Title: The Great Acceptance - The Life Story of F. N. Charrington
Author: Thorne, Guy, 1876-1923
Language: English
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THE GREAT ACCEPTANCE



[Illustration: (Hand written--Yours faithfully

Fredk. N. Charrington)

_From a pencil drawing by Edward Clifford_]          [_Frontispiece_]



  THE
  GREAT ACCEPTANCE

  THE LIFE STORY OF

  F. N. CHARRINGTON

  BY

  GUY THORNE

  AUTHOR OF
  "WHEN IT WAS DARK," "THE DRUNKARD," ETC.

  _WITH THIRTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS_

  SIXTH EDITION

  HODDER AND STOUGHTON

  LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO



_Printed in 1913_



  DEDICATION

  TO THE POOR OF THE EAST END
  AMONG WHOM MR. CHARRINGTON HAS
  LABOURED SO LONG



_Then shall the righteous man stand in great boldness before the face
of such as have afflicted him, and made no account of his labours._

_When they see it, they shall be troubled with terrible fear, and
shall be amazed at the strangeness of his salvation, so far beyond all
that they looked for._

_And they repenting and groaning for anguish of spirit shall say
within themselves, This was he whom we had sometimes in derision, and
a proverb of reproach:_

_We fools counted his life madness, and his end to be without honour:_

_How is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among
the saints!_--Wisdom of Solomon.



CONTENTS


  CHAPTER I
                                               PAGE

  THE GREAT ACCEPTANCE                            1


  CHAPTER II

  BEGINNINGS                                     32


  CHAPTER III

  MORE BEGINNINGS                                49


  CHAPTER IV

  DAVID AND JONATHAN                             83


  CHAPTER V

  THE BATTLE OF THE MUSIC HALLS                 104


  CHAPTER VI

  THE FIGHT ON THE LONDON COUNTY COUNCIL        135


  CHAPTER VII

  THE FIGHT FOR THE PURITY OF THE EAST END      153


  CHAPTER VIII

  FRUITION!                                     168


  CHAPTER IX

  THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE                     210


  CHAPTER X

  LORD OF THE MANOR OF OSEA                     239



ILLUSTRATIONS


                                     _To face page_

  FREDK. N. CHARRINGTON              _Frontispiece_

  THE BREWERY                                    10

  A VERY EARLY FAMILY GROUP                      22

  LOOKING OUT UPON LIFE                          38

  DAVID AND JONATHAN                             90

  CHARRINGTON'S MORAL MICROSCOPE                118

  FREDERICK CHARRINGTON IN 1912                 138

  MR. CHARRINGTON APPARENTLY SNUFFED OUT        142

  THE GREAT ASSEMBLY HALL                       196

  A CARTOON WHICH APPEARED IN _FUN_ DURING THE
  PEOPLE'S PALACE AGITATION                     219

  THE PIER, OSEA ISLAND, WITH MR. CHARRINGTON'S
  STEAMER, THE "ANNIE," APPROACHING             240

  THE SALTINGS, OSEA ISLAND                     240

  TREE POINT, OSEA ISLAND                       256



CHAPTER I

THE GREAT ACCEPTANCE


In the year 1882 the most popular novelist of his day wrote as follows
about the East End of London--

     "Two millions of people, or thereabouts, live in the East
     End of London. That seems a good-sized population for an
     utterly unknown town. They have no institutions of their own
     to speak of, no public buildings of any importance, no
     municipality, no gentry, no carriages, no soldiers, no
     picture-galleries, no theatres, no opera,--they have
     nothing. It is the fashion to believe they are all paupers,
     which is a foolish and mischievous belief, as we shall
     presently see. Probably there is no such spectacle in the
     whole world as that of this immense, neglected, forgotten
     great city of East London. It is even neglected by its own
     citizens, who have never yet perceived their abandoned
     condition. They are Londoners, it is true, but they have no
     part or share in London; its wealth, its splendours, its
     honours, exist not for them. They see nothing of any
     splendours; even the Lord Mayor's Show goeth westward: the
     City lies between them and the greatness of England. They
     are beyond the wards, and cannot become aldermen; the rich
     London merchants go north and south and west; but they go
     not east. Nobody goes east, no one wants to see the place;
     no one is curious about the way of life in the east. Books
     on London pass it over; it has little or no history; great
     men are not buried in its churchyards, which are not even
     ancient, and crowded by citizens as obscure as those who now
     breathe the upper air about them. If anything happens in the
     east, people at the other end have to stop and think before
     they can remember where the place may be."

It will be a somewhat startling reflection to many of us to realise
that Sir Walter Besant wrote _All Sorts and Conditions of Men_ thirty
years ago, and it is more profitable to inquire how true the words I
have just quoted are to-day. It is indubitable that a great
improvement has taken place. The East End has been "exploited" by many
other eminent writers, following in the footsteps of Sir Walter. It is
no longer true in the main to say that the East End of London is
wholly neglected: the pages of any decent book of reference will bear
witness to the innumerable philanthropic and religious missions which
have sprung up in the City of the Poor. Yet, to the average man and
woman of some place and position, both in London and in the country, I
venture to say that the East End is just as remote and visionary a
place as Suez.

As an average man myself--perhaps, owing to my profession as a writer,
having seen even more of life than the average man, and being endowed
with a rather eager curiosity and liking for new scenes--I had never
visited the East End, or been nearer to it than Liverpool Street
Station, until the early part of the present year.

About the time of which I speak certain facts came to my knowledge
about the work that was being done by Frederick Nicholas Charrington,
Honorary Superintendent of the Tower Hamlets Mission. It was in a
casual conversation with one of the great experts on inebriety that I
first even heard of Mr. Charrington's name. What I heard seemed rather
extraordinary and out of the way. From what was said, I suspected that
a strange personality, and one offering considerable interest to a
novelist, was hidden away--at least, as far as I was concerned--in the
East End of London.

It came to pass that from other sources I heard more of Mr.
Charrington, almost immediately afterwards.

I suppose every one knows how, when they have met with some new word,
some quotation, or name of a place, entirely fresh to them, they find
it cropping up on every possible occasion. Now, this, of course, is
not coincidence. It is merely that one's eyes have been opened.

I heard of the subject of this biography as conducting a work unique
in its scope and methods among the great charitable organisations of
London. I heard of him as being the owner of a sea-girt island not
more than forty-five miles away from London! and some vague story of
the sacrifice, made in his youth, of an enormous sum of money.

One does not hear of this sort of personality every day, and my
curiosity was immediately excited. Then, as chance would have it--or
who shall say that it was not some Higher Power than chance?--I made
the acquaintance of Mr. Charrington, chiefly through a novel dealing
with the subject of intemperance which I had recently published.

It is not necessary to say more about the genesis of this book, save
only that from all over the world the subject of it has constantly
received requests from people of every class to write his own
biography. Publishers have approached him also with the same proposal,
but he has consistently declined. In the event Mr. Charrington has
done me the honour to appoint me his biographer, and to place the
fullest information as to his career in my possession.

I have made personal experience of the work in the East End. I have
read through an enormous amount of documents, both printed and
written. I have interviewed and had long conversations with friends
and fellow-workers of Mr. Charrington, who have been associated with
him for forty years. And finally, I have lived with the man himself,
upon his island.

The first time that I ever went to the East End was upon a Sunday,
after lunch. I was sitting in my club in St. James' Street. After
breakfast, in the smoking-room I asked a man there how to get to the
Great Assembly Hall in the Mile End Road. His reply, which was prompt
and to the point, was, nevertheless, not exactly what I wanted. He
said, "Why, take a taxi-cab, of course," but I discovered that he knew
no more how to get to the place in question than I did. Shortly
afterwards, in my bedroom, I spoke to the head valet--a very old and
confidential servant of the club. He, at least, was able to give me
more detailed directions, but added, "If I may say so, sir, you will
have a rather unpleasant time of it among as nasty a lot of ruffians
as you'd find anywhere!"

What experiences I _did_ have upon this first visit, and upon
subsequent ones, will be related in their proper place in this picture
of F. N. Charrington, but the remarks of both member and servant
recalled very forcibly the passage I have printed from _All Sorts and
Conditions of Men_.

It is, then, to the East End, and to a series of incidents so rich in
drama, a time so breathlessly exciting, and at all times so strangely
seen in a light which is not of this world, that readers of this
memoir are coming with me. To many of them it will be as fresh and as
intensely interesting as it has been to me, and, as Thackeray indulged
in theatrical simile in the preface of _Vanity Fair_, let me also
announce the ringing up of the curtain upon as soul-stirring a drama
upon the boards of life in a city as, perhaps, it has ever been the
lot of a man to write.

You shall see the wars of the Powers and Principalities of the air
against the Angels of Light, you shall hear the menacing drums of the
legions of Evil, and the clear, clarion calls of the soldiers of God.
Nor shall there be wanting a pastoral interlude also, of a lonely
Island of Rest, where summer breezes blow among the trees, and there
is a murmur of many waters.

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

The Mile End Road, which is the great main thoroughfare through the
East End--from the City of London west, to the vast glades of Epping
Forest in Essex--has no more conspicuous an object than the vast
brewery of Messrs. Charrington & Head.

It stands up in the middle of the wide thoroughfare like some
Gibraltar rising from the human tide at its feet. It is a huge pile of
almost goblin masonry, with its colossal ladders, towers, and vast
receptacles for malt. It is surrounded by a high wall, and covers an
enormous expanse of ground. It hits the eye like a blow with its
vastness, its suggestion of mighty, vested interests, solidity, and
wealth. It dwarfs everything else in the neighbourhood.

On almost every public-house that one meets one reads in huge gilt
letters the words, "CHARRINGTON & CO.'S ENTIRE." If you go off the
main roads it is the same thing--every little public-house flaunts the
same legend. From the mighty portals of the brewery, day by day
throughout the year, a never-ending flood of alcohol is pouring, and
in those enormous vats who shall say how many souls have been
dissolved?

I quoted above from Sir Walter Besant's _All Sorts and Conditions of
Men_. The quotation was more _à-propos_ to commence this life than
most people are aware. The story of "Miss Messenger," the heiress to
the great East End brewery of "Messenger & Co." in the Mile End Road,
and how she went to live among the struggling millions of the East,
was inspired by the life story of Frederick N. Charrington. It was his
career that, in the first instance, made it possible for Sir Walter to
write one of the most popular novels of the last fifty years.

A great many people will remember the description in chapter four,
where the heiress of the brewery is taken over her own possession for
the first time in her life.

It is a singularly vivid picture Sir Walter has given us, and one
which is substantially true to-day.

     "The walk from Stepney Green to Messenger and Marsden's
     Brewery is not far. You turn to the left if your house is on
     one side, and to the right if it is on the other; then you
     pass a little way down one street, and a little way, turning
     again to the left, up another--a direction which will guide
     you quite clearly. You then find yourself before a great
     gateway, the portals of which are closed; beside it is a
     smaller door, at which, in a little lodge, sits one who
     guards the entrance.

     "Mr. Bunker nodded to the porter, and entered unchallenged.
     He led the way across a court to a sort of outer office.

     "'Here,' he said, 'is the book for the visitors' names. We
     have them from all countries: great lords and ladies;
     foreign princes; and all the brewers from Germany and
     America, who come to get a wrinkle. Write your own name in
     it too. Something, let me tell you, to have your name in
     such noble company.'"

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

     "'Ah! it's a shame for such a property to come to a girl--a
     girl of twenty-one. Thirteen acres it covers--think of that!
     Seven hundred people it employs, most of them married. Why,
     if it was only to see her own vats, you'd think she'd get
     off her luxurious pillows for once, and come here.'

     "They entered a great hall, remarkable, at first, for a
     curious smell, not offensive, but strong and rather pungent.
     In it stood half-a-dozen enormous vats, closed by wooden
     slides, like shutters, and fitting tightly. A man standing
     by opened one of these, and presently Angela was able to
     make out, through the volumes of steam, something bright
     going round, and a brown mess going with it.

     "'That is hops. Hops for the biggest Brewery, the richest,
     in all England. And all belonging to a girl, who, likely
     enough, doesn't drink more than a pint and a half a day.'

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

     "He led the way up-stairs into another great hall, where
     there was the grinding of machinery, and another smell,
     sweet and heavy.

     "'This is where we crush the malt,' said Mr. Bunker--'see!'
     He stopped, and picked out of a box a great handful of the
     newly-crushed malt. 'I suppose you thought it was roasted.
     Roasting, young lady,' he added with severity, 'is for
     Stout, not for Ale.'

     "Then he took her to another place, and showed her where the
     liquor stood to ferment; how it was cooled, how it passed
     from one vat to another, how it was stored and kept in vats;
     dwelling perpetually on the magnitude of the business, and
     the irony of fortune in conferring this great gift upon a
     girl.

     "'I know now,' she interrupted, 'what the place smells like.
     It is fusel oil.' They were standing on a floor of open iron
     bars, above a row of long covered vats, within which the
     liquor was working and fermenting. Every now and then there
     would be a heaving of the surface, and a quantity of malt
     would then move suddenly over.

     "'We are famous,' said Mr. Bunker, 'I say we, having been
     the confidential friend and adviser of the late Mr.
     Messenger, deceased; we are famous for our Stout; also for
     our Mild; and we are now reviving our Bitter, which we had
     partially neglected. We use the Artesian Well, which is four
     hundred feet deep, for our Stout, but the Company's water
     for our Ales; and our water rate is two thousand pounds a
     year. The Artesian Well gives the Ale a grey colour, which
     people don't like. Come into this room now,'--it was another
     great hall covered with sacks. 'Hops again, Miss Kennedy;
     now, that little lot is worth ten thousand
     pounds--ten--thousand--think of that; and it is all spoiled
     by the rain, and has to be thrown away. We think nothing of
     losing ten thousand pounds here, nothing at all!'--he
     snapped his fingers--'it is a mere trifle to the girl who
     sits at home and takes the profits.'

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

     "Then they went into more great halls, and up more stairs,
     and on to the roof, and saw more piles of sacks, more malt,
     and more hops. When they smelt the hops, it seemed as if
     their throats were tightened; when they smelt the
     fermentation, it seemed as if they were smelling fusel oil;
     when they smelt the plain crushed malt, it seemed as if they
     were getting swiftly, but sleepily, drunk. Everywhere and
     always the steam rolled backwards and forwards, and the
     grinding of the machinery went on, and the roaring of the
     furnaces; and the men went about to and fro at their work.
     They did not seem hard worked, nor were they pressed; their
     movements were leisurely, as if beer was not a thing to
     hurry; they were all rather pale of cheek, but fat and
     jolly, as if the beer was good and agreed with them. Some
     wore brown-paper caps, for it was a pretty draughty place;
     some went bareheaded, some wore the little round hat in
     fashion. And they went to another part, where men were
     rolling barrels about, as if they had been skittles, and
     here they saw vats holding three thousand barrels; and one
     thought of giant armies--say two hundred and fifty thousand
     thirsty Germans--beginning the Loot of London with one of
     these royal vats. And they went through stables, where
     hundreds of horses were stalled at nights, each as big as an
     elephant, and much more useful.

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

     "In one great room, where there was the biggest vat of all,
     a man brought them beer to taste; it was Messenger's Stout.
     Angela took her glass and put it to her lips with a strange
     emotion--she felt as if she would like a quiet place to sit
     down in and cry. The great place was hers--all hers--and
     this was the beer with which her mighty fortune had been
     made.

     "'Is it?' she asked, looking at the heavy foam of the
     frothing stout; 'is this Messenger's Entire?'

[Illustration: THE BREWERY

(This photograph was taken during the year 1912. Frederick
Charrington is the centre of the three small figures below)

                                               [_To face p. 10._]

     "'This is not Entire,' he said. 'You see, there's fashions
     in beer, same as in clothes; once it was all Cooper, now you
     never hear of Cooper. Then it was all Half-an'-arf--you
     never hear of any one ordering Half-an'-arf now. Then it was
     stout. Nothing would go down but Stout, which I recommend
     myself, and find it nourishing. Next, Bitter came in, and
     honest Stout was despised; now, we're all for Mild. As for
     Entire, why, bless my soul! Entire went out before I was
     born. Why, it was the Entire that made the fortune of the
     first Messenger that was--a poor little brewery he had, more
     than a hundred years ago, in this very place, because it was
     cheap for rent. In those days they used to brew strong Ale,
     Old and Strong; Stout, same as now; and Twopenny, which was
     small beer. And because the Old Ale was too Strong, and the
     Stout too dear, and the Twopenny too weak, the people used
     to mix them all three together, and they called them "Three
     Threads"; and you may fancy the trouble it was for the
     pot-boys to go to one cask after another, all day
     long--because they had no beer engines then. Well, what did
     Mr. Messenger do? He brewed a beer as strong as the Three
     Threads, and he called it Messenger's Entire Three Threads,
     meaning that here you had 'em all in one, and that's what
     made his fortune; and now, young lady, you've seen all I've
     got to show you, and we will go.'"

To a brewery identical with the one described in almost every respect,
owning hundreds of tied public-houses, producing the revenue of a
prince for its proprietors, Frederick Nicholas Charrington was heir.

He was born in the Bow Road, in the East End of London, on February 4,
1850, and is now, therefore, in the sixty-second year of his life.

A dear venerable old lady (Mrs. Pratt), still retained under Mr.
Charrington's roof, well remembers his mother, a deeply religious
woman, driving in a pony and chaise visiting the sick and needy, and
relieving them according to their several necessities, for miles round
the neighbourhood of the brewery. She always took with her a cordial
which was made up in her own home, and for which there was a great
demand from the poor, who regarded it as an infallible remedy for all
kinds of diseases.

Mrs. Pratt remembers carrying "Master Fred" in her arms when he was
about two years of age, and how excited he became when she took him to
see a balloon passing over what was then known as Charrington's Park,
open fields by which the brewery was then surrounded, but which have
long since been built over.

She also remembers Master Fred at nine years of age, taking a bundle
of bank notes from his father's table in the counting-house, and
throwing them into the fire. When asked by his father why he did so,
he characteristically replied that "he wanted to see a blaze."

Surely the child was father to the man!

In all the great breweries of London the rule has been made, and is
very generally adhered to, that the partners share and share alike, so
that it must be explained that Mr. Charrington was not sole heir to
the business. The revenues, however, are so enormous, that, roughly
speaking, a million and a quarter pounds would have come to the boy
who was born in 1850. Mr. Charrington's parents were members of the
Church of England, and belonged to the Evangelical school of thought.
Frederick was educated at Marlborough, but during his stay at the
famous public school he was laid low by a fever, which necessitated
his removal at the time. Subsequently he was entered at Brighton
College, where he finished his school career. He lived the ordinary
life of a boy born to great wealth, and, when school days were over,
he was given the choice of proceeding to the University of Oxford or
of Cambridge, whichever he preferred. A University life, however,
offered no attractions to the young man's cast of mind. His first
experience of the larger world of men and things was made upon the
Continent. It must be remembered that, at this time, the tradition
that it was necessary for every young man of position to make what was
known as "the grand tour," had not yet died away. Travelling was then
a most costly affair, and only possible to the rich. Sir Henry Lunn
and Messrs. Cook and Sons had not, at that time, made the chief
Continental cities practically suburbs of London. It was thought, and
rightly thought, that a Continental tour was in itself an education,
and this was the means selected to widen the young man's mind. All his
subsequent life Mr. Charrington has been a great traveller, and there
are few parts of the world which he has not at one time or another
visited, and where he has not been welcomed. So that this first
foreign excursion must have been a time of great pleasure and
enlightenment.

He was accompanied by the Rev. Thomas Scott, a clergyman, and had for
his companion Mr. J. H. Buxton, another wealthy young brewer, who
subsequently became chairman of the London Hospital. The lads visited
the Paris Exhibition of 1867, and travelled through both Switzerland
and Italy.

Upon his return Frederick Charrington at once elected to learn the
details of the great business which there was, at the time, every
prospect of his superintending. He went to the smaller brewery of
Messrs. Neville, Read & Co., who were brewers to the Queen at Windsor.
There he shared rooms with a young curate, the Rev. John Stone, who,
by the way, was the author of the two famous and beautiful hymns, "The
Church's one Foundation," and "Weary of earth and laden with my sin."

The young man's pursuits, even at this time, were by no means those of
his contemporaries. Although he had the command of large sums of money
if he had wished, the pleasures of ordinary young men did not appeal
to him. It is not to be understood that he was in any way a milksop.
He was a good waterman upon the river, and at a time when young men of
position did not indulge in cricket, football, and other field sports
to anything like the same extent that they do to-day, he was yet a
fearless, skilful rider. There had always been many horses in his
father's stables, and from his earliest youth Mr. Charrington had been
an expert equestrian. In those days a young man so fond of horses, and
so good a horseman, nine cases out of ten owned horses or took great
interest in betting and the affairs of the turf, while an alternative
was the driving of a four-in-hand coach, generally in the company of
people of both sexes, neither desirable nor worthy for them to know.

Mr. Charrington did nothing of the sort. The attractions of the gilded
youth of his adolescence passed him by without any appeal, and at the
end of the twelve months' experience at Windsor, he entered his
father's great brewery in the Mile End Road.

