Amos Huntingdon Part 11

"Oh, of course, auntie; but what has that to do with it?"

"A very great deal, dear boy. There may have been plenty of pluck shown by your friend Saunders on that occasion, but certainly no moral courage. Indeed _I_ should call his conduct decidedly immoral and cowardly."

"Cowardly, aunt!"

"Yes, cowardly, and mean. What right had he to use, or rather abuse, his superior skill as a pugilist for the purpose of carrying out an act of wrong-doing, and so to give pain and inflict loss on a plain working- man who had done him no harm, and had not had the same advantages of education as himself?"

"O aunt! you _are_ severe indeed."

"Not too severe, Walter. Saunders, you acknowledge, spoke and acted hastily and improperly at first, and he must have known that he had done so. Now the true moral courage would have been shown in his confessing that he was wrong, and expressing sorrow for it."

"What! to a bargee!"

"Yes, to a bargee, Walter. The world might have called him mean or cowardly for such a confession, but he would have shown true moral courage and n.o.bility for all that. To do what will give pain to others rather than incur the reproach of cowardice is really acting under the tyranny of a mean and slavish fear of man, though it may be a plucky thing in the eyes of the World."

"Ah, well, auntie, that is certainly a new view of things to me; and I suppose, then, you would apply the same test to duelling,--affairs of honour, as they used to be called?"

"Most certainly so, Walter. The duellist is one of the worst of moral cowards."

"Ah! but," cried the other, "to fight a duel used to be considered a very plucky thing, and it really was so, auntie."

"I don't doubt it, Walter; but it was a very immoral thing also.

Happily, public opinion has quite changed on the subject of duelling in our own country, and no doubt this has been owing indirectly to the spread of a truer religious tone amongst us. But what could be more monstrous than the prevailing feeling about duelling a few years ago, as I can well remember it in my young days. Why, duelling was at that time the highroad to a reputation for courage, and the man who refused to fight was frowned upon in good society, and in some places scouted from it. And--I say it with the deepest shame--my own s.e.x greatly helped to keep up this feeling; for the man who had fought the most duels was, with the ladies of his own neighbourhood, for the most part, an object of special admiration and favour.

"And yet, what n.o.bility or moral courage was there in the man who gave or accepted the challenge? Just think of what the consequences might be, and what the ground of the quarrel often was. A hasty word, or even a mere thoughtless breach of etiquette, would bring a challenge; and the person called out must not decline to meet his challenger, and give him 'satisfaction,' as it was called, in the shape of a pistol bullet, under pain of being cut by all his friends and acquaintances as a coward. So a man who was a husband and father would steal away from his home early in the morning, and go out to some lonely spot and meet the man whom he had offended, and be murdered in cold blood, and carried back a bleeding corpse to his miserable widow and fatherless children, just because he could not bear to be called a coward by the world. And to call this 'satisfaction!' The devil never palmed upon his poor deluded slaves a more transparent lie.

"Just think of two men, for instance, who had been friends for years, and in some unguarded moment had used intemperate language towards each other. Their companions tell them that this is a matter for giving and receiving satisfaction. So, in perfectly cold blood, with the most ceremonious politeness, the time and place of meeting are fixed by the seconds, who make all arrangements for their princ.i.p.als; and at the time appointed these two men stand face to face, with no malice, it may be, in either heart, feeling rather that there were faults on both sides, and at any rate no more wrong done or intended than a little mutual forbearance and concession might easily set right. And yet there they stand; at a given signal aim each at the other's heart; and, if that aim is true, each is murdered by his brother, and hurried in a moment red- handed into the awful presence of his Maker and Judge. And this used to be called 'satisfaction,' and the man who refused to give it was branded as a coward. And such was the tyranny of this fas.h.i.+on which Satan had imposed upon thinking and immortal men, that rarely indeed was a man found who had the true moral courage to refuse to fight a duel when challenged to do so."

"Ah then, auntie," said her nephew, "you would give the laurels for moral courage to the man who declined to fight."

"Certainly I would. Yes, I should have called him a truly n.o.ble and morally courageous man who, in those sad duelling days, should have declined a challenge on the ground that he feared G.o.d rather than man-- that he was willing to brave any earthly scorn and loss rather than be a cold-blooded murderer and do violence to his own conscience, and break the laws of his Creator and Redeemer. Such courage as this would be worth, in my eyes, a thousandfold more than all the 'pluck' in the world."

"Indeed, dear Aunt Kate," said Walter seriously, "I believe you are right; but can you give me any example of such moral courage?"

