed for good or evil, he was
happily thrown into the society of the Gurney family,
distinguished for their fine social qualities not less than for
their intellectual culture and public-spirited
philanthropy. This intercourse with the Gurneys, he used
afterwards to say, gave the colouring to his life. They
encouraged his efforts at self-culture; and when he went to the
University of Dublin and gained high honours there, the animating
passion in his mind, he said, “was to carry back to them
the prizes which they prompted and enabled me to
win.” He married one of the daughters of the family,
and started in life, commencing as a clerk to his uncles Hanbury,
the London brewers. His power of will, which made him so
difficult to deal with as a boy, now formed the backbone of his
character, and made him most indefatigable and energetic in
whatever he undertook. He threw his whole strength and bulk
right down upon his work; and the great
giant—“Elephant Buxton” they called him, for he
stood some six feet four in height—became one of the most
vigorous and practical of men. “I could brew,”
he said, “one hour,—do mathematics the
next,—and shoot the next,—and each with my whole
soul.” There was invincible energy and determination
in whatever he did. Admitted a partner, he became the
active manager of the concern; and the vast business which he
conducted felt his influence through every fibre, and prospered
far beyond its previous success. Nor did he allow his mind
to lie fallow, for he gave his evenings diligently to
self-culture, studying and digesting Blackstone, Montesquieu, and
solid commentaries on English law. His maxims in reading
were, “never to begin a book without finishing it;”
“never to consider a book finished until it is
mastered;” and “to study everything with the whole
mind.”

When only thirty-two, Buxton entered parliament, and at once
assumed that position of influence there, of which every honest,
earnest, well-informed man is secure, who enters that assembly of
the first gentlemen in the world. The principal question to
which he devoted himself was the complete emancipation of the
slaves in the British colonies. He himself used to
attribute the interest which he early felt in this question to
the influence of Priscilla Gurney, one of the Earlham
family,—a woman of a fine intellect and warm heart,
abounding in illustrious virtues. When on her deathbed, in
1821, she repeatedly sent for Buxton, and urged him “to
make the cause of the slaves the great object of his
life.” Her last act was to attempt to reiterate the
solemn charge, and she expired in the ineffectual effort.
Buxton never forgot her counsel; he named one of his daughters
after her; and on the day on which she was married from his
house, on the 1st of August, 1834,—the day of Negro
emancipation—after his Priscilla had been manumitted from
her filial service, and left her father’s home in the
company of her husband, Buxton sat down and thus wrote to a
friend: “The bride is just gone; everything has passed off
to admiration; and there is not a slave in the British
colonies!”

Buxton was no genius—not a great intellectual leader nor
discoverer, but mainly an earnest, straightforward, resolute,
energetic man. Indeed, his whole character is most forcibly
expressed in his own words, which every young man might well
stamp upon his soul: “The longer I live,” said he,
“the more I am certain that the great difference between
men, between the feeble and the powerful, the great and the
insignificant, is energy—invincible
determination—a purpose once fixed, and then death or
victory! That quality will do anything that can be done in
this world; and no talents, no circumstances, no opportunities,
will make a two-legged creature a Man without it.”