A rather interesting little episode in connection with Mr.
Charrington's horsemanship might be mentioned here. One day, during
his time at Windsor, he was riding a very spirited chestnut in a quiet
and narrow lane in the environs of the town. Suddenly a groom upon
horseback turned the corner, galloped up to him, and with a rude and
overbearing manner ordered him to turn round and go away. Extremely
surprised at the man's insolence, Mr. Charrington refused to do
anything of the sort, and it seemed that almost a scrimmage was
imminent.

The man then explained that the Queen was coming, and Mr. Charrington
asked him why on earth he had not said so before. It was now too late.
A carriage and pair, with outriders, came down the road in the
opposite direction, and Queen Victoria was seated within.

Mr. Charrington realised at once what was happening, although the man
had given no reasons, and he backed his horse as well as he could into
the hedge. The lane was very narrow, and there was hardly room for the
carriage to pass. Mr. Charrington made his horse rear upon its hind
legs and took off his hat as he did so. It was only by the display of
the most magnificent horsemanship that he was able to keep his seat,
and allow the chaise to pass, and her Majesty smiled and bowed very
graciously as she went by.

Soon after this he accompanied his parents upon another Continental
tour. Upon this occasion he met with Mr. William Rainsford, son of the
Rev. Marcus Rainsford, of Belgrave Chapel. The two young men returned
to England together, and Charrington invited his friend to stay with
him at his father's house.

It was during this visit that Mr. Rainsford spoke to his friend about
his soul, and plainly asked him if he knew whether he was saved.

The question struck Mr. Charrington as singularly unpleasant. It
startled him, and seemed also in bad taste. He had lived a moral and
decent life in every way, and, moreover, a definitely religious life.
Such a point-blank question appeared unnecessary, and he protested
against such a subject of discussion, referring to the pleasant time
spent upon the Continent, and hinting that a reminiscent talk of their
adventures would be far more _à-propos_ at the moment. Mr. Rainsford,
however, pressed the question home, and would not be denied.
Eventually he made his friend promise that the next time he was alone
he would read the third chapter of the Gospel of St. John. The promise
was kept, though the reader expected no new spiritual experience
whatever.

As he opened the Bible an incident of the past struck him, and before
reading he paused to recall it.

Upon one occasion whilst staying at Hastings he became friends with a
Mr. Canning, who subsequently became Lord Garvagh. This young man was
at the time at the watering place with his tutor, and when he first
met Charrington had just come from hearing Lord Radstock preach. Fired
with enthusiasm, he straightway told his new acquaintance the history
of the meeting, and made a special reference to the third chapter of
the Gospel according to St. John. He related that he believed that he
was now a saved man. He definitely stated that conversion had taken
place. Now to Mr. Charrington the whole thing was a riddle, and he
thought it was at least indecorous for a youthful aristocrat to go and
hear a Dissenter, even though that same Dissenter was a peer himself.
Moreover, the word conversion presented no very special meaning to
him, and was associated in his mind with suggestions of sudden
hysteria, and no particularly lasting result. He did not know, as Mr.
Harold Begbie has pointed out in his brilliant psychological studies
of spiritual experiences, that conversion is in reality nothing of the
sort. As Mr. Begbie says--

"... And these critics with their 'cortical susceptibilities' and
'explosions of nervous energy,' limit their investigations of
conversion to those examples of the miracle which become public
property through the chronicles of revivalism. It is now a vulgar idea
that conversions only follow upon the hysterical absurdities of
professional revivalists. It would be fatal to religion if such were
the case. No one, I think, could more detest the professional
revivalist than myself, and than myself no one could more entirely
doubt the lasting effect of the majority of the conversions
accomplished by this means. I can see the need for revivalism, and I
can see in the future a development of revivalism which will be of
noble service to humanity; but I dislike the un-Christly character of
this worked-up excitement and I am utterly uninterested by its result.
Conversion, real conversion, is almost always the effect of individual
lovingkindness, of personal and quiet love, of intercourse between a
happy and an unhappy soul in the normal colloquies of friendship, and
passionate seeking of the lost by those whose lives are inspired by
unselfish love. It may possibly have its culminating point in a public
meeting; the act of standing up and publicly declaring for
righteousness may have tremendous effect; but even in such cases, such
rare cases, the preparation has usually been long and difficult,
secret and gradual.

"... Conversion is a quite common experience among ordinary men, is
very often nothing more than a secret turning of the face towards God,
a private decision to live a new life, a personal and wholly tranquil
choice of the soul for Christ as its Master and Saviour. No priest
appears to be necessary, the excitements of the revivalist preacher
are absent. In the privacy of its own soul, the spirit turns from evil
and faces towards God."

As Mr. Charrington began to read the suggested portion of Scripture,
he remembered this Mr. Canning and his allusion to exactly the same
chapter, and it seemed a singular thing that two of his friends of a
similar age should agree in giving a certain passage the same
interpretation. The remembrance made him read the chapter with the
very greatest care, and the words "Marvel not that I said unto ye, Ye
must be born again," came to him with a singular force. And though,
perhaps, he was unaware of it at the time, in looking back upon it,
Mr. Charrington is convinced that this moment was the great
turning-point in his life. There was no sudden conversion, let it be
remembered--that is, using the word in its more widely accepted sense.
It must not be lost sight of that Mr. Charrington had always lived a
religious life. But, certainly, whatever name we may give to the
spiritual change which passed over him at the moment, it was a real
and lasting one.

I have in my possession a letter written by Mr. Charrington a good
many years ago, describing the occurrence exactly as it happened, and,
as I am allowed to quote, it may be as well to supplement my own
account with Mr. Charrington's own words.

"To begin with, I was travelling on the Continent along the Riviera,
or the South of France, and just before I returned from Cannes I met
with my friend William Rainsford, the celebrated episcopal clergyman
from New York. We travelled home together to England, and when we got
to London I invited him to come and stop at my father's house at
Wimbledon. At the time I was living a very moral life, and not without
some interest in eternal things, but my only belief and trust was in
the Book of Common Prayer, and especially the statement, 'Wherein I
was made a member of Christ, the Child of God, and an inheritor of the
Kingdom of Heaven.' When we got to my father's home, to my great
astonishment Rainsford suddenly said, 'I feel very guilty, we have
travelled together all the way over the Continent, and enjoyed
ourselves very much, but I have never spoken to you about your soul.
The fact is, I am a Christian, but I have spent the winter in the
South of France for my health, and I have been in very worldly
society; but now that I have got back to old England, these things
seem to rise in my mind, and I feel that I must ask you if you are
saved.' I said, 'Really, Rainsford, we have had a very good time on
the Continent, and I think it is a very great pity that you bring up
such a debatable subject just now.' He said, 'I only will ask you to
do one thing, and that is: when I am gone you will promise me to read
through the third chapter of St. John's Gospel.' I promised him I
would, and accordingly the next night, while smoking a pipe before I
went to bed, I read the third chapter of St. John, and as I read it I
thought to myself, 'This is a very curious thing: here are two men, my
new friend Rainsford, and my old friend Lord Garvagh, both say the
same thing, that they are "saved" '; and as I read the chapter, Light
came into my soul, and as I came to the words, 'He that believeth on
the Son hath everlasting life' I realised that I, too, possessed the
'eternal life.'"

We are come, then, to a certain definite point in the life of this
young man. As a result of what I have just described, he felt that he
ought to be doing something to help others, to be setting his hand to
some good works.

In its proper place, I shall tell of these first tentative efforts at
work for Christ, and how they broadened out into such a magnificent
life work. It is not in the scheme of this chapter, which I have
headed "The Great Acceptance," to give details at present. It is
sufficient to say that this early work prospered and became
engrossing, and it gradually led up to the astounding event, almost
without parallel, one fancies, which I am about to describe. Mr.
Peters, a nephew of Mr. Cunard the great steamship owner, used to help
Mr. Charrington in the ragged school for boys, conducted in a loft
over a stable. One evening at this period Mr. Charrington was walking
from the brewery to the horrible slum where the school was held.

He passed a horrid-looking little public-house, known as the "Rising
Sun."

When I say a horrid little public-house, I speak from experience.
There are dozens of varieties, from the magnificent bars of the West
End, with their columns of marble, their gleaming glass and silver,
rich carpets and sumptuous good taste, to the flaunting gin palaces or
even the picturesque, flower-covered country inn, and there are mean
little holes in back streets which are absolutely destitute of any
personality whatever. I think, for my part, though it is pure personal
opinion, that I have never seen a more utterly unlovely alcohol shop
than this same "Rising Sun." I went personally to look at it before
writing this chapter. It lies in an appalling neighbourhood, where
even the police patrol in couples, and it is about as hideous an
erection as can be found anywhere in England.

Mr. Charrington, then, upon the memorable evening of which I speak,
came up to this place. I quote his own words in the account of what
occurred here.

"As I approached this public-house a poor woman, with two or three
children dragging at her skirts, went up to the swing doors, and
calling out to her husband inside, she said, 'Oh, Tom, do give me some
money, the children are crying for bread.' At that the man came
through the doorway. He made no reply in words. He looked at her for a
moment, and then knocked her down into the gutter. Just then I looked
up and saw my own name, CHARRINGTON, in huge gilt letters on the top
of the public-house, and it suddenly flashed into my mind that that
was only one case of dreadful misery and fiendish brutality in one of
the several hundred public-houses that our firm possessed. I realised
that there were probably numbers of similar cases arising from this
one public-house alone. I thought, as if in a flash, that, whatever
the actual statistics might have been, there was, at any rate, an
appalling and incalculable amount of wretchedness and degradation
caused by our enormous business. It was a crushing realisation, the
most concrete, unavoidable object-lesson that a man could possibly
have. What a frightful responsibility for evil rested upon us! And
then and there, without any hesitation, I said to myself--in reference
to the sodden brute who had knocked his wife into the gutter--'Well,
you have knocked your poor wife down, and with the same blow you have
knocked me out of the brewery business.'

"I knew that I could never bear the awful responsibility of so much
guilt upon my soul. I could not possibly allow myself to be a
contributory cause, and I determined that, whatever the result, I
would never enter the brewery again."

Mr. Charrington went to his father and announced his intention of
absolutely giving up all share in the brewery. The opposition he met
with may easily be imagined. Mr. Charrington senior was amazed and
angry. The thing seemed the height of quixotic folly. It verged on
madness, and had neither rhyme nor reason to the older man, himself,
it must be remembered, a liberal, God-fearing Churchman of the
Evangelical school, as well as one of the most successful men of
business of his day.

The arguments used against Frederick's determination were all such as
keen common sense and the logic of this world would naturally employ.

[Illustration: A VERY EARLY FAMILY GROUP

Mr. Charrington with his sisters, brothers, and governess

                                                   [_To face p. 22._]

Mr. Charrington senior pointed out that he had been many years in
business, and that during every day of them he had been studying the
drink question. His interest in it was old, and at least as close and
personal as his son's could possibly be after a mere casual ramble in
the slums of the East End. It was to drink that Frederick Charrington
owed the position to which he was born. It might be distasteful to the
young man--though to the older it was nothing of the sort--but
whether it was agreeable or not, the plain fact was that beer had made
Frederick Charrington one of the richest young men in England.

It was suggested to him that he had suffered a kind of first nausea,
just as young surgeons are supposed to do when they first handle the
knife--or, more general still, and as has been so well described by
Sir Conan Doyle, medical students when they first see an operation.
But because medical students suffered nausea, it was quite unlikely
that operating or dissecting rooms were going to be done away with,
and certainly breweries and public-houses would not be done away with
though a million fanatics were to call for their suppression. For his
own part, Mr. Charrington had made it his business to brew as good
beer as could be brewed. His business was conducted with conspicuous
regard to decency and order, but, at the same time, he entirely
declined to be responsible for the actions of fools. He asked no man
to drink more of his beer than was good for him. He was not in the
least responsible for drunkenness. It was the drunkard himself who was
responsible for it. To indulge in sweeping condemnation of the brewery
because there were drunkards, was, so Mr. Charrington senior imagined,
just as logical and reasonable as to condemn religion because it makes
fanatics and maniacs.

In reply, the young man stated that his convictions were unaltered. It
was a question between himself and his conscience, his conscience and
the God whom he served. Nothing could possibly affect the issue.

"My father," Mr. Charrington has told me, and I record our
conversation here, "was terribly distressed. At first, I think, he was
more angry and astonished than pained, but afterwards his distress was
very great, and I would have done anything I could to alleviate it but
continue to take money from the brewery. I do not want to go too much
into this--your own father is alive, and you can imagine what a son's
feelings were. Of course, my decision was a very heavy blow to the
pride of the family. I am afraid I did not realise that sufficiently
at the time, but I do now, and I see what pain my decision must have
caused, although it was inevitable. After the first shock, however, my
father was extremely kind to me, when he realised that I could not
change. He certainly sympathised with my wish to do good among the
poor, and he had always helped me in my early efforts among the very
rough juvenile population, and himself paid for more suitable premises
in which we could carry on the work.

"Shortly after my decision was made my poor father met with a very
severe accident. He was thrown from his horse while out riding, and he
never recovered. When he was upon his deathbed I was sent for, and
what occurred between us at that solemn moment has always been a most
precious memory to me. Several other members of the family were
gathered round, but he said, 'You all go out of the room for a little
time. Let Fred remain with me. He is the only one who knows about
these things.'

"When we were left alone together, my father said, 'You are right,
Fred. You have chosen the better part, which will never be taken
away.' We prayed together then, and the next morning he again said to
me, 'After you prayed with me, my sleep was like an angel's slumbers.'
Finally he whispered, 'I am afraid I have left you very badly off, but
it is too late now.' Shortly afterwards he passed away."

Here is another picture in this astounding history of the Great
Acceptance.

One day in February, 1873, the whole traffic of the Strand at a
certain point was disorganised. Thousands upon thousands of people
were gathered in the vicinity of Exeter Hall. Exeter Street itself was
impassable. The Strand was blocked for many hundred yards. The crowd
was composed of people from all parts of London and the suburbs, but
it was obvious--as the _Daily Telegraph_ remarked in its issue on the
following morning--that many of the thousands present were
East-enders. "Troops of the East End saints were seen wending their
way to Exeter Hall"--was how the _Telegraph_ was pleased to put it.

And what was the occasion which brought such an enormous crowd
together? What spell was there over them all that they pressed onward
in phalanx after phalanx to the doors of Exeter Hall? The fact had
been noised abroad that the young ex-brewer had accepted the
invitation of the Band of Hope Union to preside over their Annual
Meeting, under the presidency of the Rev. Charles Garrett, the most
famous Temperance reformer of his day.

No other man living than Mr. Charrington has ever caused the Strand to
be blocked for hours. No such sight was ever seen before or has been
since. The interest created was universal. An eye-witness of the scene
has told me that it will never be obliterated from his mind while life
lasts. Here was a young man, only just entering his twenty-third year,
called upon to preside over an immense meeting for which many of his
seniors in the Temperance Cause thought it an honour to receive an
invitation.

When the wishes of the Union were first conveyed to him, and the
formal invitation made, it gave him food for deep thought. He had left
the brewery, and the world's eyes were upon him. He shrank from the
great ordeal which acceptance would mean. Still, he was not a man to
turn his face from anything he considered to be his duty, and for the
welfare of the cause he had at heart. He assented to the wishes of the
committee.

"On the night in question," writes a friend who was with him, "Mr.
Charrington and I started from Stepney Green and mounted one of the
City omnibuses about 7 o'clock. In those days travelling by 'bus was
an entirely different thing to what it has since become, and there was
always an element of adventure, inasmuch as it was extremely
problematical whether the vehicle would keep any sort of time, or even
arrive at its destination at all!

"We arrived, however, at last, but it was with great difficulty that
we managed to get into Exeter Hall, and had almost to fight our way
through the crowd which was already gathered, and which had not then
anything like the dimensions it afterwards assumed. The front of
Exeter Hall was blocked on both sides of the roadway with police
drafted to keep the traffic through, and others who were keeping back
the non-ticket holders. Shortly after this the task of keeping this
great artery of London clear was finally left, and the traffic was
diverted into the side streets. Dr. Newman Hall, one of the speakers
who arrived late, sat next me on the platform, and he told me that he
had been three-quarters of an hour getting into the building.

"When Mr. Charrington appeared the whole vast audience rose to its
feet. The cheering was deafening, and the waving of hats and
handkerchiefs continued for several minutes. Again, when he rose to
speak the audience broke out into a most extraordinary demonstration
of appreciation, and it was a long time before he could get a hearing,
so great and electrical was the excitement. It was said that no such
gathering had ever congregated at any meeting held in that historic
building."

While the meeting was proceeding, large reinforcements of police had
to be sent for, as the crowd outside could not be persuaded to go
away, or convinced that it was impossible for them to get into the
hall. The "Hall Full" placards placed outside were of no use whatever
in making them disperse. There was an enormous desire to catch a
glimpse of Frederick Charrington as he left the building. On that
memorable night many hearts were uplifted in earnest prayer that the
young man might be kept true to the profession he had made, and become
pre-eminently useful in the service of Christ--prayers which have been
so abundantly answered.

Such is the history of Frederick Charrington's Great Acceptance, and
it is as well to consider for a moment exactly what it means.

Mr. Charrington gave up, for the sake of conscience, the enormous sum
of a million and a quarter. It is very difficult for ordinary people
to realise what this sum means. In the first instance, it means about
fifty thousand pounds a year--roughly a thousand pounds a week, or
about a hundred and forty pounds a day. And yet the figures quite fail
to convey the reality. For those who set store by honours and high
places, a million and a quarter means a peerage, a singling out and
setting above the vast majority of one's fellow-men. It ensures the
adulation of almost every one. Plenty of people say, "I do not value
the man for his possessions, but for himself," and such a remark may
be made perfectly sincerely. But in point of actual fact, there are
very few people who can listen to the _obiter dicta_ of a millionaire
without unconscious deference, and, for my part, without the least
wish to be cynical, I have always thought what truth there is in a
certain celebrated passage from "Vanity Fair" _à-propos_ of the rich
Miss Crawley.

"What a dignity," says Thackeray, "it gives an old lady, that balance
at the bankers'! How tenderly we look at her faults if she is a
relative (may every reader have a score of such), what a kind,
good-natured old creature we find her! How the junior partner of Hobbs
and Dobbs leads her smiling to the carriage with the lozenge upon it,
and the fat, wheezy coachman. How, when she comes to pay us a visit,
we generally find an opportunity of letting our friends know her
station in the world! We say (and with perfect truth) 'I wish I had
Miss MacWhirter's signature to a cheque for five thousand pounds'....
Is it so, or is it not so?"

We must remember also that, while the millionaire of sense does not
pay much attention to vulgar flattery, it is very pleasant to have
people of charm, intellect, and position around one, and to be great
among them. A million and a quarter, if a man has artistic tastes,
enables him to buy the finest pictures, the most perfect pieces of
statuary, the rarest and most beautiful of books evolved by the genius
of mankind. If Mr. Pierpont Morgan, for example, had not a passion for
beautiful things, he would certainly not own the greatest art
collections that exist. But above all, a million and a quarter means
Power--the most eagerly sought for, the most satisfying possession
that this world has to offer.

All these things, and the list might be prolonged indefinitely,
Frederick Charrington threw away.

You remember--"And behold, one came and said unto him, Good Master,
what good thing shall I do that I may have eternal life?"

And again, "Jesus said unto him, if thou wilt be perfect, go and sell
that thou hast and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in
Heaven: and come and follow Me.

"But when the young man heard that saying he went away sorrowful: for
he had great possessions.

"Then said Jesus unto His disciples, Verily, I say unto you, that a
rich man shall hardly enter into the Kingdom of Heaven."

We all know the story of the rich young man, which has been referred
to over and over again as the Great Refusal. In this book you read the
true story of what I beg leave to call "The Great Acceptance."

Christ Jesus came to this young man, Frederick Charrington, with
exactly the same appeal as to that other in Palestine so long ago.

The challenge has been given many, many times since the words of our
Lord were first spoken, but how seldom has it been responded to! The
rich man went away in sorrow, for he had great possessions. It was
probably not only the loss of worldly wealth which troubled him. The
sacrifice demanded of him involved far more than this, great as this
indeed was. We must remember that the expenditure of vast amounts of
money on philanthropic objects have often been made with very unworthy
motives. There are to be found dozens of men and women--most people
will have a case of their own in mind--who would, and do, gladly spend
thousands in order that they may obtain a reputation of superior
piety, and, in short, become what one might call social saints. They
lay the flattering unction to their souls that they "are not as other
men." But surely it was the concluding words of Jesus that were the
most important, it was the last condition which demanded the greatest
sacrifice of all--"Come and follow Me."