"Yes, dear boy, I think I can. I call to mind the case of an excellent Christian man; I rather think he was an officer in the army, and that made his position more trying, because in the days when duelling was the fas.h.i.+on, for an officer to refuse a challenge would have raised up the whole of the service against him. However, whether he was a military man or not, he was at any rate a true soldier of the Cross. By something he had done, or left undone, he had grievously offended a companion, and this friend or acquaintance of his called on him one morning, and, being a hot-tempered man, charged him with the supposed offence or affront, and working himself up into a violent pa.s.sion, declared that they must fight it out, and that he should send him a formal challenge. The other listened very quietly to this outburst of wrath, and then said calmly and deliberately, 'Fight you, must it be?

certainly, I must not decline your challenge. Yes, we will fight, and it shall be now; here, on this very spot, and with swords. I have my weapon close at hand.' Saying which, the good man pulled a small Bible out of his pocket, and holding it up before his companion, whose face had turned deadly pale, said, 'Here is my sword, the sword of the Spirit, the only weapon I intend to fight you with.' Telling a friend about it afterwards, the Christian man remarked, 'Never did poor creature look upon a Bible with more satisfaction and relief than my adversary did on mine.' But at the time when the angry man was speechless with astonishment, the other proceeded to say to him kindly, 'Friend, I have a dear wife and children. Now, would it have been right in me to meet you with pistols or other deadly weapons, and to have entailed lasting misery on those so dear to me, and so dependent on me, by either being myself your murderer or allowing you the opportunity of being mine?' That was true moral heroism, dear Walter, and it had its reward there and then, for the challenger at once grasped the hand of his companion and said, 'It would not have been right on your part; you have done just what it was your duty to do in declining my challenge, and I honour you for it. Let us part friends.'"

"Thank you, auntie; I admire your hero immensely. Now, pray give me another example, if you have one ready."

"I have read a curious story on this subject," replied Miss Huntingdon, "but I am not sure that it is a true one. I read it in some book years ago, but what the book was I cannot call to mind. However, the story may be true, and it may be useful to repeat it, as it just ill.u.s.trates my present point about moral courage in reference to duelling. The story is substantially this:--

"Some years ago, when a regiment was quartered for a time in one of our county towns, one of the officers of the regiment was challenged by a brother officer, and refused to accept the challenge. This refusal soon flew abroad over all the town and neighbourhood, and the consequence was that every one turned his back on the man who refused to fight. He was avoided by all of his own rank of both s.e.xes as a craven and a coward.

Of course, he felt this very keenly. To be shut out from houses where he used to be welcomed; to be looked at with scorn by his brother officers; to have not a word addressed to him by any one of them when they met him on parade or at mess; to be the object of ill-concealed contempt even to the common soldiers;--these things were burdens almost intolerable to a man who had any respect for his own character as a soldier. However, for a time he bore it patiently. At last he hit upon an expedient to prove to the world that he was no coward, which was undoubtedly original and convincing, though, certainly, by no means justifiable.

"A large evening party was being given to the officers of the regiment by some distinguished person in the town; a ball probably, for many ladies were present. While all were in the very midst and height of their amus.e.m.e.nt, suddenly the disgraced officer made his appearance among them in his dress uniform. How could this be? how came he there?

a.s.suredly no one had invited him. As he advanced into the middle of the brilliantly lighted room an empty s.p.a.ce was left for him, officers and ladies shrinking from him, as though his near approach brought defilement with it. Looking quietly round, he deliberately produced and held up a hand-grenade, as it was called--that is to say, a small bombsh.e.l.l--and, before any one of the astonished spectators could stop him, lighted a match at one of the wax-candles, and applied it to the fusee of the sh.e.l.l. A shower of sparks came rus.h.i.+ng from the hand- grenade, which would explode in a minute or two or even less. The consternation of the company was frightful, and a furious and general rush was made to the doors. As the guests dashed out of the room, some just caught sight of the officer who had brought in and lighted the sh.e.l.l standing calmly over it with his arms folded. A few moments more, all the company had vanished terror-stricken, and then a frightful explosion was heard. One or two of the officers hurried back with horror on their faces. The man who had been branded as a coward lay outstretched on the ground. He had thrown himself flat on the floor the instant the room was cleared; the fragments of the sh.e.l.l had flown over him, and he was almost entirely uninjured.