When Agrippa said, "Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian"--if
the words were not merely ironical, as some scholars will have it--he
seems to have been convinced in his judgment of the truth of
Christianity. The native King of Judæa makes no objection whatever to
anything the prisoner Paul says. He neither disputes the statement he
makes of his astonishing conversion, nor denies the inference he draws
from it, that the Jesus he preached was indeed the Christ. But Agrippa
stopped at "almost." He could not give up his darling vice, so sweet
just then, such a Dead Sea apple afterwards. He could not abandon
Berenice; he could not face the sneers and the scorn of the gilded
gang which were his companions at Cæsar's court. There are many
Agrippas still in the world; there are many young men of great
possessions who are convinced that the words of our Lord are true, who
will bear to hear the Gospel, even love to hear it, are often deeply
affected by it, and seem to themselves and others on the very point of
being won over to it--honest, candid men, who are neither afraid nor
ashamed to avow their feelings.

And yet, day by day, the Great Refusal is made.

I must not linger upon this starting-point in Frederick Charrington's
career, fascinating as the discussion of it is.

How many others are there who have made this Great Acceptance? What
sort of young man was this who started out upon life with such a
record? As we go further we shall see.



CHAPTER II

BEGINNINGS


There is a certain passage at the end of the "Apostles," by Ernest
Renan, which has always seemed to me to be one of singularly
penetrating beauty.

Translated, it runs as follows: "I am impatient to tell again that
unparalleled epic, to depict those roads stretching infinitely from
Asia to Europe, along which they sowed the seed of the Gospel, those
waves over which they fared so often under conditions so diverse. The
great Christian Odyssey is about to begin. Already the Apostolic
barque has shaken forth her sails; the wind is blowing, and aspires
for naught save to bear upon its wings words of Jesus."

I am reminded of this passage now, as I begin to tell of Frederick
Charrington's life work for Christ. The Great Acceptance has been
made, the journey is about to begin. The soldier has girded on his
sword and is marching to battle.

Among the first work which the young man undertook was that of helping
in a night-school under the direction of the Rev. Joseph Bardsley,
then Rector of Stepney. During his work among the very rough he heard
of something of the same sort which was being carried on by two young
men in the neighbourhood, and not far from the night-school itself.
One was Mr. Hugh Campbell, junior, the other Mr. E. H. Kerwin, who has
been secretary of the Tower Hamlets Mission ever since its inception,
and one of Mr. Charrington's most loyal helpers.

Mr. Campbell and Mr. Kerwin conducted their Evangelistic work in a
hayloft over a stable. It was all the shelter that they had, it was
all they could afford, and yet from Mr. Charrington's association with
it has sprung a mission so wide-reaching in its effects, so
world-embracing in the influence that has radiated from it, that we
may well marvel at such results from a beginning so humble.

Not long ago I was telling the story of these early days to a lady
whose life has been passed in works of charity. She smiled when I
spoke of the little hayloft, and she said, "The Light of the World
streamed forth from the manger at Bethlehem."

One evening Mr. Charrington visited his new friends and made personal
experience of their efforts.

He found the entrance to the stable guarded by a small boy, who showed
him up a terribly rickety staircase of open boards to a long room
lighted with cheap paraffin lamps which hung from the rafters.

There was a platform, none too elaborately constructed, at one end of
the loft, and the floor was covered with rude benches.

The odour of the stable below ascended in all its pristine richness
and mingled with the smell of the crude oil lamps, while the
atmosphere was still further complicated by the fact that the roof of
the hayloft was a low one, and the ventilation almost non-existent.

Yet, on that night, with a congregation of the roughest and most
untaught lads to be found in that part of the East End, in such
unpropitious surroundings, the guest nevertheless heard addresses to
the lads about the love of Christ for them, which made a lasting
impression on his mind.

As he stood at the end of the hall and watched, something must have
come to him to tell of the mighty work that, under God's blessing, he
himself was destined to do in the future. New and unaccustomed as was
the scene, strange as some of the methods must have been to him, yet,
at that moment, some hinting, some prophetic vision, came to him. He
had arrived at last upon the field. He was present at a mere skirmish
with the forces of evil, but it was a foretaste of the great battle to
come. He had arrived at the front.

He has told me that as he watched and listened he thought, "This is
far more like real work for the Lord than my own more secular
night-school work," and when the service was nearly over, as the lads
sang--

    Shall we gather at the river,
      Where bright angel feet have trod;
    With its crystal tide for ever
      Flowing by the throne of God?

such an impression was made upon his mind that within another night or
two he was again present at the service. He proposed at once that he
should join forces with his friends, and brought immediately a fresh
and burning enthusiasm, a fierce energy, a daring originality, which
almost at once began to alter the whole character of the little
mission.

The difficulties, the discouragements, were enormous. The neighbours
who surrounded this oasis in the desert were entirely unsympathetic.
They scoffed and jeered at the whole thing. Hard words, however, break
no bones--there are few men living who believe more thoroughly in the
adage than Mr. Charrington--but hard words were not the only thing
that the young missioners had to endure.

The man from whom the stable loft was rented was a burly, ruffianly
fellow, who, when under the influence of drink, would do his best to
upset the meetings.

Once this man burst into the room with an explosion of horrible oaths.
He was in a fury, his face was livid with hate, and with every
circumstance of violent speech, he bawled out that his poor horse, who
had to work hard for its living all day long, could not sleep on
account of the noise made by the lads singing hymns!

This ferocious, but singularly ineffectual person, on another occasion
stood at the foot of the staircase leading to the loft with a horrible
bulldog by his side, daring his tenants to approach the scene of their
devotions.

But little circumstances like these had no effect whatever upon the
work. Every form of opposition was only like the call of a linnet in a
hedge as a regiment of soldiers marches down the road.

Boy after boy came thronging to the standard which the friends had
unfurled, and the hayloft became far too small for the purpose. At
this moment the Rector of Stepney very kindly placed his schoolroom
at the disposal of the three Evangelists. This kindly act, however,
was not productive of much success. The lads who attended the meetings
were of such a low character--I quote the opinion of the parents of
the day-scholars who attended the schools--that the day work began to
be seriously interfered with, and "respectable" people complained.

To overcome this difficulty, and perhaps not a very unreasonable
opposition on the part of the parents of the day-scholars, a capacious
workshop was next taken at Hertford Place, and fitted up by Mr.
Charrington's father, at a cost of three hundred pounds, as a mission
hall for boys. Another room was rented in Heath Street, Stepney, and
this was for girls. In both these halls religious services were held
nightly by Mr. Charrington and his friends. There is a brief account
in my possession of what was being done at this period, which Mr.
Charrington wrote a little later.

He said--

    "These premises in Hertford Place, situated at the back of
    the building represented in our engraving, were secured in
    May 1870, and fitted up as a school and mission room for
    boys. Here we had accommodation for over three hundred lads,
    and the rooms were soon filled with some of the most
    troublesome roughs of the neighbourhood, including a number
    of boys known as 'The Mile End Gang,' who had long been a
    trouble to the police. This gang was soon broken up, in
    consequence of several of its members, including their
    leader, professing conversion. An interesting incident
    occurred soon after this. A number of lads from Whitechapel,
    known as the 'Kate Street Gang,' or 'The Forty Thieves,' all
    of whom were by their own rules convicted thieves, came down
    one Sunday night, with thick sticks up their sleeves to fight
    our boys; but after our gaining their confidence, and
    assuring them that we were not in connection with the police,
    they were induced to enter the building and join in the boys'
    Sunday evening service.

    "After we had continued these meetings for some time, many of
    the parents expressed a wish to attend them. At first we
    could not see our way to accede to their request, but after a
    time they became so pressing that we agreed to hold a service
    for them at the close of the boys' meeting. These services
    soon became so crowded that we had to seek a larger building.

    "We started a Boys' Home, which was an outcome of the work
    among the lads. Often after a service boys would come and
    plead for their companions, who were without home or shelter
    for the night. This led to our taking a small house in the
    court in which we were working, and fitting it up for their
    accommodation. The numbers so increased, however, that we had
    to take another cottage, and finally, with the aid of kind
    friends, we purchased a building, which was previously a
    beer-bottling warehouse.

    "In connection with the Home was a savings bank, which gave
    the boys the opportunity of putting by their spare money.
    Many instances could be given of the good resulting from the
    training in this home. Many of our lads were sent to Great
    Yarmouth, where, through the agency of the Rev. Mr.
    Nicholson, they were employed on the fishing smacks. Through
    the kindness of Lord Polwarth, with whom I stayed at his
    place on the borders of Scotland, several lads were sent to
    Scotland, and gave the greatest satisfaction. A boy came to
    us direct from prison. After a time he was sent to Yarmouth.
    A few months afterwards he had a holiday, and called to see
    the Master of the House. The first thing he said was, 'I have
    come to pay you what I owe, and to thank you for enabling me
    to make a fresh start in life.' The Home was exclusively for
    boys who were willing to maintain themselves by their own
    industry. Over 1000 boys received the benefits it affords.
    Many of them were orphans."

Frederick Charrington had by this time definitely given up his huge
inheritance, had left a luxurious home, and had taken a house in
Stepney Green. In one of a series of long talks with Mr. T.
Richardson, Registrar of the Eastern Telegraph Company, his life-long
friend and helper, I have gathered some curious and amusing details
about the life lived in Stepney by the young Evangelist.

"In his early days," Mr. Richardson told me, "Mr. Charrington's one
idea was for self-denial--personal asceticism."

This early ideal he has persisted in throughout his life. Like other
workers for God in different fields, he has chosen celibacy as his
lot, in order to give his whole time and all his interests to his
work.

[Illustration: LOOKING OUT UPON LIFE

Frederick Charrington at the commencement of his evangelistic career

                                                   [_To face p. 38._]

"He took a house in the East End," Mr. Richardson continued, "near the
brewery, and in furnishing it went in for self-denial with an almost
monkish enthusiasm. Although it is many years ago, I remember it all
perfectly well. He had only a table and one or two chairs, and when
there was nothing else to sit upon, an empty packing-case did as well
as anything else. He had no carpet at all. One day his mother came to
see him, and was dreadfully distressed to see him living like this.
Expostulations on the part of Frederick were in vain, and Mrs.
Charrington drove immediately to the biggest furnisher's in the City
of London and told them to take no denial, but to go at once and
furnish her son's house properly.

"He was red-hot and full of enthusiasm. I remember we had been out to
a meeting together one night, and somewhere about one or two o'clock
in the morning we found ourselves sitting on a costermonger's barrow
in a blind alley. Charrington clutched me by the arm and almost shook
me. 'We must do something,' he said, 'we must do something to call
attention to this cursed liquor traffic. We must get a gang of men
armed with cudgels and go and smash the fronts of the public-houses.
We shall never do anything till we call attention to it!'"

I shall have much to say shortly of the beginnings of what is perhaps
the greatest Temperance crusade that England has ever known, but
meanwhile these little glimpses I am able to afford my readers of the
quaint house in Stepney so many years ago are curiously interesting.

"Mr. Charrington's house,"--so Mr. Richardson told me--"was the house
of call in the neighbourhood, and by strange coincidence, everybody
went there about mealtimes! Once, when Mr. Marcus Rainsford was
staying in what was locally nicknamed the 'Monastery,' a certain
zealous and holy man of God looked in. It was during the evening.
Now, a peculiarity of the gentleman to whom I refer is, that when he
goes anywhere, he never knows when it is time to leave. On the
particular occasion that I remember, he stayed on and on until he
missed the last omnibus that could take him to his home. He said to
Mr. Charrington, 'You will have to put me up for the night.' Mr.
Charrington told him that he hadn't a spare bed. Accordingly, Mr.
----, nothing daunted, replied that he would sleep with Mr. Rainsford
if he didn't mind. Mr. Rainsford did not seem at all delighted at the
prospect, and said he preferred to take his rest undisturbed as a
rule, but that for one night, at any rate, he didn't mind.

"Accordingly, the matter was arranged thus, and in the morning Mr.
---- got up first. There was a bathful of water in the bedroom, and
the guest inquired if he could take his bath at once. Mr. Rainsford
was still almost asleep, and mumbled some sort of an assent. When Mr.
---- had completed his ablutions, he asked Mr. Rainsford where he
should empty the water, and Rainsford, who was by no means awake yet,
and who hated being disturbed, growled out that he could pour it out
of the window. The too literal Mr. ---- obeyed blindly, with the
result that the bath-water descended in an unbroken stream upon the
poor old housekeeper, who was breaking coal in the area below."

It must indeed have been a most curious establishment at Stepney
Green! Comfort, as ordinary people know it, appears to have been
entirely absent. The strangest characters foregathered there, all day
and all night the place hummed like a hive. Mr. Charrington, as will
be seen later, has always had a fondness for strange pets. In the
house at Stepney a monkey was added to the _entourage_, and shortly
afterwards a well-known Evangelistic preacher, who must also, I beg
leave to think, have been a considerable prig, called at the
"Monastery." Mr. Charrington, who was smoking his inevitable pipe,
introduced this person to the monkey. The Evangelist threw back his
head, rolled his eyes upwards, and lifted his hands. "Not very
spiritual, Charrington," he said, "not very spiritual!" "I wonder if
your tom-cat is very spiritual?" was Mr. Charrington's retort.

Mr. Mowll, who is now vicar of Christ Church, Brixton, a college
friend of Keith Falconer, who frequently visited the house at Stepney
Green, always went to bed very late indeed. One night he rigged up a
figure of a man with cushions and an overcoat, put a hat on its head
and a pipe in its mouth, and then went to bed, leaving all the gas
burning. The next morning, when the housekeeper went into the room to
dust it, the poor thing was frightened out of her life to find, as she
thought, a strange man sitting there in the full glare of the gas. She
was so upset that Mr. Mowll, a most ardent Temperance reformer, was
perhaps rightly punished by having to fetch the old lady some brandy
from the nearest public-house.

These incidents are all trivial enough, but I give them as
illustrating the happy and boyish natures of the young men who found
themselves together under the leadership of Mr. Charrington. When the
bathroom tap was left on, and the whole house was flooded, their
equanimity was not disturbed. When there was no proper dinner, they
ate bread and cheese. The vagaries of the housekeeper, the odd
behaviour of the monkey, were all subjects for mirth. The moral of
this sort of life is obvious enough. These men cared nothing for
personal comfort or pleasure. Their life was lived in an unceasing
warfare with the powers of evil. Their swords were always girded
on--the rest was as nothing.

The late Earl of Kintore stayed for some little time at the East End
house, and, as it unhappily turned out, just before his death. As he
was leaving after his visit he shook his host's old housekeeper--whose
name was Mrs. Pilgrim--by the hand and said, "Well, good-bye. You're a
pilgrim and I'm a stranger, and we shall soon be at home." As a matter
of fact the earl died suddenly only a fortnight afterwards.

I continue the record of the early beginnings of the great work that
was to come, for it was now that the East End Conference Hall first
came into being.

"About this time Mr. Charrington received a letter from the late Mr.
Pemberton Barnes, who was said to own the largest number of houses of
any one in the world (then nearly a stranger to him), stating that he
held a site known as Carlton Square, which he was anxious to devote to
a Christian work. He had originally intended it for the erection of a
church, but being deterred by the rapid advances of Ritualism, of
which he was an opponent, he resolved to build a mission hall instead.
The result was the erection of the present building, which seated 600
persons, and was opened on Friday, November 1, 1872.

"The following extract is from _The Christian_ of that day.

"'Another very interesting movement has been inaugurated in the East
End. On the 1st of this month a new and very elegant iron structure,
capable of accommodating 600 people, was opened for public worship and
evangelistic effort of various kinds. T. B. Smithies, Esq., editor of
the _British Workman_, presided, and addresses were given by Revs.
Jack Kennedy, H. Barton, Dr. Sharpe, Dr. Barnardo, and other friends.
A statement of the circumstances which led to the erection was made by
Mr. F. N. Charrington, the honorary superintendent, who said, some
time ago, being anxious to establish a boy's lodging house, he asked
Mr. Pemberton Barnes to devote an old house (situated in the East End,
and belonging to him) to that purpose; but Mr. Barnes said he had,
unfortunately, given it into the hands of the builders a week
previously, and so the matter dropped. A short time ago, however, he
had received a letter from that gentleman saying he was desirous of
doing something for the Lord; he owned a square on which he proposed
building a house with a small hall attached. Mr. Charrington visited
him the next day, and Mr. Barnes agreed to build a hall in which the
Gospel might be preached, and in which the work would be thoroughly
unsectarian. The meetings held on the four Sunday evenings since the
opening have been numerously attended, and not one has passed without
distinct testimony of blessing received by some of those present.
With much regret we add that Mr. Pemberton Barnes, the kind friend to
whom the East End of London is indebted for this addition to its means
of evangelisation, died within a fortnight of its opening.'"

At this East End Conference Hall Mr. Charrington took up the question
of adult baptism. His work there was in no sense at all sectarian, nor
has it ever been so from those early days until the present moment--a
point which I shall enlarge upon at some length when I come to the
story of the Great Assembly Hall itself and my own experiences there.

At the same time, Mr. Charrington's own personal conviction was that a
form of baptism by immersion was warranted by his interpretation of
Scripture, and was a means for good. Mr. Richardson, in one of our
conferences, has told me the following curious anecdote. There was a
baptistry built in the new hall at Carlton Square, but there was no
water laid on. Accordingly, Mr. Charrington sent to the great brewery
in the Mile End Road and asked for a supply of wagons containing
hogsheads of water to be sent to the hall. The request was immediately
complied with, but there was considerable consternation among the
neighbours of the new mission when they saw great brewery wagons
delivering barrels at the hall--barrels which it certainly never
occurred to them, contained nothing but harmless water.

In addition to this central hall, interesting work was also being done
in Bethnal Green, where there was a building attached to the now
rapidly growing mission in Bonner's Lane. The neighbourhood, in 1875,
was a singularly interesting one. It took its name from the fact that
Bishop Bonner, of infamous memory, in the days of "Bloody Mary," had
his palace in the immediate vicinity, and additional antiquarian
interest was that the faith the then Bishop of London sought to
extinguish was afterwards propagated in that very neighbourhood by the
French Protestants, who settled there in 1572. The descendants of
these people occupied the neighbourhood at the time Mr. Charrington
started work there, and extremely picturesque their lives and habits
were. A record has been placed in my hands, and it tells of a day when
green fields and trees made pleasant a quarter now a wilderness of
bricks.

I read--

    "I know an old inhabitant who has seen the changes of the
    last fifty years, and he told me that a man he knew kept a
    farm a few hundred yards from Bonner Lane. This man's great
    desire was to possess a hundred black cows. For years he
    tried to collect them, but never managed to collect more than
    ninety-nine. As soon as he made the number up to a hundred,
    one always died, or was lost; and the old man said to him,
    'It always reminds me of the lost sheep in Scripture.' The
    neighbourhood is well known by the name of Twig Folly, and
    there is an inscription placed upon some houses built by a
    man who obtained his property in the following way. There was
    living there a man who made twig baskets. He was greatly
    troubled by the boys robbing him of his fruit. One day,
    seeing a boy in one of his fruit trees, he shouldered his gun
    and shot him. Fearing the consequences, he made over all his
    property to a friend, on condition that he himself should
    have it back at the expiration of whatever punishment he
    might get. But when he came to claim his property, he found
    his friend not so faithful as he had anticipated; for,
    instead of delivering it up, he kept it. In building these
    houses with the proceeds of the property, the friend asked a
    neighbour what he should name them, and received the
    following reply: 'What could be better than to name them
    after the old twig basket maker, for his folly?' So it was
    named Twig Folly.

    "The place is now inhabited by the working-classes. A few of
    the old silk weavers are still left, who carry on a small
    trade which cannot be very remunerative. In our hall for the
    last three months some happy hours have been spent by many
    who formerly could never be induced to enter any place of
    worship.

    "The plan of the services has been as follows: Meeting on
    Sunday evenings at six o'clock, and going out with a band of
    good singers, we invite the people in; then small handbills
    are distributed, setting forth the order of the services,
    which consist of singing by a good choir formed for the
    purpose, and a short address; sometimes a few will tell their
    experiences. We have by this means been able to fill the
    hall. This has greatly encouraged us, for if we can obtain
    such a good congregation in the summer months, we may expect
    nothing less in the winter. But we are thankful that we can
    go further and say, that many who have lived without God, and
    been careless as to their future state, have been awakened
    and converted. A man came in one Sunday, and stayed after
    the service to be spoken to. He said he was a prize-fighter,
    and on the Wednesday following he was to fight. But before he
    left that night, he delivered his will over to God, and
    determined by His grace to lead a new life and to keep away
    from the fight. He has been seen since, and we are thankful
    to say that he kept his word."

       *       *       *       *       *

The work in Bonner Lane went on for some three years. After that the
activities at the Central Hall demanded so much of the Evangelist's
time that it was felt impossible to give the necessary supervision to
the offshoot of the mission.

Mr. Charrington was therefore glad to leave this field of labour in
the hands of the Rev. T. Bowman Stephenson, who purchased the Hall
from the chief organisation and carried on the work himself, though
still with friendly relations with the organisers of the chief
mission.

How my readers feel about this record I shall never be able to know. I
myself am impatient to proceed to a certain point where the immense
drama of Frederick Charrington's evangelistic life may be said to
commence. But in a life of this sort it is obviously necessary to
continue the story of small beginnings.

Throughout all these accounts of what happened in those early days I
see Mr. Charrington as the main force, the apostle. But I see him thus
only in imagination, only in the light of what he afterwards did. His
own memories of this period in his career are simply those of a man
who remembers that he was always hard at work, was always sacrificing
himself, his money, and his time for the good of others. But the
picturesqueness of the days which were to come so soon has somewhat
obscured in my mind--and I know in his also--the intimate and personal
point of view.

At the same time, as this life is written once and for all, the story
of the beginnings must be faithfully told, and told in such detail as
I can.



CHAPTER III

MORE BEGINNINGS


As I know him now, a marked characteristic of Charrington is his
extreme love of the open air. He has built the largest mission hall in
the world. I should be afraid to say how many erections of stone,
wood, and brick owe their inception to his courage and his work. But,
at the same time, the open air--under God's sky--has always appealed
to a man with a mind as clear and simple as running water.

The idea came to him that, while he could get large congregations into
his various missions, the great tide of human life must necessarily
pass them by. In that vast area of misery known as the East End, the
halls where the gospels were preached were indeed but insignificant
milestones upon the hard and tortuous way to salvation.

Open-air meetings were begun at a time when Mr. and Mrs. Booth, who
afterwards invented and started the Salvation Army, had certainly
given a lead, but were absolutely new factors in the attempted
reclamation of the masses. The great success of the indoor services
had had one inevitable effect. Accommodation for the great crowds who
thronged to hear the truths of the supreme philosophy which is called
Christianity, became inadequate.

As the work progressed, the originators, organised bands of converts,
who entered with willing hearts into the service, held open-air
meetings almost incessantly. Open-air work was immediately successful.
Large audiences were attracted in Victoria Park on Sunday afternoons,
and on the Mile End Waste on mornings, afternoons, and evenings.
Services were even conducted in the common lodging houses.

In Victoria Park there was a band of devoted adherents to the Mission
who secured an excellent position under the trees near the fountain
given by the Baroness Burdett-Coutts.

On the Mile End Waste, on Sunday afternoon, at the close of the
preacher's address, a very handsome young man came up to the speaker.
A faded document, with all that pathos which attaches to the records
of the past, is in my hands now. I read that this young man came up to
the preacher, and taking him by the hand, said, "It is all true what
you have said, but I am so unhappy! I have spent in waste and pleasure
between two thousand and three thousand pounds, and I am ruined."

The Preacher had a long interview with this young man, and ultimately
he persuaded him to decide for Christ. He came afterwards to one of
the East London meetings, upon a Tuesday evening, a new man in soul,
mind, and body.

The open-air work was not, however, confined entirely to services. The
hoardings offered a great opportunity, and it was Mr. Charrington's
idea that these possibilities of advertisement should be made use of.
Large posters were prepared and set up upon the walls of half-ruined
buildings, the wooden palings which circumscribed the erection of new
houses.

"CHRIST DIED FOR US," stared at the passer-by from every corner. I
have in my possession a wood-block drawing which represents one of the
hoardings of that period, covered with messages of religion. I cannot
reproduce it here, as there are other and more important illustrations
which must have a place in this biography. But the texts which blazed
out on a callous and only half-believing world were ones that must
have indeed arrested the faltering one, have turned the eyes, if not
to God, at least to a consideration of the fact that there was a God,
who watched unceasingly over His children.

"I am the Light of the World." "I am the Way, the Truth, and the
Life." "He that believeth on the Son hath Everlasting Life." "Fools
make a mock of sin."

It is now necessary to mention another offshoot of the Central
Organisation, known as the "Oxford Street Hall." The Oxford Street to
which I refer is not the Oxford Street of fashion, or of De Quincey.
It was a "street in the East."

This Branch of the Mission was opened in August, 1874. The Hall was
used previously as a school and for other purposes, and being situated
in a street leading from a main thoroughfare to a territory of
working-men's dwellings, was admirably suited to mission purposes.

The house was accessible from the Hall, and was occupied by the
missioner in charge of the work. There were no paid labourers; those
who helped were all engaged in daily toil, and were chiefly converts
from the Central Hall. The experiences of the first were somewhat
peculiar. Their efforts taught the workers the real wants of the
neighbourhood, and being cemented by brotherly love, which abounded
among them, they settled down with a doggedness of purpose that bore
great fruit.

This Branch of the Mission was carried on there for some years, until
the new site was secured and the Assembly Hall erected in Mile End
Road. This being but a short distance from the Oxford Street Hall, and
the lease of that building having nearly expired, the work was
transferred to the Great Assembly Hall. The hall in Oxford Street was
afterwards pulled down by the landlord, and a dwelling-house erected
in its place.

It soon became necessary to "move on" from the Conference Hall. The
place was too small for the enormous work which was now being done,
and of which it was the centre, so that a more important site became
imperative.

It was not long before a piece of ground in the Mile End Road, at the
corner of White Horse Lane, was chosen--a spot that had hitherto been
anything but an ornament to the neighbourhood. The largest portion of
it had been used for years by travelling showmen with wax-works,
merry-go-rounds, penny theatres, and every variety of exhibition. The
local authorities considered that a great boon had been conferred upon
the neighbourhood, and especially the police, who expressed their
thanks when Mr. Charrington bought this land and removed the
dilapidated buildings which stood there; while the respectable
inhabitants hailed with delight the demolishing of the old place
which had afforded facilities for persons of the lowest character.

It was a splendid situation, and the Hon. Elizabeth Waldegrave, sister
of Lord Radstock, kindly paid the rent, besides giving much of her
time and energy to the work. Here a tent was erected and evangelistic
services were conducted every night with great success during two
whole summers.

The speakers were chiefly soldiers of the Guards, who came all the way
from the West End barracks, many of them walking the whole way there
and back (a distance of ten miles) on purpose to preach the Gospel
night after night.

These soldiers were, of course, very far from eloquent, but they were
terribly in earnest, and even their rough, but heart-felt words had a
tremendous influence with the people they addressed. One can imagine
well how these splendid, scarlet-coated men, in the full height of
physical power, virile and disciplined, must have swayed the minds of
those to whom they appealed.

Charrington's close association with these soldiers came about owing
to a visit that he paid to a Mr. Fry, an Irish solicitor, at whose
house on Dublin Bay Mrs. Charrington stayed.

His old friend Mr. Richardson has told me of this particular visit,
and to what it subsequently led.

Mr. Fry had a little daughter, a young girl of seventeen, who took a
great interest in the soldiers. One morning she asked Mr. Charrington
to accompany her round the barracks. He complied, and she showed him
everything. At the conclusion of their tour, she said to him, "Mr.
Charrington, all these soldiers are soon coming to London, where they
will have a great many temptations to drink, etc. I wish you would be
so kind as to try and do something for them when they are there." He
promised that he would. When he got back to the East End, he went to
the barracks to which they had been transferred, and asked them all to
come to the Hall. The soldiers came in their busbies and scarlet
uniforms, and as they were all over six feet high, they formed a
magnificent group on the platform. He set them all to work, and they
gave their testimonies. They could not, of course, speak well, but
just the recital of their experiences was far more effective than the
oration of the greatest speaker. They also used to accompany Mr.
Charrington's procession through the streets, and were known as
"Charrington's Bodyguard." They made a scarlet ring round him, and
their great height made it very effective indeed. One man was over six
feet four inches high, and was broad in proportion. He used to preach,
saying, "Well, dear friends, I cannot preach. I never have preached.
But I can tell you that if you don't give up the drink and turn to God
you will be damned. Give up the drink! I cannot preach, but I can tell
you that I was a drunkard myself, but I turned to God, and was saved.
Give up the drink!" Several of these men afterwards became
missionaries and preachers--notably Mr. W. R. Lane of the Free Church
Council.

The great tent was set up upon a waste piece of land on the 21st of
May, 1876. The inaugural meeting was very largely attended, and Mr.
Samuel Morley, the millionaire M.P., who, till the very day of his
death, was one of the most generous supporters of Mr. Charrington's
great work, was in the chair. He spoke as follows--

     "I am here at the request of Mr. Charrington and other
     friends, at least to have the satisfaction of showing my
     earnest sympathy with the work which is to be carried on by
     them. The presence of several clergymen around me evidences
     that it is fully understood that in holding tent services
     there is no attempt to draw from existing congregations, but
     rather to reach those classes of which chapel and church
     know but little; it is wanted to get at the masses of the
     people. Born in London, bred, and brought up in the midst of
     that kingdom--for such London is--I have arrived at a
     conclusion that makes me anxious to co-operate with those
     who are seeking to lift up the masses of the people from the
     degraded condition in which they are now living. I fear that
     more than one million of the population of London never
     enter a place of worship, and if on the morning of any
     Lord's day there was a desire to attend a place of worship
     on the part of those who could go on the Sabbath, there
     would be needed 800,000 more sittings than are at present
     provided. That is proof positive of the neglect of public
     worship, which can be viewed by Christians only with deep
     grief and pain. I state this to stimulate to effort, not
     merely clergymen and other Christian workers, but all
     classes. I would quote from the Bishop of Lichfield, who
     said that immorality and drunkenness were destroying our
     nation. Well-to-do people who mix but little with the lower
     classes can have no conception of the condition in which
     they are now living. I would advise that, instead of
     suggesting and inquiring as to what others should do, they
     should set about to find what, as Christians, they
     themselves should do. In the erection of this tent, you have
     raised a standard declaring the observance of the Lord's
     day. You can do this on physical grounds. The weekly day of
     rest is not only desirable, but necessary, and for that
     besides we have the authority of the Scriptures, and our
     great national boast and thankfulness is that England has an
     open Bible. Mr. Forster, addressing the children at the
     Crystal Palace on a late occasion, said that in every
     circumstance of life, whether of joy or sorrow, the Bible
     would be a boon to them. To this I would add that it not
     merely helps us amidst the joys and sorrows of this life,
     but it tells us what awaits us in the next. It tells--and
     this is the foundation-stone of this movement--it tells us
     that 'God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten
     Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but
     have everlasting life.' This will be the basis of the
     utterances which will be delivered from this platform.
     Believing this, I desire to offer to my Christian
     friends--who, I am assured, have no idea of advancing a
     sect, or preaching a particular doctrine--my most earnest
     and heartfelt sympathy in their enterprise."

Such an inspiriting speech as this, from a man so well known and of
such high place, who was a life long friend of Frederick Charrington,
was the happiest augury for the success of this new departure.

Success it was, and in the highest degree, but everything to which
Frederick Charrington has put his hand has been a success. Already my
readers will be wondering at the ceaseless activity of this still very
young man and his band of devoted workers. They are, however, as
nothing to what is to follow.

"Rescue bands" were organised at this time.

The various mission halls, and the great tent were in full swing. Upon
the hoardings of bare spaces of the East End the texts of Holy
Scripture were seen on all sides, interspersed with advertisements of
Christian literature, and advertisements of forthcoming meetings.

Crowds of people were daily gathered round these stations, eagerly
reading the words of life. On Sunday mornings working men, taking
their weekly stroll, men who had never opened a Bible in their lives,
would stop to read the parable of the Prodigal Son. In the dead of
night the poor lost girl, as she passed along to her via dolorosa, was
startled to see the familiar text which she had learnt as a child in
the Sunday schools. The guardians of law and order on their solitary
beats at night turned the lights of their lantern upon the hoardings,
and in the darkness and the silence of the night read the story of
Christ's love for them--the profligate returning from scenes of
revelry was arrested for the moment by the words "Prepare to meet thy
God!" Such a revival, at such a time, was absolutely unknown. A great
light, growing larger and larger every moment, began to shine in upon
the dark places of the East End. It was as though some great
lighthouse of God had been built by living hands, growing rapidly,
like some building in a fairy story, and flooding this part of London
with radiance. And in the height of the tower, directing the
unflagging rays of hope, was Frederick Nicholas Charrington.

The Rescue bands which he organised and accompanied himself,
penetrated to the lowest, and often most dangerous, neighbourhoods.
London has changed since those days, and not, perhaps, in the
direction of the picturesque, and the earnest workers for Christ moved
among the strangest scenes imaginable. Space will not allow me the
pleasant task of recalling some of those vanished scenes, but I may
make a passing reference to one environment which certainly holds the
imagination.

When the Huguenot refugees fled from the persecutions of their enemies
to the peace and security of Spitalfields, they obtained a living by
weaving, and Bethnal Green and Spitalfields were the recognised
headquarters of this branch of industry. Machinery had done much to
cripple the trade, but had not yet entirely destroyed it. The prices,
however, paid to the weavers in this locality were barely
remunerative, and a great amount of poverty existed. In Club-row and
thereabouts, the upper windows of the houses were of that long, arched
pattern which was sufficient evidence to show that these tenements
were occupied by weavers, as they were built to admit as much light as
possible. The connection between silk-weaving and bird-selling is not
very clear, nor is it obvious how the ground floors of the weavers'
houses were transformed into bird shops. But then every other shop, at
least, engaged to provide for the wants of the "Fancy," whether it
required poultry, pigeons, or small birds, not to mention rabbits,
dogs, rats, guinea-pigs, mice, hedgehogs, and goats. An extensive
trade was driven in these and other objects of interest to fanciers,
but the great Bird Fair, when business is at its full height, was
reserved for Sunday morning.

A member of the principal Rescue band, that worked in Bird Fair,
wrote--

"One bright Sunday morning we passed down Sclater Street as the fair
was commencing. The glad sunlight was flooding the streets, searching
every nook and cranny, and putting new life into the caged prisoners,
so that they poured forth their hearts in song. A strange contrast,
the sweet heavenly music of the country, and the pent-up, confined
surroundings presented. At any rate, so it appeared to us; but the
'Fancy,' which was disporting itself in great numbers, clad in a
variety of garments, usually with a blue-checked neckcloth, and a
short pipe between its teeth, had eyes alone for lark, linnet, or
chaffinch, and naught else. The 'Fancy' seemed to repeat itself every
way one turned. Here was a man with a cage enveloped in a black
handkerchief under his arm, and there another--his counterpart in
every particular. They differed only in this, that they were variously
laden; one had under his arm a cage, whilst another had a fowl, and
another a dog; but cages and dogs seemed to be the most numerous, the
former being more in favour than the latter. These men and their cages
are inseparable. Walk in the park, they are there; walk into the
country, they are there; go to their homes, they are there. Give a man
his cage and his pipe, and he is content."

And again--

"The work in Bird Fair is especially interesting. As we entered one of
the largest of these houses, we found scores of men congregated in the
side-parlour, and as soon as we could distinguish the objects on the
other side of the room through the dense clouds of tobacco smoke with
which it was filled, we saw that every available mantel-shelf or ledge
was filled up with small bird-cages, each containing its little
captive. A man just then came into the room, calling out, 'No. 6 and
No. 2, are you ready?' from which we conjectured that a raffle or bird
club was being carried on. They looked at us somewhat surprised, but
civilly received the invitations to be present at the services in
Lusby's Music Hall in the evening. We found another house where none
but dog fanciers assembled. Ferocious looking bulldogs (carefully
muzzled), and delicately reared little pug dogs were seated on their
owners' laps, or squatted on the ground at their feet. Here, with the
exception of one man whose language was not very choice, we received a
kind welcome; and after we had visited the room at the back, the
landlord, to our great astonishment, invited us to come round one
Sunday evening and talk to the men in the parlour. We almost thought
that this was a joke on his part, but on paying him another call on
the following Sunday morning and asking him if he really meant what he
said, he replied, 'Come to-night.' Accordingly, the same evening we
sent off two members of the Rescue band to hold a service at the time
appointed. They found a number waiting for their visit, and in a few
minutes had forty of these men seated with the landlord in their
midst. They talked to them for over an hour of what the Lord had done
for them, and what He is willing to do if they would only come to
Him. At the close of the meeting there were many requests for them to
come again on the following Sunday, and the publican said on leaving
that they might come as often as they liked. As they passed the bar,
those who had not come into the meeting explained to them which of the
bull-dogs would fight, and which would not, etc., etc.; and as they
patted the dogs on the head, they got a word with their owners about
their own souls."

Support poured in to the multifarious activities of the mission from
all sides.

The young Earl and Countess of Aberdeen attended, and were warmly
interested. The great Lord Shaftesbury, for many years one of Mr.
Charrington's most intimate friends, was also among those
highly-placed Englishmen and women who gave their unwavering support.

Mr. Samuel Morley, M.P., has already been mentioned, and one of the
richest men in England, Mr. T. A. Denny, was a magnificently generous
subscriber, and never ceased in his unflagging patronage of the work.
It was Mr. Denny who generously bore nearly all the pecuniary burden
of opening a certain East End music hall on Sunday nights--a music
hall which will be seen, as the story of Mr. Charrington's career
advances, to have had a most extraordinary place and influence in his
life.

The music hall crusade was Mr. Charrington's idea, and it proved an
inestimable blessing to the population among whom he worked, hundreds
being reached there who could never otherwise be brought within the
sound of the gospel.

At the Foresters' Music Hall, the famous Evangelist, Mr. Sankey,
consented to sing, and for three years the most enthusiastic meetings
were held there.

Both the Hon. Jon. Keith-Falconer and Lord Mount-Temple addressed the
congregation. One service in this hall was broken up by the loud
roarings of some caged lions who were to be shown there on the next
night. The audience was terrified and refused to stay, despite Mr.
Charrington's assurance that there was no danger. The great beasts
were only separated from the Evangelist by the drop curtain, and the
experience must certainly have been very unpleasant and
nerve-shaking--though Frederick Charrington does not rejoice in
"nerves."

Lusby's Music Hall, the place of amusement to which I first referred,
and which was the largest music hall in the East End, was opened for
several seasons.

Work was begun there on a night in November, 1877. The crowd was so
great that it extended beyond the tram-lines, which were seventy feet
from the entrance, while before the doors were opened the line itself
was invaded, and the police had to regulate the crowd in order to let
the trams pass through it.

The hour of this first service was seven o'clock, but at half-past six
there was not a single vacant seat in the building, and wherever
standing room could be found, it was immediately occupied. Madame
Antoinette Stirling came down and sang "O rest in the Lord."

I wish especially to insist on the fact, ample record of which is in
my possession, that these music hall services on Sunday nights were
_continuously_ crowded. People who would not have even gone into the
great tent or the ordinary mission halls were to be found in the
transformed haunts of their ignoble week-day pleasures, and the souls
that were led to the foot of the Cross were incalculable.

In connection with Lusby's Music Hall, in particular, I cannot refrain
from recalling at least one case of very special interest.

A poor man, a dock labourer, who had not attended a service of any
kind for several years, entered the hall one Sunday evening when Mr.
Joseph Weatherley was the preacher. The sinner's need and the
Saviour's power to save him were clearly set before the people, and
the man that night rested his soul on the finished work of God. The
next day, while at work in the dock, he fell down a ship's hold, and
was carried to the London Hospital very much injured. The nurse (a
Christian woman), under whose care he was placed, saw that he was
dying and spoke to him of Jesus. She found him happy in the assurance
of sins forgiven, and on asking how long he had been a child of God,
he replied, "Last Sunday night, through the preaching in Lusby's Music
Hall." He died rejoicing.

I shall have so much to say of Lusby's Music Hall in a forthcoming
part of this book that I will not attempt, in this place, any
word-picture of the services there.

In connection with another establishment of the same kind, and, if
possible, much lower and more disreputable than the usual thing, I am
able to reconstruct a typical scene of the many that occurred there
when Mr. Charrington and his friends turned it for one night in each
week from a place of sin and corruption to a stronghold of our Lord.

Wilton's Music Hall, or, as it was affectionately called by its
habitués, "The Mahogany Bar," was a music hall opening on a quiet
square notorious as the Ratcliff Highway, then regarded as the most
disreputable street of its kind in the whole world. Ratcliff
Highway--has it not obtained an evil immortality in the words of
innumerable songs which are minor classics in their way?--was the
resort of the lowest characters of all nations, the very scum of the
earth. It was here that "Poor Jack" fell a prey to the vilest harpies
in Christendom, it was a den of prostitution, vice, drunkenness and
crime, tenanted by fiends in human form, who made their unholy gains
out of the passionate outbursts of the misguided sailors, who, by
their orgies, their desperate affrays, and frightful excesses, did so
much to confer its evil notoriety upon the street.

One Saturday night, Mr. Charrington and a friend, armed with handbills
announcing that Wilton's Music Hall was to be opened on Sunday and
that seats were free, turned into Leman Street, en route for some of
the lowest drinking, dancing, and singing saloons that East London
could boast.

They entered fifty public-houses and singing saloons of the worst
type. There was a sink of iniquity known as "The Paddy's Goose." "The
Gun Boat," "The Jolly Sailor" and "The Kettledrum" were hardly any
better.

Hardly any middle-aged women were to be seen, seafaring men, from the
apprentice to the mate, from the nigger to the English tar, men of all
stamps, sizes, nations, and colours; girls with shawl-covered heads,
usually in parties of three and four, under the supervision of
horrible old hags, made up the crowd that thronged these dens.
Elbowing their way through a group of sailors and wretched girls
gathered at the door of one of the establishments, and brushing past
one or two ragged little urchins who were peeping in at the chinks,
wishing, perhaps, to catch a glimpse of the comparative comfort
within, they entered those swinging portals, which move so easily
inwards, but with so much difficulty outwards. They found themselves
in a large and crowded drinking saloon. With the reflection that "the
righteous shall be bold as a Lion," they met the stare of the many
eyes turned upon them with a rather painful composure. The landlord, a
sporting-looking character, received them with evident astonishment
and curiosity.