"His object in this extraordinary proceeding was to show his brother officers and the world generally that a man might refuse, from conscientious motives, to fight a duel and yet be no coward. I am not praising or approving of his conduct in taking such a dangerous course to prove his point; for he was endangering the lives of many as well as his own life, and nothing could justify that. But, if the story be true, it shows at least that a man may decline to do an act from a high sense of duty, so as to bring upon himself the reproach of cowardice, and yet may be a man of undoubted bravery after all. But I do not at all place this officer on my list of moral heroes. I trust, however, dear Walter, that our conversation on this subject will strengthen in you the conviction that the n.o.blest and truest courage is that high moral courage which enables a man to endure with patience any scorn, or loss, or blame, rather than deliberately do what he knows that his conscience and the Word of G.o.d condemn."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

AN EXPLOSION.

It must not be supposed that Walter was prepared to follow out his brother Amos's moral courage at once and in everything. He was quite willing to admire this high-toned courage, and was learning to be content that his brother should enjoy the praise for it which was his due. He also fully intended to follow in the same steps some day or other; but then no real and radical change had taken place in his heart and character, nor had he any deliberate desire to give up old habits which were dear to him, and adopt new ones which would involve considerable and sustained self-denial. So he contented himself for the present with being more kind to his brother, and more careful not to wound him by rash and unfeeling remarks.

One thing, however, in Amos's conduct sadly puzzled and annoyed him.

Knowing that his brother was well provided with money of his own, he used not unfrequently to borrow from him when his own allowance ran short, which it very often did. This borrowing from Amos used to be but rarely followed by any repayment; for he had been so fully indulged by his father when younger, that he had no idea, now that he was getting more from under his father's hand, of denying himself, or going without anything he might happen to fancy. At first he used to tell the trades- people in the neighbouring town, when he made any purchases, to put them down to his father; but to this after a while Mr Huntingdon decidedly objected--finding, as he did, that expense was no consideration to Walter in the choice of an article, provided his father had to bear the cost. So Walter was made to understand that he must make the liberal allowance which his father gave him _do_, and that there must be no more running up of bills in Mr Huntingdon's name. But such an arrangement was very galling to Walter, who had lived all his early boyhood under the impression that, as being his father's favourite son, he had only to express a wish, or to ask for or to order a thing, and he would have it as a matter of course. However, the squire stood firm in the matter.

Walter, he said, was old enough now to understand something of the value of money, and he must learn to cut his coat according to his cloth.

This coat, however, with Walter was usually of such exaggerated dimensions that his ordinary allowance of material would go only a small way towards completing it. Consequently he used to have recourse to Amos, who invariably helped him through with a loan--for Walter would never receive help from his brother except as a loan--Amos at the same time hinting now and then at the hope of a partial repayment. To this Walter would reply that his brother should have it all back, if he wished it, "one of these fine days;" but when such seasons of exceptionally fine monetary weather were likely to occur, Amos found it difficult to conjecture. A change, however, had now come over the elder brother, much to the annoyance and disgust of Walter. A decided refusal of a loan of money was accompanied by Amos with a remonstrance with his brother on his extravagance.

In a pet, Walter told Amos that he might keep his nasty sovereigns and s.h.i.+llings to buy toffee for dirty little boys and girls. He was much obliged to him for his advice, but he knew his own concerns best; and as for extravagance, it was better to put a little money into the tradesmen's pockets than h.o.a.rd it up like a stingy old miser, just to have the pleasure of saying, "See how rich I am."

To all this Amos made no reply at the time, but afterwards sent his brother a portion of the sum he wished to borrow, with a kind note, in which he said that Walter was welcome to this and to all other sums previously lent, as a free gift, but that for the future he could not lend him money beyond a few s.h.i.+llings occasionally, as he had a use for his own funds which made him unable to do for his brother what he had done for him in times past.

Partly touched at Amos's generosity, but more vexed at his present purpose respecting future loans, Walter was not disposed to look with a very favourable eye on his brother's money arrangements. What could he be wanting with so much? What could he be doing with it? There was nothing to show for it. If he had spent it in guns, or horses, or dogs, or travelling, or sight-seeing, Walter could have better acquiesced in the expenditure. But the money seemed to be wanted for something which, as far as he could see, turned out to be nothing. So his curiosity was considerably roused, and he resolved to find out, if he could, where his brother's spare cash went to.

Things were in this position, when one evening, as the whole family were seated on the lawn under some n.o.ble elms, enjoying the shade--for the weather had been exceedingly hot--a gentleman, well-known throughout the county for the interest he took in plans for doing good and alleviating the sorrows and sufferings of his poorer neighbours, called, and was invited by Mr Huntingdon to join his family on the lawn. "And now, my dear sir," said the squire, "I know you are out on some errand of benevolence. You are a grand worker yourself, and a grand giver too, so tell us what is your present charitable hobby, and we must try and give you a help, so that you may ride him easily."