He was soon acquainted with their mission--"Would he kindly allow a
bill or two to be placed upon his counter?" Appealed to in this
fashion, he could not refuse. In one case, such was the obliging
condescension, yet amazing incongruity, exhibited, that the monarch of
the bar declared that "he would do anything to help the cause."

The company were soon supplied with notices, and acknowledged them
with varying degrees of politeness. Some hardly looked at them, while
others criticised them narrowly. "Ah! it's not for the like o' me,"
exclaimed one man, with the marks of many a tempest upon his brow.
"Take it away, it only adds to my sins." "What! the Mahogany Bar
opened on a Sunday!" objected a would-be wit, "No, no; we'd go there
to-night, but on Sunday----" And the speaker concluded his sentence
with a well-affected pretence at remonstrance.

The opening service was on Sunday. For the first time within the
"Mahogany Bar" Music Hall, God's praises were sung on February 24,
1877. Never before had the cry "Stand up, stand up for Jesus" rung
from its benches, and never before, perhaps, had the Spirit of God
descended in mighty power, breaking the hard heart, subduing the
rebellious will, and making light to shine even in the stronghold of
Satan. Most encouraging it was to find that, notwithstanding the
service had been only scantily advertised by posters, and by the bills
alluded to, the hall was at seven o'clock very fairly filled, and
filled, too, by those same individuals that the Rescue party had
addressed the night before. Such a congregation was rarely seen in
those early days. Seafaring men were there in scores; and the girls of
loose character they had brought with them--"the sailors' women," as
they were known, almost entirely composed the audience.

Mr. Charrington conducted, and Mr. J. Manton Smith preached.
Considering they were on their good behaviour, and evidently felt the
restraint of silence during the prayers to be irksome, the people were
much quieter than was expected. The sailors, however, sat with their
arms round the girls who accompanied them as if it were quite the
right thing to do--otherwise they remained quiet and listened most
attentively to the preacher.

Mr. Smith led the singing upon his silver cornet. In the course of the
service he also sang a solo. Often hearts are touched by holy music
when all else fails. His address was founded upon the words "Nothing
to pay," and it was delivered in language understood by the people, as
was really shown by the attention he gained.

Mr. Smith related an effective anecdote of five poor castaway
fishermen, who had lost their smack and were tossing about in a boat
without oars, upon a raging sea, and far from land. A vessel drew near
to them. The captain--who related the incident to him--sighted them.
He backed and made for them, but failed. Despairing cries ascended
from the forlorn; they thought they were to be left to their fate. He
backed again to the oarless boat, and gradually drew nearer. Upon the
vessel there was a stoker--a huge man of immense strength. As the
little boat rose upon the ocean and dashed against the vessel's side,
the stoker stretched forward, and just as it was receding, caught hold
of one of the poor fishermen and pulled him on board. He was saved in
an instant. "And," said Mr. Smith, "that's just how Jesus saved me."

Before the service was over, six sailors were observed to follow one
another out of the hall with the tears running down their cheeks, and
trembling with emotion. It was not long before other cases were made
apparent. God had sent down his Spirit as a witness that souls can be
saved even in the Tempter's sanctuary. One brave fellow went out of
the hall rejoicing in the possession of the pearl of great price which
he had that night found, but which in his wanderings all over the
world he had hitherto failed to discover.

Every day in the week, and on every Sunday, the work of rescue and of
salvation was continued without cessation. The light burned brighter
and brighter. Mr. Charrington and his friends indeed seemed to be
under the special guidance of the Holy Spirit. There was never the
slightest diminution of energy or force. The white-hot fervour was
maintained.

The young man who had given up an imperial fortune, who had renounced
a life of luxury, for the hardest asceticism and constant warfare,
never flagged for a moment.

One of his friends, who was associated with him at that time, said to
me a few days ago, "Mr. Charrington has always been as fearless as a
lion, both physically and morally. He would go, entirely unprotected,
into districts where policemen only went in twos and threes. He never
had any hesitation in speech. He was by no means a great orator, but
once 'wind him up' and he would go on for ever. Dogged determination
has always been characteristic of him in everything. He has an almost
bull-dog tenacity of purpose, and will of iron.

"I remember, as illustrating Mr. Charrington's physical fearlessness,
that one night a policeman had very foolishly gone alone into a low
public-house in a back slum with a most sinister reputation to arrest
two men. There was an immediate uproar, and a fight. Mr. Charrington
happened to be passing, on one of his errands of mercy, and saw what
was happening. He realised in a moment that the policeman had no
possible chance against the crowd of low characters in the
public-house. He dashed in and asked if the constable required help.
The man was being hard pressed, and reinforcement was indeed a godsend
to him. 'All right,' Charrington said, 'You take one prisoner and I
will take the other.' How Charrington and the policeman managed it, I
don't pretend to say, but they collared their men. There was a furious
fight, the women especially assaulting Mr. Charrington with great
violence, scratching, kicking, and beating him on the head with
umbrellas. The prisoners were eventually got outside, and other
policemen came to the rescue, but when Mr. Charrington turned up at
the hall he was hardly recognisable. His hat was smashed in, his
clothes were in tatters, and he was fearfully kicked and bruised.

"He would stick at nothing in the work he had set himself to do. In
his efforts in the cause of Temperance one of the greatest
difficulties he had to contend with was that the police of those days,
in the part of the East End where he worked, were themselves often
heavy drinkers. The majority of them had regular houses in the
neighbourhood where they would go and get drink when on duty.

"Mr. Charrington saw that it was essential that this should be
stopped. It struck at the whole root of his campaign, and he
determined that he would put an end to it if he could.

"One night he watched the doors of a certain public-house. He saw a
policeman come up to it, the door opened and a hand shot out with a
can of beer. He had already started a definite campaign against drink
being given to the police when on duty, and, at that moment, the
policeman, who was just about to drink, looked round and saw Mr.
Charrington, whom he recognised immediately. He dropped the can of
beer upon the pavement, took to his heels and ran as hard as he could
go. As an illustration of the tenacity and "downrightness" of
Charrington, I may tell you that he gave chase, and after an almost
interminable pursuit through dark and badly lighted streets, chaste
and sober living told, and he caught his man.

"The policeman was utterly cowed, and begged Mr. Charrington not to
report him.

"'Very well,' his captor answered, 'I won't report you if you will
give me your word of honour to come to the hall to-morrow and sign the
pledge.' The man replied, 'Well, sir, I am engaged to a very nice
young lady indeed. She has always been on at me to give up the drink.
And if you will let me off this time, I promise you faithfully that I
will come round in the morning and do as you wish.'

"The next morning the man kept his word. He signed the pledge, and,
what is more, never broke it. His whole life was changed from that
day, and he became a regular worshipper at Mr. Charrington's services.
And in connection with this side of Charrington's work--which resulted
in purifying the morals of the East End police--I should like you to
make a note of the fact that Mr. Charrington _never reported a
policeman_. From first to last this never happened. He went about his
work of reclamation and purifying in his own way. It was entirely a
case of individual discovery and remonstrance. He certainly visited
headquarters and complained about the police generally, while he drew
attention to the existing state of things in the Press. But never,
from first to last, did he mention any individual. Then as now, he was
always a thorough sportsman."

Such a little picture as this does more, by means of concrete
instances, to explain Mr. Charrington's methods than pages of
explanation could do.

I confess I laughed when I heard this story. I was sitting in the
drawing-room at Rivermere with the gentleman who told it me, and I was
still laughing when Mr. Charrington came in.

"I would give five pounds to see you chasing a policeman through
London, now," I said to him. "There is something, to my mind,
irresistibly funny in the idea."

He joined in my laughter--"Oh, I can tell you something funnier than
that," he said with a chuckle, and for an hour or more there came a
flow of reminiscences, all told with that merry smile, in that low,
deprecating voice, which nevertheless bubbles with quiet humour, which
is so marked a characteristic of my friend.

Throughout this life I have carefully avoided, as far as in me lies,
the phraseology and methods of many biographers of great religious
workers. I was told to write this story of Frederick Charrington just
as I wished. I was given a free hand, indeed, I may even say that the
reason why I _was_ chosen for the work was because, that in many
religious matters I take a diametrically opposite view to that of Mr.
Charrington and his friends, and have never been associated with any
evangelistic movements.

I have rather hesitated, therefore, as to whether I should include--at
this stage--any account of the numerous conversions which occurred at
the time of which I am writing. I have in my possession an astonishing
series of records, bearing witness to the spiritual value of Mr.
Charrington's unceasing warfare for our Lord. The unrecorded
conversions of this period, are, of course, countless. After some
consideration I have decided to include a few instances, taken at
random from the material I have.

It will be remembered that the words in which these instances are
recorded are not my own, but are the _ipsissima verba_ of one of Mr.
Charrington's helpers, to whose lot it fell to record them.

     Mr. M----: "I used to work for a bad master--the devil. I
     went to the Foresters' Music Hall--just out of
     curiosity--and thank God! my curiosity was satisfied, but
     not in the way I anticipated; for that night God laid hold
     on my soul and saved me. Mr. Manton Smith was preaching, and
     the words seemed all for me. I stayed to the after meeting,
     but no one came and spoke to me. God was working mightily in
     my soul, for the tears came stealing down my cheeks. I was
     just going out when Mr. Charrington took hold of me and
     spoke to me of Christ. And bless God he did! for if he had
     not, I don't know where I might have been to-night. Ever
     since then I have been doing all I can for my
     fellow-sinners."

     Mr. F---- said: "I have much to thank God for, especially
     that He ever led me into this hall. I came in here swearing
     on the first night it was opened. Mr. Charrington was
     praying, and in the course of the prayer he said, "Where
     will these spend their eternity?" The thought was an awful
     one, and it affected me much; and it took something to
     affect me, for I have been an awful bad 'un. I came next
     night. The words I heard had not left me; I heard them
     ringing in my ears over and over again. For twenty-five
     years I worshipped a wooden god. I went to confession, and I
     cannot tell you what I did; but, praise God! He led me away
     from the Romish Church, and brought me into His fold, and
     now I enjoy the glorious liberty of a child of God. There
     are many in this hall to-night who, with me, can bless God
     that ever this building was erected."

     Mr. B----: "When I was in the world, my greatest pastime was
     skittles. I have gone into the skittle ground at seven
     o'clock in the morning, and not left it till late at night.
     I often lost all my money, and, of course, my poor wife used
     to suffer. One night I had no money, and I wanted some to go
     to my usual place with. My wife said to me, 'Now, look here;
     if you will go and hear Charley Inglis at Mr. Charrington's
     Tent, I'll give you some money for skittling.' I said,
     'Alright. I'll go and hear Charley Inglis, or Charley Irish,
     if you like. Anything to get money to satisfy my appetite.'
     After the service was over I thought, 'Well, he's a nice
     sort of chap enough, but I suppose he makes a good thing out
     of it, or else he wouldn't do it.' I was just off when Mr.
     Kerwin tapped me on the shoulder, and taking hold of my arm
     said, 'Are you safe for eternity?' and I believe I said,
     'Yes.' I didn't care about any one talking to me, I wanted
     to be off; but he would not let me go, and that night, bless
     God! I gave my heart to Jesus, and ever since that I have
     been working for my master."

     Mr. B---- said: "I can remember when I was a little boy, my
     dad taking me to a camp meeting. He was a preacher among the
     Primitive Methodists. I remember him saying to me, 'Ah, my
     boy, you'll remember one day, if you become a child of God,
     how your father has prayed for you.' Bless God! he has
     remembered me, and in this very hall I found Christ. The day
     after, I went to work, and being in a little position I
     wondered whether I should speak to all my workpeople. I
     decided that I would not; not because I was ashamed to, but
     I thought it would be better to let my walk show that there
     was a change in me. I used to curse and swear at my men very
     much. One day I said to one of them 'Tommy, do you know I
     have been converted?' 'Ah,' he said, 'I thought there was
     something up, because there is such a change in you.'"

     Mr. G----: "I have been a downright bad 'un. When I was
     about fourteen years of age, I ran away to sea. I never
     found out the worth of a mother until she was taken away;
     she died while I was in China. One night I came in here,
     being attracted by the notice that a convict was to preach.
     I sat and listened to what the preacher had to say, and the
     words spoken by Henry Holloway went home to my soul. After
     the meeting he came and spoke to me, and we went into the
     inquiry room together, and, praise God! I found peace that
     night. The next day I asked my wife to come, and she found
     the Lord, and now we are both on the same road."

We have progressed a good deal in statements of spiritual experiences
since the above words were written, now nearly thirty years ago. We
have, for example, an acute and brilliant intellect, like that of Mr.
Harold Begbie, engaged upon the scientific psychology of
conversion--an accomplished literary man blessed with Christian
insight. Nevertheless, these simple records in their crude wording do
but state again the astonishing fact that the power of the Gospel can
and does change the whole course of men's and women's lives; that a
herald of Heaven, a man bearing news of the Lux Mundi, may have his
labours blessed and inspired by thousands of such results as these.

Once more, as I survey this period of Mr. Charrington's life, and
have, moreover, a knowledge of the more stirring and astonishing
incidents to come, I am lost in amazement at the power of the man's
personality.

We see him now, and the close of this chapter marks another definite
period in his life, at the head, as the central person in an enormous
and rapidly growing organisation accomplishing an incredible amount of
good.

This organisation was already definitely styled "The Tower Hamlets
Mission."

The collection of little villages which clustered round that great
stronghold of the English kings. The Tower, had been swept away so
utterly that no single trace remained. But the name still existed, and
that Sahara of crowded, pestilential dwellings, of narrow streets,
where vice and famine walked hand in hand, that unknown city of the
lost, still retained the pleasant title of the "Tower Hamlets," with
all its associations of village greens, sweet trees, and simple
homesteads.

The mission, while it never advertised itself, was, nevertheless,
looked upon by some of the most eminent Englishmen of that day as the
most noble, the most adequate effort ever made to Christianise the
heathen of the East End and bring them to a knowledge of God.

It was a _quiet_ work for God.

    Not marked by noise, but by success alone;
    Not known by bustle, but by useful deeds,

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

    Making no needless noise, yet ever working
    Hour after hour upon a needy world.

I do not intend here to quote lists of the celebrated people who were
interested in Mr. Charrington and his work at this time. I do,
however, want to emphasise the statement I have just made. And when I
say that that great and good Lord Shaftesbury, whose name is honoured
and revered in the history of our own times, and always will be so
honoured and revered, was the principal supporter of Mr. Charrington,
then I have said all that is necessary.

At one of the annual general meetings of the Tower Hamlets Mission,
Lord Shaftesbury was present, who till the time of his death was
president of the mission. He made a long and interesting speech. From
that speech, duly reported and preserved, I quote the following
passages. The Right Hon. The Earl of Shaftesbury said--

     "It is necessary that if I should address you at all, I
     should do so at this moment, for I cannot stay with you much
     longer. I am afraid whatever I say will be scarcely audible.
     My voice is very weak to-night, and it is not in my power to
     throw it out to the end of the hall. I wish first to say
     that I feel very much the kind reception you give me, and
     to assure you that if I failed in my attendance two years
     ago, it was not on account of any frail and feeble excuse,
     because I have never, I think, broken an engagement, except
     on a really good excuse. And I confess I am more astonished
     at the assembly I see before me on such a night as this,
     than that I should have kept my engagement who had the
     advantage of coming here in a carriage. But the presence in
     such numbers, and the enthusiasm you manifest, show to me
     that the cause is in your hearts, and that by God's blessing
     you duly appreciate the kindness and the mercies here
     prepared for you. (Cheers.) For many years I have been in
     the habit of coming to Whitechapel, and many people say to
     me, 'Why do you go to Whitechapel so often?' My answer is,
     'Because I always find very good people there; and if you
     knew Whitechapel as well as I know it, you would find there
     was a larger proportion of good people in Whitechapel than
     in an equal number of people in the West End of London.' I
     will tell you one thing which I like about Whitechapel
     people; I like their hearty, open manner, and the general
     enthusiasm of their demeanour; and I tell you fairly that
     you put me in mind of a large body of people with whom I was
     more conversant in earlier years than I am now, and my
     friend Bardsley here will bear testimony that the people of
     Whitechapel are, to my mind, more like the people of
     Lancashire than any other people in the metropolis. If you
     want to know what a Lancashire man is, look at our friend
     Bardsley on the right (laughter). He is descended from one
     of the noblest men I ever knew. His father was one of the
     grandest men I ever knew--a grand old patriarch, who has
     given some ten or eleven sons to the service of our Lord and
     Saviour Jesus Christ. I entirely concur with the sentiments
     of my friend Clifford, and I rejoice to see him here
     to-night, and may his life be long spared to appear on this
     platform. What you heard from your friend Mr. Charrington
     and from Mr. Clifford is quite enough, and constitutes the
     strongest appeal I could well imagine to the wealthy and the
     powerful. What a manifestation of work is going on here day
     by day, night by night, and hour by hour! See the effects
     made for great ends, and apparently for small ends too: What
     we call a small end, when we have to do with the working
     classes, often constitutes the very turning point in the
     man's existence. The only way to assist a working man is to
     enable him to assist himself. Let me press on you seriously
     the immense advantages you enjoy compared with your
     forefathers. Time was, and not very long ago, when such a
     meeting as this would have been impossible, and you could
     not make such a thing intelligible to men's minds. Remember
     how this mighty city has grown up; and all the Church of
     England, and all the denominations, if they could be brought
     to be of one mind would be wholly inadequate to the great
     spiritual work of this metropolis. _Now I delight to see
     these lay agents come forward and, like your friend, Mr.
     Charrington, act as auxiliaries and subsidiaries to the
     efforts of the ordained ministers to preach the word of
     God._ It is a great blessing when you see how hundreds and
     thousands are brought to come in the spirit of freedom and
     choice, to hear the Word of God, who could never have been
     coerced by any system of ecclesiastical discipline which
     even the Pope might endeavour to institute. All these
     considerations should impress on you a sense of the deep
     obligations under which you are: first to God, and then to
     these men whom God has raised up to conduct these various
     missions, and to sustain all these manifold efforts to
     propagate the Gospel. I am certain that I am within the
     limit when I say that there are at least 400,000 persons at
     the present time in this metropolis who would never have
     heard the Word of God but for the agency of such missions.
     Did these exist in former times? I recollect when we
     propounded nineteen years ago that the theatres should be
     opened for divine service on every successive Sunday, we
     were treated by some with scorn, by some with doubt (very
     sincere doubt), and by all with misgiving. What has been the
     result? Such gatherings as these. Thus the Gospel of God has
     been sounded out in the metropolis, and I, in going the
     rounds of our great cities in the dark hours of the night,
     have found that by such means as these many have come to
     know of the Gospel.

     "The grand leading principle is to deal out to the hundreds
     and thousands of these districts a knowledge of the Lord
     Jesus Christ. And let me tell you how low people may fall,
     even as it were in the centre of religious light, unless
     that truth is brought home to them personally and
     individually. Some years ago, when our commissioners were
     making inquiry into the mines and collieries of this
     kingdom, one of the commissioners--a most excellent man, and
     very anxious about the religious welfare of the
     community--told me himself that in one of the largest
     colliery districts of England, he descended into a pit, and
     spoke to the man there--a hard-working man; and being
     anxious to know something of his religious state, said to
     him, 'Do you know Jesus Christ?' 'No,' was the reply; 'does
     he work on the bank, or in the pit?' Such was the state of a
     man in the middle of one of the most populous districts in
     England, in the mines and collieries, the centre of hundreds
     and thousands so utterly ignorant of the first elements of
     religion that he had never heard the name of the Saviour of
     mankind. But if none go forth to the highways and to the
     hedges to gather them in; if there be none to invite them to
     places such as these; none to reveal to them the nature of
     sin and the fallen condition of man in his present state,
     they will certainly not learn it by intuition. Man has to
     preach the Gospel to man; and it is a sense of this duty
     that is occupying such men as Mr. Charrington and others in
     their endeavours to communicate to you the blessing God has
     so abundantly imparted to them. I am delighted to see such a
     meeting as this, because I see the enthusiasm with which you
     come: and when you joined in those hymns, I saw that you
     sang them from your hearts, that you knew what you were
     singing, and that the hymns were not merely exercises of
     music, but the expressions of true devotion. It is a mighty
     thing to have achieved such results in the wild and remote
     districts of the East of London, and would to God we had a
     hundred halls such as this! _where men of God should stand
     and daily preach the Word of God, and minister consolation
     to those who come_. Mr. Charrington has said that he desires
     a larger building, and so do you desire it, and so let every
     one desire it, and pray for it heartily, and do what in him
     lies to get it. Every person, I say, every woman, and every
     child may be a centre of influence. And recollect what that
     means. Your influence may be small, but if it be a centre it
     makes a little ring of itself, and these concentric rings
     one after another will at length cover the whole space of
     London, and will produce a feeling that will issue in the
     accomplishment of the prayer which Mr. Charrington has so
     devoutly pronounced. I trust you will have that building,
     and that it will be consecrated, as this one has been, to
     the knowledge of God and the salvation of souls. I am afraid
     I can say no more. I doubt whether you have heard what I
     have said. I heartily pray God that blessing may descend on
     you all, collectively and individually, in this great and
     important district of Stepney and Whitechapel."

I have been tempted to give longer extracts than I at first intended.

Such words as these, however, definitely present the Tower Hamlets
Mission of those days to your mind, and they also have a real historic
value. I make no further apology for giving them.

They strike a note, however, which naturally leads me on to the next
period in Mr. Charrington's life. They are most fitting to conclude
this chapter, inasmuch as they definitely point to the movement which
resulted in the building of the largest mission hall in the world, and
establishing upon a firm and concrete basis the most successful
unsectarian mission ever known.

Only the other day the papers announced the death of General Booth.
The fame of that great leader of men and mighty warrior in God's cause
has penetrated to the utmost corners of the earth. Yet, it was pointed
out in a leading article in the _Daily Telegraph_ that there were
other organisations, no less wonderful in what they had accomplished,
no less deserving of reverence and support, which nevertheless were
hardly heard of--comparatively speaking--by the outside world.

Mr. Charrington's name was specially mentioned in this regard.

It is, perhaps, a whimsical fancy, but I like to think that--and
Frederick Charrington has said as much to me--I have, in some sense,
in this book, discovered him, from an unknown country. All this life
he has worked for God, seeking no personal fame, no undue
advertisement.

Comparisons very often lend themselves to the grotesque.

I am no Stanley, but, be that as it may, I have found another
Livingstone in a forest no less dark, impenetrable, and unknown, than
that tropic gloom where the great journalist of the New York newspaper
pressed the hand of the saintly missionary of Africa.

You are now to read three chapters which deal in detail with
adventures in the cause of Christ as thrilling as anything in modern
fiction. Afterwards we shall arrive at that glorious fruition of Mr.
Charrington's work, which resulted in the building of the Great
Assembly Hall.

But now--to the battles!



CHAPTER IV

DAVID AND JONATHAN


I suppose few eminent men of our time have been more blessed with
friends than Frederick Charrington.

From the highest to the lowest he has had, and has, troops of devoted
men and women who reverence and love him.

But there has been one friendship in his life which deserves to rank
with the great friendships of the world, so uninterrupted, so firm and
beautiful, was it. No life of the great evangelist would be complete
without an account of his friendship with the late Hon. Ion
Keith-Falconer, third son of the late Earl of Kintore.

This young man, who died at the untimely age of thirty-one, while
engaged in whole-hearted missionary work at Aden, was one of the most
remarkable intellects and personalities of his day. The beauty of his
character, the ardour of his missionary zeal, his great learning,
formed a combination rarely equalled. His life was one of true
nobility and unselfishness. In its harmonious beauty, and the rich
variety of its aspects, it was unique. That this man and Frederick
Charrington should have been more than brothers to each other, is one
of the most interesting and touching episodes in the latter's life.

"I count all things but loss for Christ" was the essence of
Keith-Falconer's career, and he found his truest inspiration, his
greatest opportunity for doing good, in his friendship for Frederick
Charrington. I have heard much of this association. Many things are
almost too intimate to be recorded here. But with all the information
placed at my disposal, and from the excellent _Memorials of the Hon.
Ion Keith-Falconer_, published nearly thirty years ago by the Rev.
Robert Sinker, D.D., librarian of Trinity College, Cambridge, I have
been able to reconstruct much of a friendship passing the love of
women, as firm, and true, as called forth from Lord Tennyson these
noble words when Hallam died--

    "Of those that, eye to eye, shall look
      On knowledge; under whose command
      Is Earth and Earth's, and in their hand
    Is Nature like an open book;

    No longer half akin to brute,
      For all we thought and loved and did,
      And hoped, and suffer'd, is but seed
    Of what in them is flower and fruit.

    Whereof the man, that with me trod
      This planet, was a noble type
      Appearing ere the times were ripe,
    That friend of mine who lives in God.

    That God, which ever lives and loves,
      One God, one law, one element
      And one far-off divine event,
    To which the whole creation moves."

Ion Grant Neville Keith-Falconer was born at Edinburgh on the 5th
July, 1856.

His earlier years were spent at Keith Hall, varied by long visits to
Brighton and elsewhere. His childhood was quite uneventful, though,
even in those early days, his mother afterwards spoke of his intense,
and, as it were, innate truthfulness, and his unvarying thoughtfulness
for others--not always prominent characteristics in children who may
afterwards develop into the best of men.

At the age of eleven he was sent to the large preparatory school of
Cheam in Surrey, where he gained a good many prizes, and seems to have
been thoroughly happy.

In 1869, when thirteen years of age, Ion Keith-Falconer went to Harrow
to compete for an Entrance Scholarship, which he was successful in
obtaining.

In July 1873, I find the first reference to Frederick Charrington in a
letter written by the young man of seventeen from Harrow. He had
already made Mr. Charrington's acquaintance, who was six years his
senior, in or about the year 1871, when Mr. Charrington was on a
walking tour in Aberdeenshire, and was invited by Lord Kintore to
Keith Hall. In later years, when Lord Kintore had passed to his rest
in 1880, Keith-Falconer wrote to Mr. E. H. Kerwin, the secretary of
the Tower Hamlets Mission: "It is pleasant to me to reflect that it
was my father who first introduced me to Charrington and his work, and
that he so cordially supported the Tower Hamlets Mission. I hope that
his sudden departure may be a means of blessing to the careless,
perhaps to some who heard him speak in the Great Assembly Hall."

The following is part of the letter I have referred to, written during
the closing days of Keith-Falconer's life.

"Charrington sent me a book yesterday which I have read. It is called
_Following Fully_ ... about a man who works among the cholera people
in London, so hard that he at length succumbs and dies. But every page
is full of Jesus Christ, so that I liked it. And I like Charrington,
because he is quite devoted to Him, and has really given up all for
His sake. I must go and do the same soon; how, I do not know."

There is another letter extant which was written from Mr.
Charrington's house upon Stepney Green, towards the end of that same
year.

It states that "after dinner we went the rounds to inspect the tent
for preaching, and Charrington lent it to a little missionary to hold
a midnight meeting in on Thursday. We also visited the Mission Hall,
where they were making a pool for baptising people in.... In the
evening a well-attended meeting at the tent; foul air. After the
meeting the speakers were Dr. Sharpe, an old but very energetic and
godly Scotchman, _broad accent_, a soldier from Wellington Barracks
and Mr. Kerwin. We went to have some tea and then to the hospital to
see a man supposed to be dying, but found to be recovering. I have
lots to do here. I did not get to bed till nearly one o'clock, having
been up nineteen hours. We visited the Boys' Homes, which I think a
capital place. The dormitaries were perfect; the ventilation,
cleanliness and comfort, could not have been better looked after."

At the end of the summer term of 1873, Keith-Falconer finally left
Harrow, it being decided he should spend the last year before entering
Cambridge with a tutor.

Even at this early age, the friendship between the two young men had
become fixed and immutable. The work in the East End to which Mr.
Charrington was now so fully committed, and was carrying out with such
success and blessing, was one which irresistibly appealed to Lord
Kintore's son. The needs, spiritual and other, of that part of London
were, and are, so great as to force attention from the most casual
observer. And it was what Mr. Charrington had seen at the very
beginning of his career, what he was one of the first evangelists to
realise, that thoroughly coincided with Keith-Falconer's frame of
mind. Charrington made it as the very basis of his work, that all
attempts should proceed uniformly throughout on what he justly felt
was the true principle of civilising by Christianising. Mr.
Charrington has never been one of those--and was not then--who start
with the idea that the religious life comes more readily when the
material conditions of life are improved. He knew, of course, that
there would often be great material need, but in such cases he saw his
duty as a teacher of the Gospel perfectly clear. He would not, of
course, offer Christian teaching to men and women in such dire bodily
need that they were unable to accept it, without making any effort to
meet those needs. But, on the other hand, he would not insist on first
civilising in every possible way save by religion--to attempt to
educate the masses by art, general education, and so forth--and then,
and only then, allow religion to be brought to bear and come into
their lives.

In due course Mr. Keith-Falconer proceeded to Cambridge. A don of
that University, speaking of him as he was at this period, and,
indeed, he altered but little from this time to the end of his short
life, says--

     "His appearance at this time, his manner, his tastes, were
     all strikingly like what they were in later times. He had a
     remarkably tall, well-shaped figure, whose symmetry seemed
     to take off from his height of six feet three inches.
     Physically very strong he certainly was, in one sense, or
     his wonderful feats of athletic endeavour would have been
     impossible. Yet, for all those feats, which were partly due,
     no doubt, to the sustaining power of a strong will, he could
     not really be called robust.

     "His kindly voice and genial smile will live in the
     recollection of his friends; like good Bishop Hacket of
     Lichfield, he might have taken as his motto, 'Serve God and
     be cheerful.' Side by side, however, with his geniality,
     there was in Keith-Falconer at all times the most perfect
     and, so to speak, transparent simplicity. Never was a
     character more free from any alloy of insincerity or
     meanness. No undertone of veiled unkindness, or jealousy, or
     selfishness, found place in his conversation. From the most
     absolute truthfulness he would never waver; his frank, open
     speech was genuine, the unmixed outcome of his feelings.

     "A certain slight, very slight, deafness in one ear made him
     at times seem absent to those who did not know this, and
     unknowingly had sat or walked on the wrong side.

     "A characteristic habit of his seemed now and then to give a
     certain degree of irrelevance in his remarks. Sometimes,
     when in conversation on a topic which interested him, he
     would, after remaining silent for a short time, join again
     in the conversation with a remark not altogether germane to
     the point at issue. He had been following out a train of
     thought suggested by some passing remark, and after working
     out the idea on his own lines, as far as it would go, made
     his comment on the result. Yet whenever the conversation had
     to do with the interests or needs of those to whom he was
     speaking, no one could throw himself more completely, heart
     and mind, into the matter. Talk for talking's sake he
     cordially abhorred, that talk which is simply made as though
     silence were necessarily a bad thing in itself.

     "This interest in widely different topics of conversation
     was not, however, simply the result of mingled good-nature
     and courtesy, a mere complaisance, where it was but a
     careless good-nature that saved the courtesy from
     hollowness. Far from it. No one who knew Keith-Falconer
     well, needs to be told how thoroughly, how constantly, and
     in what varying ways, he could make the business or cause of
     another his own; whether it were a friend in need of help,
     from the most trifling to the most momentous matters, or the
     absolute stranger whom apparent chance had sent across his
     path.

     "Still, with all this, his kindliness was by no means one
     lacking in its proper counterpoise of discretion; his
     strong, clear-headed, Scotch common-sense was constantly
     manifest, even in his schemes of beneficence. Yet even thus
     it must be remembered that his was a character in which the
     warm heart was guided in its action by the clear head, not
     one in which the clear head did but allow itself to be
     swayed more or less by the loving heart. Love was the
     dominant power, discretion the corrective influence."

Mr. Charrington used to visit his friend at the University, and it was
there, as Mr. Richardson has informed me, that the evangelist obtained
a nickname which stuck to him for a long time. Special open-air
services used to be held upon "Parker's Piece" in the University city,
and on one occasion Keith-Falconer got his "gyp," as the men-servants
are called at Cambridge, to come and join in the meeting. At the close
Mr. Charrington was in the habit of speaking to those who had
attended, and in earnest expostulation with this man, not knowing who
he was, he said to him, "Down on your knees." After that, Charrington
was always known--in the University city, at any rate--as "Doyk."

[Illustration: DAVID AND JONATHAN

                                                   [_To face p. 90._]

In 1880 Mr. Keith-Falconer took a First Class in the Semitic Languages
Tripos. During the whole of his University career, not only was he one
of the most brilliant students of his time, but also a well-known
sportsman. There was no namby-pamby Christian about this young scion
of a great house. Everything he undertook he did well, and he became a
leading bicycle racer in England, scoring innumerable successes at
Cambridge, in the Inter-University meeting with Oxford, and defeating
the professional champion of England by five yards. All this time, and
I cannot give more than a mere outline of Keith-Falconer's career,
inasmuch as it is unconnected with the Tower Hamlets Mission and Mr.
Charrington, he was sitting for innumerable examinations, and building
up a record of scholarship which still survives. Yet he was most
actively connected with Mr. Charrington's work, and was, now very
shortly, to be more a part of it than ever. With his friend he
penetrated into the most miserable homes, he conducted many services,
and, as will be seen in further chapters, when the luridly exciting
story of the _Battle of the Music Halls_ is told, he was Mr.
Charrington's right-hand man.

One story of the earlier period was told me recently.

At the close of one of the meetings a little boy was found sobbing.
With some difficulty he was induced to tell his tale. It was simple.
His widowed mother, his sisters and he, all lived in one room.
Everything had been sold to buy bread except two white mice, the boy's
pets. Through all their poverty they had kept those two white mice,
but at last they, too, must go! With the proceeds he bought street
songs, which he retailed on the "waste," and so obtained the means of
getting more bread for his mother and sisters. Now they were
completely destitute. The boy was accompanied home. Home! It was a
wretched attic, in one of the most dilapidated houses. It was a
miserably cold and dismal day. In the broken-down grate the dead
embers of yesterday's fire remained. On the table, in a piece of
newspaper, a few crumbs. The air was close and the smell
insupportable. "My good woman," said Mr. Charrington, "why don't you
open the window?" "Oh," she replied, "you would not say that if you
had had nothing to eat, and had no fire to warm you." The family was
relieved.

He was intimately connected with the first beginnings of that famous
"feeding of the hungry," which has gone on under Mr. Charrington's
auspices for so many years, and is still one of the great living facts
of the East End of London.

_A-propos_ of this, Keith-Falconer wrote--

     "During the hard times of the winter of 1879 (due to the
     long frost and depression of trade), a work was forced on
     our Mission which we had never contemplated taking up. The
     difficulties and dangers of wholesale charity are very
     great, and our desire has been to avoid them, except in
     cases of extreme circumstances. But the distress of that
     winter _was_ extreme, and for many weeks we opened our halls
     and fed the literally starving multitudes with dry bread and
     cocoa. The austere distress began in December. Hundreds of
     men were waiting daily at the Docks in the hope (nearly
     always a disappointed hope) of a job. Starving men were
     found in several instances eating muddy orange-peel picked
     off the road.

     "Our feeding became a very public matter, as there was much
     correspondence about it in the _Times_, the _Daily News_,
     the _Echo_ and other leading papers, and many people came
     from long distances to see for themselves. The public
     supported us liberally with funds, and we were enabled to
     give no less than twenty thousand meals from January 1st to
     February 14th, besides which we assisted over three hundred
     families every week in their homes. We look back to the time
     as one of very great blessing."

Of this feeding I propose to give as graphic a description as I can in
its proper place, for I have attended at it myself, but I must pass on
now to the time when the young Professor--for Keith-Falconer was
shortly afterwards appointed examiner in the very Tripos where he had
so distinguished himself--threw his whole heart and soul into the
project for building the present Great Assembly Hall.

For a time had come when Mr. Charrington's success had become so
enormous, the whole machine so gigantic, that it was necessary to
erect a huge building commensurate with the needs of the mission.
Keith-Falconer was an invaluable helper. It is true that the great
mass of work devolving on Mr. Charrington required that there should
be also a secretary living in the midst of affairs and devoting his
whole attention to the work. Still, Mr. Keith-Falconer's post was far
from being a nominal one. In writing a business letter he was
exceedingly business-like; his facts were put in the clearest and most
methodical way. A letter from him asking for a subscription was no
effusive appeal; it was a quiet, sensible statement of facts, written
by a scholar and a master of English, all the more telling because the
writer had shown himself to take all possible pains to do justice to
his case.

An enormous sum of money was necessary, and at this juncture Mr.
Keith-Falconer made a direct appeal for help in the form of a
pamphlet.

This appeal, as his biographer points out, was so characteristic of
the writer, so thoroughly earnest, entertaining, as it did, no doubt
that the money would be forthcoming, and--as was his way in such
things--so quaintly methodical, that I give it here in full. It is
certainly one of the many historic documents in the archives of Mr.
Charrington's life work.

     "We now appeal for funds in order to erect a new and larger
     hall.

     "The present one is altogether unsuitable.

     (_a_) It is far too small. On Sunday nights
     hundreds are turned away for want of room. When, during two
     successive winters, the adjacent Lusby's Music Hall (one of
     the largest in London) was opened on Sunday nights
     simultaneously with our own hall, the united congregation
     usually amounted to 5000 persons. These facts tend to show
     that if we had a building sufficiently large, we could
     gather as many persons as the human voice can reach.

     (_b_) It is a temporary structure, which by the Metropolitan
     Buildings Act must come down sooner or later.

     (_c_) The corrugated iron is becoming dilapidated, and lets
     in the rain, so that rows of umbrellas are often put up
     during the service.

     (_d_) The cold is intense.

     (_e_) The acoustic properties are inferior.

    "Please add to this that our site is the very best in all East London.
    It ought surely to be utilised to the fullest extent. The present
    building only half covers it.

    "We have got the site, and we have got the people. May we not have a
    hall to accommodate them? The willingness to hear is very remarkable,
    and it is distressing to see hundreds and thousands turned away for
    want of mere room.

    "The guarantees which the public have that the work is a proper one,
    and that the new hall will be properly used, are:--

     1. The testimony of trustworthy persons who are
       acquainted with the mission. Mr. Spurgeon has written a
       warm letter. Lord Shaftesbury is an old friend of, and
       worker in, the mission. He has delivered several addresses
       in the hall. The late Lord Kintore was a warm and constant
       friend of the work. Mr. R. C. L. Bevan has both promised
       £2000 and consented to act as treasurer.

     2. A trust deed has been drawn up and signed, transferring
       the property to Trustees,--namely: F. A. Bevan, Esq.;
       Richard Cory Esq.; Frederick N. Charrington, Esq.; Hon. Ion
       Keith-Falconer; James Mathieson, Esq.; Samuel Morley, M.P.;
       Hon. Hamilton Tollemache; Joseph Weatherly, Esq.--and
       specifying the objects for which it is to be used.

"It may be objected that the East End ought to supply its own wants.
This is impossible. The population of the East End consists of the
working classes, who, though they furnish the sinews of wealth which
resides elsewhere, are poor themselves. Thus the East End has a double
right to look outside for help. It is poor and cannot help itself
adequately, and the wealthy are responsible for the well-being of
their servants, the toiling thousands through whose labour they derive
their incomes.

"The character of our Mission is evangelistic, unsectarian and sober.
I say sober, because of late years some have despaired of reaching the
masses except by using certain unseemly and sensational methods. Our
work is an emphatic protest against this practice, and a standing
disproof of its necessity.

"Finally, the building for which we plead will cost £20,000, a small
sum indeed when we consider what amounts many are willing to spend on
their own comforts and pleasures. This sum will not only build a
suitable Hall, but a Frontage in addition, embracing a coffee palace,
and a book saloon for the sale of pure literature. The site has
already been paid for."

A beautiful letter was written by Keith-Falconer to a private friend
during this period of his friendship with Mr. Charrington. It was
written from the house at Stepney Green, to which I have already
referred in an earlier part of the book. Nothing could more adequately
show the young man's personal spirituality, and also his enthusiastic
love for the friend whose own pure and self-sacrificing life was such
an example to his own.

                                                 "Stepney Green.

     "It is overwhelming to think of the vastness of the
     harvest-field, when compared with the indolence,
     indifference and unwillingness on the part of the most
     so-called Christians, to become, even in a moderate degree,
     labourers in the same. I take the rebuke to myself.... To
     enjoy the blessings and happiness God gives, and never to
     stretch out a helping hand to the poor and wicked, is a most
     horrible thing. When we come to die, it will be awful for
     us, if we have to look back on a life spent purely on self,
     but--believe me--if we are to spend our lives otherwise, we
     must make up our minds to be thought 'odd' and 'eccentric'
     and 'unsocial' and to be sneered at and avoided.

     "For instance, how 'odd' and 'unsocial' of my heroic friend
     (Mr. Charrington) to live in this dirty, smoky East End all
     the year round, and instead of dining out with his friends
     and relations, to go night after night to minister to the
     poor and wretched!... But I like to live with him and to
     watch the workings of the mighty hand of God and to catch a
     spark of the fire of zeal which burns within him, in order
     that I may be moved to greater willingness and earnestness
     in the noblest cause which can occupy the thoughts of a man.
     This is immeasurably better than spending my afternoons in
     calling on people, my evenings in dinners and balls, and my
     mornings in bed.... The usual centre is Self, the proper
     centre is God. If, therefore, one lives for God, one is out
     of centre or eccentric, with regard to the people who do
     not."

In 1884 Mr. Keith-Falconer was married at Trinity Church, Cannes, to
Miss Gwendoline Bevan, daughter of Mr. R. C. L. Bevan, of Trent Park,
Hertfordshire. Mr. Charrington was present upon this occasion, and
acted as "best man" to his friend.