"Thank you, Mr Huntingdon, with all my heart," said the other; "you are very kind. My hobby this time is a very robust animal, and will want a good deal of feeding if he is to keep up his strength. But to come to plain language, I am collecting subscriptions for a working-men's coffee-house in Redbury--a British Workman they call it. You know, I dare say, that two ruinous old houses of mine in the market-place are being pulled down. Now, I am going to give the ground which one of them stands on for the new coffee-house. It is a capital situation, just in the centre of the town. I shall want funds, however, for the erection of a new and suitable building, and also a few annual subscriptions to keep the establishment going and pay the expenses of management, as I don't suppose it will be self-supporting, at any rate not at first."

"Well," said the squire, "let me look at your subscription list, for I see you have one with you. Ah, good! it is very generous of you to put down your own name for so large a sum to the building fund, besides giving the land. Put me down then for fifty pounds, and an annual subscription of three guineas till the concern is self-supporting."

"May I look at the list?" asked Miss Huntingdon, when their visitor had expressed his thanks to her brother. Having glanced at it, she also signified her willingness to be a helper in the work, and gave the list to Walter to return to the gentleman.

As her nephew was giving back the subscription list, he paused for a moment to run his eye over the names of the contributors. "Ah!" he said, "I see your own sons down, Mr Johnson, for a guinea a piece. I wish I could afford to follow their example."

"Perhaps, after all, you can," said the gentleman, smiling. "I am sure it does young people good to practise a little self-denial in helping on a good cause like this."

"I don't doubt that, sir," replied Walter, "but I am ashamed to say that self-denial of that sort is not much in my line. But, then, I am not a man of independent fortune like my brother Amos here. Ask him, pray.

He has, or ought to have, lots of spare cash, and he is always on the look-out to be doing good with it." There was a tone of sarcasm in his voice which grated very painfully on Miss Huntingdon's ear. Amos coloured deeply, but made no remark.

"What say you, my young friend?" asked Mr Johnson, in a kindly voice, turning to him. "Your brother encourages me to hope that we may add your name to the list."

The young man, thus appealed to, looked uneasy and embarra.s.sed, and then, in a few moments, said in an undertone, "I am sorry that just now I am not in a position to add my name, but I shall be glad to do so when I am better able."

Mr Johnson did not press the matter, but shortly left, having first partaken of a little fruit which had been brought to him by the butler while the conversation about the subscriptions had been going on.

It has already been said that the old man Harry was a privileged servant of long standing, almost a portion of the estate, so that he was allowed little liberties which would not ordinarily have been permitted to one in his place. He had listened with burning cheeks and flas.h.i.+ng eyes to Walter's sneering remarks about his brother's wealth, and now lingered near the group, as he was removing a little table on which he had placed the fruit for Mr Johnson. There was a restlessness about his manner which Miss Huntingdon noticed and wondered at; but her attention was then drawn to Walter, who, lounging against a bench, said in a rather drawling voice, "I really wonder what some people do with their money.

For my part, I don't see what's the use of it except to be jolly with it yourself, and to make other people jolly with it.--Amos," he added abruptly, "what's up with you that you've become so very poor all of a sudden?"

To this Amos made no reply, but turned away to hide his vexation.

"My boy," said Mr Huntingdon, addressing his elder son, "I'm a little surprised myself that you should be at all hard up. I quite expected that you would have followed the example of Mr Johnson's sons, and have put down your name. I think you could have afforded it."

Still Amos did not reply, but seemed hesitating what to say. But here Walter broke in again. "I call it downright mean!" he exclaimed bitterly; "but he's getting meaner and meaner, that he is. What he does with his money n.o.body knows. I suppose he spends it in religious pocket-handkerchiefs and pious bed-quilts for the little n.i.g.g.e.rs in Africa, or something of the sort. At any rate, he has none to spare for those nearer home." He was about to say more, but happening to raise his eyes he was astonished to see the old butler, who had been slowly drawing nearer and nearer, raising his right arm, and looking at him almost fiercely, as though he were going to strike him.--"What's up now, Harry?" he cried; "is the black cat dead?"

The old man's appearance now attracted every one's attention. He had drawn himself up to his full height, and had turned so as to confront Mr Huntingdon, who was sitting with his sister by his side on a garden bench facing the house. His snow-white hair gave him ordinarily a venerable appearance, and this was now increased by the look of intense earnestness which glowed in his every feature. His back was to Amos, who, noticing that the old man was evidently about to speak under the pressure of some unusual excitement, half rose to his feet, but too late to stop old Harry's purpose.