In 1885, together with his young wife, he sailed for Aden, resolving
to take up missionary work there, being peculiarly fitted for it owing
to his intimate acquaintance with Oriental languages. I am not going
to expatiate upon his life and work there. I am writing the biography
of his friend. In 1887 he passed away, and was reverently laid to rest
in the wild and dreary cemetery there, far from home and those he
loved, yet among those for whom he laboured, and for whom he counted
no loss too great, if only he might win them for Christ.

I may quote, perhaps, those words from _The Pilgrim's Progress_, which
describe the death of Valiant-for-Truth.

"'My sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and
my courage and skill to him that can get it. My marks and scars I
carry with me, to be a witness for me, that I have fought His battles,
Who will now be my Rewarder.'... So he passed over, and all the
trumpets sounded for him on the other side."

The loss to the Tower Hamlets Mission was incalculable, and it is
pathetically expressed on a certain page of _The Record_, Mr.
Charrington's official organ.

Mr. Edwin H. Kerwin wrote:--

     "Another faithful soldier of Jesus Christ has fallen at his
     post--the post of danger and honour. Those of us who knew
     him are weighed down with sorrow to think we shall hear his
     voice no more. We loved him from the first time we ever saw
     him. My thoughts go back to the year 1873, when, as a young
     man of seventeen, his beloved father, the late Earl of
     Kintore, brought his son and interested him in Mr.
     Charrington's work. From that date until the day of his
     death he was devoted to the Tower Hamlets Mission. Amid his
     arduous studies at Cambridge he delighted to break away from
     them for a day, and run up to Mile End. In a letter before
     me, dated July 1880, and written to me while his beloved
     father was lying dead, he says, 'It is pleasant to me to
     reflect that it was my father who first introduced me to
     Charrington and his work, and that he so cordially supported
     the Mission. I hope that his sudden departure may be the
     means of blessing to the careless, perhaps to some who heard
     him speak in the Assembly Hall.' How strange that the son
     should also be struck down suddenly! May the prayer he
     breathed at his father's death become a reality in his own
     sudden departure. In another letter, written to me in 1879,
     in answer to one I had addressed to him respecting some
     young men who had been impressed with an address he had
     given at Mile End, he said: 'I was so thankful about those
     five young men. The best of this work is that so few of the
     conversions are directly traceable to any particular person;
     we all help.'

     "About ten years ago he was staying at Mr. Charrington's
     residence. I picked up his Bible, and found written upon the
     fly-leaf this motto--

    'Henceforth, Lord, I wish to be
    Wholly given up to Thee,
    That in life and walk I may
    Glorify Thee day by day.'

     "Surely those who were acquainted with him can testify that
     he carried this out!

     "His brilliant achievements at the University of Cambridge,
     his linguistic proficiency, together with his exceptional
     abilities, were all devoted to the cause of Christ. He
     worked hard in the interests of purity and temperance. He
     often spent nights with Mr. Charrington in watching the
     music halls. I shall never forget the night when Mr.
     Charrington was taken off by the police, falsely accused of
     disturbance outside Lusby's Music Hall. I was not there,
     but, hearing of the incident, I went off to the police
     station, and, on nearing it, saw a large crowd. In the dark
     I could see one tall man standing in the centre, head and
     shoulders above every one else, and perfectly white; this
     was Falconer, who had been covered with flour by the
     frequenters of the music hall. He gave evidence on this
     occasion, and it is within the recollection of many that he
     was entered to run on this very day in the University
     Champion Bicycle Race; also the stir he made in the sporting
     world by telegraphing to the course--he was staying with Mr.
     Charrington on Stepney Green at the time, and Mr.
     Charrington suggested it--the following words: 'The race is
     safe with Dodds. I have made up my mind not to run, having
     started in the race spoken of in Hebrews, chap, xii, verses
     1, 2.'

     "He also gave evidence at Clerkenwell Sessions against the
     character of Lusby's Music Hall. While at Cambridge he
     interested himself in evangelistic work, and he was mainly
     instrumental in converting the Theatre into a Mission.
     Through his efforts the building was purchased, and ever
     since the work has been carried on with great success. It is
     with melancholy interest that I turn to the notes of the
     conference on the evangelisation of the world held at the
     Great Assembly Hall in May last year, and read his grand
     speech on the work he and his devoted young wife had
     commenced in Aden; and when I peruse his still grander
     oration given before the Free Church Assembly in Scotland in
     the same month, it impresses upon me how great is his loss
     to the Church of God. He wound up that memorable speech with
     an appeal which it will be well for all to take heed to. He
     said: 'There must be some who, having the cause of Christ at
     heart, have ample independent means, and are not fettered by
     genuine home ties. Perhaps you are content with giving
     annual subscriptions and occasional donations and taking a
     weekly class? Why not give yourselves--money, time, and
     all--to the foreign field? Ought you not to consider
     seriously what your duty is? The heathen are in darkness and
     we are asleep. By subscribing money, sitting on committees,
     speaking at meetings, and praying for missions, you think
     you are doing the most you can to spread the Gospel abroad.
     Not so. By going yourself you will produce a tenfold more
     powerful effect. You have wealth snugly invested in the
     Funds; you are strong and healthy; you are at liberty to
     live where you like, and occupy yourself as you like. While
     vast continents are shrouded in almost utter darkness, and
     hundreds of millions suffer the horrors of heathenism of
     Islam, the burden of proof lies upon you to show that the
     circumstances in which God has placed you were meant by Him
     to keep you out of the mission field.' What force, what
     irresistible urgency, does his death give to this solemn
     appeal for dedication to the service of the kingdom of
     Christ!

     "He was a proficient phonographic shorthand writer. He was a
     firm friend of the tonic sol-fa system, and took the
     matriculation certificate. He provided a scholarship that
     bears his name at the Tonic Sol-Fa College. His work on
     earth has ceased; he has now gone to his reward. Though we
     feel that we can ill spare him, yet we will not grudge him
     the well-earned repose he is now enjoying. He rests from his
     labours, and his works do follow him. He is a witness still
     that the spirit of heroism and martyrdom is not extinct, and
     while men who love their lives lose them, a man who gives
     his life for the Lord's sake, 'keeps it to life eternal.'

     "The great Assembly Hall was crowded to its utmost extent
     the Sunday after the news reached England of the death of
     the Hon. Ion Keith-Falconer. The announcements of a funeral
     service brought friends from all parts.

     "The platform was tastefully decorated in crape, and in the
     centre facing the congregation, was displayed Mr. E.
     Clifford's life-like portrait of the deceased gentleman,
     which he had kindly lent for the occasion. Many of the late
     Mr. Falconer's personal friends were present on the
     platform, including his brother-in-law, Mr. Granville Smith,
     Mr. F. N. Charrington, Hon. Superintendent of the Mission,
     Mr. E. H. Kerwin, Secretary, Mr. C. H. Warry, and others.
     Mr. W. R. Lane was the preacher. Upon the occupants of the
     platform taking their places, and in response to the
     invitation of Mr. F. N. Charrington, the organist of the
     hall, Mr. Day Winter, played the Dead March in _Saul_, the
     audience rising and remaining standing until its conclusion.
     A special service of hymns was used upon the occasion, and
     distributed to the congregation upon entering the building.
     They were taken in the order named.

    'Let saints on earth in concert sing,
      With those whose work is done;
    For all the servants of our King,
      In heaven and earth are one.'

     "'Home at last, thy labour done,' 'The Son of God goes forth
     to war,' and 'For ever with the Lord.'

     "During the evening the choir also sang McGranahan's anthem,
     'I am the Resurrection and the Life.' Mr. F. N. Charrington,
     who presided, made many touching references to the deceased
     gentleman, and his well-known sympathy with the work carried
     on by the Tower Hamlets Mission, notably his donation of
     £2000 towards the building fund of the hall in which they
     were then meeting. He also made references to his brilliant
     achievements at the University of Cambridge, his linguistic
     proficiency, etc. Yet in spite of the undoubted future which
     was in store for him in England, had he (Mr. Falconer)
     devoted his exceptional abilities to his own land, fired
     with missionary zeal, and at the bidding of the voice of
     God, he devoted his all to His cause, and proceeded to
     sacrifice his future prospects to the welfare of his
     brethren in lands beyond the sea. To this noble
     self-abnegation had he devoted his life, and as truly as any
     of old was he a martyr to his faith, for it was in the
     discharge of his self-imposed duties as a missionary that
     he contracted the fever which terminated a life that was all
     but limitless in its possibilities.

     "'He rests from his labours, and his works do follow him.'
     Although inscrutable were God's ways, yet they could bow to
     His ruling and say, 'Thy will be done.' He had but gone
     before. Mr. G. H. Warry led the congregation again in
     prayer, and after the singing of one of the hymns mentioned
     above, Mr. E. H. Kerwin spoke, and then read the appropriate
     Scripture to be found in 1 Corinthians, chap. xv, commencing
     at the 26th verse. Mr. W. Lane followed with a very earnest
     and solemn address."

Of Mr. Charrington's private loss what can I say here? I think those
who have followed me thus far will realise what a crushing blow it
was. I am loth to intrude upon the sanctities of private grief: I can
only say that from my conversations with the surviving member of that
happy, Christian brotherhood, I know that the loss is, even to-day,
after so many years, as fresh and keen as ever.

And I know that not one of the least of my friend's hopes and
anticipations is that of once more meeting in Heaven the man he loved
so well on earth.



CHAPTER V

THE BATTLE OF THE MUSIC HALLS


There was a time when the name "Charrington" was, for quite a
considerable period, a household word in England.

The reason for this was not because the public had suddenly awakened
to the fact that among them was a man who had given up all that makes
life dear to ordinary people, who lived a remote and buried life in
the far East End, denying himself everything, and working for Christ
among folk as sordid and savage as those to be found in any distant
land, but because this same "Charrington" had presumed--actually
presumed!--to interfere with the immoral pleasures of London.

I have called this chapter THE BATTLE OF THE MUSIC HALLS, and well, I
think, does the title epitomise the story I have to tell.

It is a dual story. It shows Frederick Charrington himself going into
the gravest personal danger, and fighting the most tremendous of
fights with a few devoted adherents, and it also tells of efforts made
in the newly-constituted forum which was to rule the destinies of
London--the London County Council.

I will begin with the "Battle of the Music Halls" proper.

In connection with Mr. Charrington's campaign against the music-halls
of the East End, and one in particular, one of the most sensational
law cases upon record held the public mind for a considerable time.

I shall shortly quote from those legal proceedings, shall draw upon a
store of drama, unequalled in the history of Evangelism.

And, as an introduction, I shall tell certain facts of the inner
history of this affair which have never yet been published, and which
I have wrung from Mr. Charrington, with his reluctant consent to use
them.

Let me begin, then.

Mr. Charrington's attention was first called to the question of music
halls by something that a poor man, to whom he was speaking one day,
said to him.

This poor fellow was in great distress of mind, and in the course of
the conversation, he was asked if he was a married man.

His reply was, "No; those reptiles at ---- ruined my wife."

The man mentioned the name of a certain music hall, and his
earnestness of demeanour, his profound sorrow, gave Mr. Charrington
food for thought. He had known, of course, that the music halls of
those days were centres of evil. Now he came to think that the evil
might be even greater than he had previously imagined.

It must be remembered that I am writing of a time quite remote from
the present.

I know little of the music halls of to-day, though once or twice I
have watched a spectacle of shifting colour and extraordinary grace,
accompanied by lovely music, at a certain palace of amusement in the
West End.

I know nothing more than this--personally--but, from inquiries, I am
well aware that the music halls of to-day are very much improved for
the better. And, as I read in my daily paper that His Majesty the
King, accompanied by his court, has witnessed a performance at the
chief music hall of London, it seems obvious that these places are
nothing like what they used to be. So, in reading of this Homeric
contest made by Frederick Charrington, you must transport yourselves
into the past, and realise that I am speaking of old days.

While Mr. Charrington's attention was being drawn to the music halls
of the East End--by the incident previously referred to--an American
friend of his came into his house one evening, and said, in great
agitation, "I have just seen a horrible thing. I was passing the door
of a music hall when a man, with a girl upon his arm, was just
entering the gates. I saw a woman, evidently his wife--for she had a
wedding ring on her finger, and recognised him at once--rush up to
this man and cry out, 'Oh, John, whom have you got there?' The man
hesitated for a moment, and as he did so, the girl left his arm and
rushed inside the place.

"The man turned his head, looked at his wife with an evil expression,
and then hurried in after his companion. The poor wife naturally
attempted to follow them both, but the man in uniform at the door
stretched out both his arms and stopped her, saying, 'Oh, no, we don't
want you in here.'"

This new incident stirred Mr. Charrington's indignation afresh, and he
thought, "If this is a fair sample, these places ought to be called
music _hells_ instead of music halls."

He determined to see for himself whether this was an isolated case or
not. Further investigations proved that it was not so, as I shall
shortly show.

He soon found out what the character of these places really was, but,
believing that most people were ignorant of their horrible character,
he began active steps immediately.

The first thing he did was to see what powers the law could enforce in
cases of the kind. He found that the law _was_ quite strong enough to
deal with them, as a clause existed to the effect that _any person
could be dealt with who harboured prostitutes_; for the purpose of
prostitution or not.

This, Mr. Charrington thought, was quite enough, and after he had done
all he could, by personal influence, to deter respectable people from
going to a certain notorious East End hall, in due course he opposed
the license at the Quarter Sessions at Clerkenwell.

This, however, had but little result. Although in one year he actually
proved by witnesses prostitution to be going on in three parts of the
premises of the hall in question. To his horror and amazement, the
magistrates (with a few noble exceptions) allowed the license to
continue, although every minister of religion in East London,
including the Bishop of Bedford, and 1800 respectable inhabitants,
signed the protest against the house as "the nightly resort of
prostitutes."

Mr. Charrington's worst fears as to the evil results of music halls
were one morning more than confirmed by reading in the _Daily News_--

"On Saturday morning a young medical student named R---- shot himself
with a revolver while at a house in Brompton Crescent, Fulham Road,
where he had passed the night. It appears that he met a female outside
the Pavilion Music Hall on Friday night, and accompanied her to her
home. In the morning, during her absence to get some tea for him, the
report of firearms was heard. Police constable S----, of the B.
Division, was called in, and found the deceased lying on the bed,
bleeding from the forehead, with a six-chambered revolver fully loaded
under his leg, with the exception of one which had recently been
discharged. Dr. R---- saw the man soon afterwards and found life
extinct. A letter was found upon the deceased addressed to his mother
in Mildmay Park, Islington. The deceased was about twenty years of
age, and was a pupil to Dr. L----, of Kensington."

Now the mother of this unhappy young man had been previously asked to
assist him financially in his campaign against the music halls. She
was the only person Mr. Charrington _had_ ever asked to help him. She
was a very wealthy woman, but nevertheless she refused utterly!

Mr. Charrington's mind was made up. A definite campaign was determined
on, and the determination resulted in a battle which, for its sheer
fearlessness, audacity, and far-reaching consequences, is probably
unexampled in the chronicles of missionary effort in England.

In order that the personal testimony of Mr. Charrington may be
supplemented by public words, I quote what _Punch_ said in one of its
issues at that period.

     "It is, however, in the disgraceful scenes enacted in the
     drinking-bars and saloons attached to these halls that the
     greatest evils exist--evils which cannot fail of exercising
     a fatal influence upon the frequenters of these places, of
     both sexes, who, in the first instance, go to hear a song,
     but become initiated in vice and immorality, rendered more
     easy and dangerous by the seductive influences by which they
     are surrounded. The more respectable the hall, the more
     prominent is this feature. These saloons are filled by men
     about town of all ages and conditions, with and without
     characters. There may be seen the young and inexperienced
     clerk, the heartless skittle-sharp and blackleg, the
     patrician _roué_ and the plebeian fancy-man. This mixed
     crowd of folly and vice keep up a continued chattering,
     composed of obscene and vulgar repartees, to the great
     annoyance of the decent tradesman or working man who,
     accompanied by his wife or sweetheart, may have visited the
     hall with the delusive hope of hearing some good singing,
     but whose ears are thus polluted with vulgarity and slang.
     It is this sort of thing that has driven, and is driving,
     the respectable portion of society from these halls; and it
     is to provide attraction for the more spicy patrons that
     comic ladies and other sensation performances have been
     introduced. In these saloons the scenes that used to be
     enacted in the lobbies and saloons of theatres are
     reproduced, even in a worse and more offensive form."

The first definite step that Mr. Charrington took was to write a
tract, which he caused to be disseminated very largely.

I give extracts from it here. It is not a great literary effort by any
means--Frederick Charrington's life has been far too strenuous for any
dilettante toying with words. But it is, at any rate, a direct and
forcible appeal, written in language which those for whose ears it was
destined were well able to understand.

There was a picture in this tract--which I have before me as I write.
The art of reproduction in those days was in its infancy. The thing is
a rude wood-cut, of what we should think to-day appalling crudity. And
yet, the picture had its effect, no less than the strong words which
accompanied it.

I see, in faded ink, a young man, whose state of indecision is well
shown by the almost impossible puerility of his face. On one side of
him there is a very concrete devil, as horned and horrible as those
creations of the monkish mind in the middle ages which adorned--or
defaced--the pages of missals. The devil is offering this young man
the sinful pleasures of the world--the sinful pleasures being shown in
a few crude symbols--a large tankard, dice, and cards!

Upon the other side is an Angel of light, pointing to the Crown of
Life, and to that happiness which "hath the promise of the life that
now is, as well as that which is to come."

In our time such a thing would be laughed at. In those days it was
doubtless as good as many other efforts of its kind. Be that as it
may, who shall laugh or sneer at an earnest and well-meant effort to
engage the thoughts of the passer-by?

Engage the thoughts of the passer-by it certainly did--and the
accompanying words, from which I make extracts, were read all over
the East End of the Metropolis.

     "This is a picture of you, reader. The devil is striving on
     one side to lead you down to Hell, by the alluring
     temptations of sinful indulgence. The Holy Spirit on the
     other side is striving with your heart and conscience to
     lead you up to Heaven; and God, by His word, is now saying,
     'Choose ye this day whom ye will serve.' Nothing will avail
     you but an entire change of heart, or conversion. Our Lord
     says to you, 'Except a man be born again, he cannot see the
     kingdom of God' (John iii. 3); and again in verse five he
     says, 'Ye cannot enter into the Kingdom of God.' You can go
     to the theatre or music hall, and there your eyes can gaze
     upon the indecent dance, and there you can hear the filthy
     song, but unless you are born again, you can never see the
     glories of Heaven, and you will never hear the song of the
     redeemed. You may enter the swinging doors of the
     public-house, and take the intoxicating cup as you stand in
     the way of sinners; you may enter that house (which is the
     way to Hell, leading down to the chambers of death), but
     unless you are born again, you will never enter through the
     pearly gates of the city, and you will never meet with loved
     ones gone before. In conclusion, 'the wages of sin is death;
     but the gift of God is Eternal Life through Jesus Christ our
     Lord.' God grant that you may accept the gift instead of
     earning the wages; 'that as ye have yielded your members
     servants unto uncleanness and to iniquity unto iniquity;
     even so now yield your members servants unto holiness.'

     "A time is coming when God will say, 'He which is filthy,
     let him be filthy still; and he that is holy, let him be
     holy still,' but 'Now is the accepted time, now is the day
     of salvation.'

     "'Faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God'
     (Romans x. 17), therefore come and hear the Gospel at the
     great Assembly Hall, Mile End Road, open every evening."

Thus the tract, which already began to create considerable interest,
and to agitate the neighbourhood in no small way.

Like a good general, Frederick Charrington followed up one blow with
another. He collected all his forces, and night after night outside
Lusby's Music Hall he was found distributing tracts, with his friend
Keith-Falconer and other helpers.

He stood at the very door of this music hall, and took every possible
opportunity of entering into conversation with such people as
responded to his tentative advances. Many and many a man and woman,
who were going to this place with nothing but sensual and material
thoughts, were given pause by the proffer of a tract, or, more often
still, by a few earnest words from the young evangelist and his
helpers.

The scenes at this time--outside the flaring front of the music
hall--were extraordinary. I do not propose to enter into many details,
simply because they will be well seen in the legal evidence which is
to follow. It is sufficient to say that the proprietors of the hall
brought an action against Mr. Charrington, and the records of that
_cause célèbre_ tell their own story.

But there are certain incidents, as I said in an earlier part of this
chapter, which have never before been made public, and which I had
some difficulty in obtaining my friend's permission to record.

This Lusby's Music Hall was, without doubt, a sink of iniquity. It was
notorious in the locality, but it also spread its evil tentacles
westwards. The well-to-do, foolish, and drunken young "bloods" of the
period--I believe "masher" was their designation at the time--used to
drive down in cabs from Piccadilly and haunt Lusby's in pursuit of the
girls of the East End. It was a new sensation. It provided an
evening's amusement quite out of the common.

One night during Mr. Charrington's campaign, five young men arrived
from the West End in evening dress. As they were entering the music
hall, Mr. Charrington and his friends spoke to them in no uncertain
way. I have been told--and I feel quite sure--that the remonstrances
addressed to them were made in the most quiet, gentlemanly, and
unobtrusive manner. At any rate, these people were horribly enraged.
There are two things you must not do if you wish to be popular with
worldly men. You must not wound any man's vanity, and you must not
interfere with his guilty pleasures.

Charrington and Ion Keith-Falconer, both of them men of breeding and
position themselves, hit these young aristocrats from Piccadilly too
hard. A remonstrance from some earnest but illiterate tub-thumper
might have been passed by with a light laugh, or at most a sneer. In
this case an evil and malignant anger was aroused. These young men
were again accosted, and their resentment was thereby heightened to
fever heat.

With faces flushed with drink, their eyes blazing with anger, they
advanced to the young evangelist, loudly expressing their
determination to "do for him."

Then occurred, in an instant, one of the most pathetic and dramatic
things of which I have ever heard.

Several wretched girls, who had been with these young men, plying
their dreadful trade and hoping to reap a richer reward than usual,
turned round upon their patrons.

They made a ring round Frederick Charrington, snarling like tigresses,
and using--so Mr. Charrington has told me--the most appalling and
awful language it is possible to conceive.

They told the young men from the West End that they would tear them to
pieces rather than that they should touch a single hair of Mr.
Charrington's head.

It all occurred out in the public street, and only a Zola could
describe the occurrence as it really happened. What I myself have
heard from Mr. Charrington is horrible enough. These poor women must
indeed at that moment have been inspired by something beyond their
knowledge or understanding.

There is good in all of us. The latent good in these poor creatures
was stirred into activity, and they defended the man whom they
believed was doing his best to spoil their business and ruin their
trade, with the ferocity of wolves, and the shrieking courage of the
hyena at bay.

In the result, the young aristocrats were so taken aback that they
grew pallid with shame and fear. All thoughts of aggression left them,
and they simply turned tail and fled away down the flaring
thoroughfare of the Mile End Road.

They went back to their own place and concocted a scheme together--a
scheme which was to result in the "outing" of Frederick Charrington.

They engaged several low-class pugilists, sent them down to Lusby's
Music Hall in cabs, with the direction to thrash Charrington within an
inch of his life. They were to do him all possible bodily harm which
stopped short of actually killing him, and were each promised a five
pound note for the work.

These hired bullies went into the music hall and stood at the door.
They drank sufficiently to loosen their tongues, and the manager of
the hall heard, through one of his satellites, what was on foot. The
manager, a shrewd business man, at once saw that, if these fellows
were allowed to carry out their dastardly plan, such an uprising and
stir of public opinion would take place, that the hall would be swept
out of existence. He deputed an emissary to treat these prize-fighters
with champagne. This was done with such success that they became
helpless for any evil purpose, and were put into cabs and sent back
home.

Mr. Charrington knew nothing of this organised attempt until some time
afterwards.

All these incidents made it imperative for the proprietors of the
music hall to take some action if they were to keep the place open.

The armies of Christ were at their very doors, they must needs defend
their stronghold by every means in their power.

In the High Court of Justice, Chancery Division, on February 12,
1885, before Mr. Justice Chitty, the case of CROWDER _versus_
CHARRINGTON was called.

"Mr. Ince, Q.C., and Mr. Francis Turner, instructed by Messrs.
Peckham, Maitland and Peckham, appeared for the plaintiffs, and Mr.
Romer, Q.C., with whom was Mr. Charles Mitchell, instructed by Messrs.
Shaen, Roscoe, Henderson and Co., appeared for the defendant.

"This action was brought by Messrs. Crowder and Payne, the owners of
Lusby's Tavern and Music Hall, in the Mile End Road, to restrain the
defendant, Mr. Charrington, who is carrying on a Mission Hall about a
hundred yards from plaintiffs' premises, from annoying them in their
business, and from making representations, by the distribution of
tracts or otherwise, to the plaintiffs' injury."

It is impossible to give more than certain extracts from these
celebrated proceedings, which are even now not forgotten. I must at
least print the testimony of two girls, who had been rescued by Mr.
Charrington from the dreadful life that they were leading. They were
rescued by him and placed in good situations. Their past life, with
all its shame and horror, seemed quite obliterated. No one, in their
new surroundings, had the slightest idea of what they had been. But
when Mr. Charrington was engaged in the lawsuit, both these girls came
forward and voluntarily gave testimony--surely one of the noblest
instances of gratitude, that rarest of qualities, upon record!

One girl deposed as follows--

"I am nearly twenty-one years of age. I remember being taken to the
hall one night in 1880. A young man took me. I had drink given me at
the bar of a public house. I had more than was good for me. The young
man then took me away and seduced me. After that I attended the hall
habitually.

"Sometimes I used to go by myself, and sometimes with other girls. I
used to go there for the purpose of prostitution.

"A great many other girls used to go there as well for the same
purpose. I have often met young men there, and taken them to houses of
ill-fame. I sometimes have returned to the hall. Sometimes I had to
pay for re-admission, but not always.

"Prostitutes were in the habit of drinking at the bars; they had been
in the habit of being treated at the bar. They frequently used to be
there in considerable numbers, and often got tipsy.

"The men at the hall door never objected to my going into it, and I
never saw other prostitutes objected to. I have now left that life. In
1881 I went into a home maintained by Lady ----. I am now in domestic
service and am leading a virtuous life.

"I used to attend the hall every night. I used to get my living by
attending the hall. I never walked the streets. I had been living a
modest life up to then. I have often been intoxicated in the music
hall itself. I used as a rule to hang about the bars."

The other young woman who had been rescued, also came forward and bore
her testimony--

She said she first went to ---- on Christmas Eve, 1880, with a young
man, and had too much to drink at the bar there, was taken away to a
house and seduced. She afterwards led an immoral life, and frequented
the music hall for the purposes of prostitution. Going in
unaccompanied by anybody, she used to get men in the hall to go home
with her. Many other girls attended it in the same way. She was
treated there by men. On one occasion was present in a box in the
music hall when an act of prostitution was committed, and knew another
girl who had done the same thing. After taking men out of the hall she
would go back again the same evening, and was on these occasions
readmitted without payment. Other prostitutes were allowed to do the
same. They were passed in by the man in uniform at the gate. Was never
refused admission to the hall, and did not know of other prostitutes
being stopped. Mentioned as attending the place, the keeper of the
brothel to which she used to take men. She led that life for a
twelvemonth, constantly attending at the music hall, except for about
two months. Eventually she was persuaded by Mr. Charrington to enter a
home. She had since lived a moral life, and was now a domestic
servant.

[Illustration: CHARRINGTON'S MORAL MICROSCOPE

A cartoon during the Music Hall Campaign

                                                  [_To face p. 118._]

Henry Ward Beecher describes the bitter experience of such an one, in
the following words--

"That one who gazed out at the window, calling for her mother and
weeping, was right tenderly and purely bred. She has been baptised
twice--once to God and once to the Devil. She sought this place in the
very vestments of God's House. 'Call not on thy mother! she is a saint
in Heaven, and cannot hear thee.' Yet, all night long she dreams of
home and childhood, and wakes to sigh and weep; and between her
sobs she cries, 'Mother! Mother!'"

And well may he exclaim--

"Oh, Prince of torment! if thou hast transforming power, give some
relief to this once innocent child, whom another has corrupted! Let
thy deepest damnation seize him who brought her hither! Let his
coronation be upon the very mount of torment, and the rain of fiery
hail be his salutation! He shall be crowned by thorns poisoned and
anguish-bearing; and every woe beat upon him, and every wave of hell
roll over the first risings of baffled hope. Thy guilty thoughts and
guilty deeds shall flit after thee with bows which never break, and
quivers for ever emptying but never exhausted. If Satan hath one dart
more poisoned than another; if God hath one bolt more transfixing and
blasting than another; if there be one hideous spirit more unrelenting
than others; they shall be thine, most execrable wretch, 'who led her
to forsake the guide of her youth, and to abandon the covenant of her
God.'"

I think I cannot do better now than give my readers the evidence Mr.
Charrington gave before Mr. Justice Chitty during the case.

"I am the Hon. Superintendent of the Tower Hamlets Mission, Mile End
Road. The Mission-house is about twenty or thirty houses off the music
hall. I am a guardian of the poor, and also a vestryman. I have been
Hon. Superintendent since the year 1869, and have devoted the whole of
that time to missionary work in the East End. I made considerable
sacrifices on leaving the brewery, in order to devote myself to the
work of the Mission. Since 1880 I have, amongst other things,
distributed tracts, etc., and endeavoured to persuade people not to go
to the music halls, and have also endeavoured to rescue prostitutes
from their evil courses. My efforts have not been solely confined to
the music halls. The three tracts produced were amongst others I have
given away. My ground for persuading people not to go to the music
hall was because I found it was the nightly resort of prostitutes. I
have watched the hall from the year 1880 up to the time of the fire,
and also to a certain extent since the fire. I used to go down night
after night as a rule, from about eleven o'clock till nearly one
o'clock in the morning. I occasionally went earlier in the evening
when the people were going into the hall. I used especially to speak
to and remonstrate with prostitutes who used to go in and out of the
house. I used to use an expression when I first went there, that the
place literally swarmed with prostitutes. Numbers of prostitutes went
into the hall unattended by men. I have seen brothel-keepers going
night after night into the house with their women with them. I may
mention especially a woman named Becky Hart. I have seen her with two
and three poor young girls. She was a most notorious brothel-keeper,
living in the Canal Road, Mile End Road. Another well-known
brothel-keeper with her girls was also there nightly. She was known by
the name of Fraser; no one could mistake her, she being excessively
stout. There were also two or three other brothel-keepers, whom I knew
very well by sight, who used to go to the hall regularly, and also
take their girls with them. Two of these brothel-keepers, a man and
his wife, kept a house in Cleveland Street, the very next turning to
the music hall. They used to go backwards and forwards continually
during the evening, from the brothel in Cleveland Street. This
brothel-keeper was thrown out of the hall one night, very drunk, and I
caught him in my arms to prevent him from falling on the pavement. He
then said to me, 'It's a great shame to treat me in this way, for I
bring my girls here constantly.' I used to see him and his girls going
into the hall night after night, and the girls leaving it after with
men. I persuaded the man and his wife to give up the brothel. I have
been requested by the man to visit one of the girls when she was
dying. I have seen them night after night go out from the music hall
with customers, sometimes with respectable-looking, well-dressed men,
apparently from the West End of London, the girls having previously
gone into the hall with their keepers. I have seen them go to the cabs
that usually stand in a rank outside the hall. I have heard them tell
the cabmen to drive to well-known brothel-houses. I have sent
messengers to follow them to the houses for my own satisfaction,
because I wanted to know positively if they did drive to the brothels.
I have seen a girl do this kind of thing twice during a night. I have
seen that on more than one occasion. I have seen them get into cabs; I
have heard the cabmen ask them where to drive to. I have said to the
cabmen, 'You know where you are going to drive them to. You know
perfectly well, cabman, the brothel to which they are attached. You
live by these wretched women's trade.' I have seen numbers of women
come out of the halls drunk. I have seen them when they have been
drunk behaving in a most disgraceful way, and using the foulest
language. On one occasion I saw three prostitutes take away with them
from the hall three seafaring men, apparently captains or mates of
vessels. They tried to get into a four-wheeled cab--all six of them.
While they were getting into the cab I remonstrated with them, and
told them they were ruining themselves, body and soul, going with such
women to such places. I made use of the words, 'her house is the way
to Hell, going down to the chambers of death.' One of the three men
said, 'I think I will be out of this.' Another one said, 'It is
getting rather hot for us.' They seemed to agree that what I said was
true, and the result was that they got out of the cab. The three
women, when the men walked away, turned round on one another, and
fought together on the pavement, in front of the hall. I went into the
midst of them, separated them, and persuaded them to leave off
fighting. They were using all the time most filthy language, and
causing a crowd to assemble. On another occasion I saw four
prostitutes bringing down from the hall a particularly gentlemanly-looking
young man, not only evidently a gentleman, but a well-bred one. He
undoubtedly belonged to a good family in the West End. He was a little
drunk. Those four prostitutes were half pulling and half dragging him
from the hall to one of the cabs standing, as usual, in front of the
hall. He struggled and tried to release himself from the grasp of the
women. I appealed to a policeman to rescue the man. I said to the
policeman, 'This is simply highway robbery,' the man being taken off
by force. I tried my best to rescue him when the police declined to
interfere. There were plenty of prostitutes' bullies about the hall.
These bullies used to frequent the hall nightly. They were
unfortunately too strong for me, and the result was that the women
took the young man off with them in a cab. I could multiply these
instances, which were constantly occurring night after night. I have
seen brothel-keepers come out with gentlemen, they having gone in
alone. I have seen them standing on a pavement persuading men to go
home with girls, and at the same time I have been persuading them not
to do so. On one occasion a seafaring man, apparently a captain or
mate of a vessel, came out of the hall so very drunk that he was
incapable of taking care of himself. Two prostitutes came out with him
partly holding him up and partly dragging him along. They got him
half-way across the pavement towards the cabs in front of the hall.
The cabmen, I found, as a rule, were only too anxious to help the
prostitutes and their customers. The cabman, in this instance, came
and helped the prostitutes, partly by pushing and partly by
persuasion, to get the man near the cab. I managed to stop him just
before he got to the cab, and endeavoured to persuade him not to go
with the women. The cabman and the women tried in the meantime to
persuade the man to go with them, the man hesitating. I then appealed
to a policeman who was standing near apparently on duty, to interfere.
I called his attention to the fact that the man was helplessly drunk,
wearing a gold chain, and no doubt having money in his pocket. I said
to the policeman, 'This is simply highway robbery.' The policeman
refused to interfere at all, and the result was that the two women,
aided by the cabman, took the man away. I said to the women and the
cabman, 'I'll run after you and get two policemen who will do their
duty.' The cabman drove his horse as fast as he could. I ran after him
till I came up to two policemen on duty a little farther up the road.
I appealed to them, and they did their duty, saying to the women, 'You
get out of this or we'll give you a night's lodging.' They said to the
cabman, 'You had better mind what you are about.' Signals were then
passed between the prostitutes and the cabman, which proved to me that
the cabman was only going round another street to meet them again. I
pursued the cab, followed by bullies from the hall. I outran the
bullies, overtook the cab, and succeeded in getting the man out of the
cab. I have seen prostitutes stopped going into the hall, but that was
not during the first eighteen months or two years I worked outside the
hall. After about that time a number of prostitutes came round me one
night outside the hall and said I was stopping them from getting a
living. I have seen prostitutes turned back from the hall on one
occasion, after about eighteen months from the time I had commenced
working. The prostitutes said to me, 'It is through you we are being
turned out of the hall, and are prevented from getting our living in
consequence, and you know we are getting our living there.' Great
disorder arose outside the hall when prostitutes came out drunk; upon
several occasions disorder took place. On one particular occasion a
prostitute came out drunk, marched up and down in front of the house,
shouting and causing a great disturbance. She said, 'It is by the
likes of us that Crowder and Payne get their living.' After the time I
have spoken of the prostitutes seemed to go in and out of the hall as
they liked. I used to take a number of tracts with me when I went
outside the hall. I used to offer them to people going in and out of
the hall and to passers-by on the pavement. If people refused to take
the tract offered I allowed them to pass on. Sometimes, however, they
would enter into conversation with me. I then used to draw them aside
to the waste ground between the road and the pavement. My doing this
did not cause a disturbance nor a mob to assemble. There were
occasions, however, on which disturbances took place; one occasion
when flour was thrown over me by some person from the direction of the
hall; on another occasion human filth was thrown on me from an upper
window of the hall. I have been assaulted on a great many occasions by
roughs from the music hall, prostitutes' bullies being amongst them.
On one occasion one of the roughs followed me and assaulted me. I gave
him into custody and he was sentenced to three weeks' imprisonment.
That was in June, 1883. I did not know the man who assaulted me. These
assaults caused mobs to assemble. I remember in October, 1883, I was
assaulted and driven across the road. The disturbance arose from an
angry mob of roughs coming out of the hall and surrounding me. They
asked me what I meant by trying to ruin the music hall, by taking
away its licence. That, of course, caused a large number of people to
crowd together and look on. I appealed in vain to the police who were
there for protection, but I did not get it. They said, 'If you like it
you can get mobbed.' I walked across the road and asked for protection
at the station house. I did nothing on that occasion to cause the
disturbance. It is not true that whenever I was in front of the hall
disturbances took place. I have been there scores and scores of nights
alone distributing tracts, and no disturbance has taken place.
Disturbances have not been caused by my missionary work. The largest
number of friends who ever accompanied me was eighteen, and out of
that number there would be two or three ladies. All these friends used
to be engaged in the missionary work. The average number accompanying
me was about three or four. Only on about twelve to twenty occasions a
dozen or more persons were with me. In one year I went to the hall
about a hundred nights. I have rescued several of the prostitutes who
used to regularly frequent the hall. It is not true that I and my
friends have ever tried to form a barrier round the door of the hall
to prevent people from going into it. It was in consequence of the
manager of the hall inciting the mob to assault me that a barrier was
formed round the door of the hall. I have never stopped any person
going into the hall by physical force. I have never followed a person
across the threshold of the hall. I have seen officials connected with
the hall incite people to attack me. A door-keeper named Young has
done so. The manager, Mr. Friend, on one particular occasion said to
the mob, 'Halloa, boys, make a row,' but they did not appear to be
very responsive. He has incited the people to attack me on more than
one occasion. He often stood in the entrance hall cursing and swearing
at me, and at times he would address the people from the hall. On one
occasion he said to a man, 'He is a very good advertisement for the
house.' He has used very foul and abusive language towards me. On one
occasion he so lost control of himself that the passers-by stood still
and looked at him in amazement. The wife of the shop-keeper next door
has also used foul language towards me. Mr. Friend's action has caused
great crowds to assemble. I am bound to say I have, as a rule, had
great sympathy from the crowd. Working men would say, 'Go it,
Charrington, and put an end to that den of iniquity.' Mr. Crowder has
assaulted me, and has also incited others to assault me. Mr. Crowder
used to walk beside me pushing me about, and causing a crowd to
assemble. On one occasion he stood on the box-seat of a carriage and
incited a mob against me, and on another he used a most horrible and
foul expression towards me, which I would not like to repeat. On a
Monday night in particular the roughs did rush out of the hall at a
signal from Mr. Crowder, and surrounded me. Crowder then said,
'Police, take him up for obstructing the thoroughfare.' I managed to
get away from the roughs on to the waste ground near the pavement. I
said to the police, 'I am not obstructing the thoroughfare.' Crowder,
however, gave me into custody, and Mr. Friend signed the charge
sheet. I was locked up all night, and the following morning the
magistrate dismissed the charge, observing that an action would lie
against the people who had given me into custody for false
imprisonment. I have been frequently threatened by roughs. From the
waste ground I have addressed people, but not from the pavement. None
of these addresses caused the pavement to be blocked. I have spoken to
a number of girls whom I have known to be prostitutes, urging them to
abandon their course of life. I have never called them by such a name;
I used to call them by their Christian names, because I knew most of
them. I have never called a woman a ---- because she would not take a
tract. I have never said that none but prostitutes went into the hall,
but I said that numbers of them went there. I was here when Mr.
Payne's father gave his evidence. I have said to him, 'You ought to be
ashamed of yourself to bring a young girl to such a place,' or words
to that effect. I meant just the opposite to what Mr. Payne implied,
because I could see that the young girl was respectable. I said
nothing on that occasion that could be construed into an imputation on
the girl's character. I heard Piggott give his evidence. On several
occasions he has threatened me. He seemed to be always at the hall; in
fact, he made it a custom to be there. He told me he supplied
plaintiff with wine and spirits. On one occasion he followed me about
with an oak stick. He shook it in my face and swore he would do for me
if he followed me all over London. He was so excited that I feared
every moment he would drop down in a fit. I have said that the hall
is the way to hell, because there were so many prostitutes attending
it. I have never said that it was hell itself. I deny that anything I
have done has caused a riot or disturbance. M----, H----, and C----are
three girls who gave evidence for me on a motion for injunction: C----
is not now in this country. These girls used to attend the music hall;
they were prostitutes. I rescued them from that life."

Mr. Charrington then left the box, having been in it four hours and a
half.

It is interesting, as throwing a light upon the character of Frederick
Charrington, and the way in which his efforts were viewed by the most
astute legal intellect of that day, to paraphrase the words of the
judge who decided the issue of the case. I simply use those sentences
from the bench which refer to the personal character of Mr.
Charrington.

"The plaintiffs have, for some years past, carried on the business of
a music hall, in the Mile End Road, the music hall being commonly
known as Lusby's Music Hall. The defendant is a gentleman, the son of
a well-known brewer, who has apparently given up a lucrative position
in the brewery for the purpose of devoting himself to missionary work,
and he has established a missionary hall in the neighbourhood.

"The question before me, then, is one of fact. Unquestionably on
several occasions, when the defendant has been present, considerable
disturbance has been caused by the crowds which have assembled. The
evidence is, that these crowds have been brought together, not by the
acts of the defendant, but by the conduct of the plaintiffs
themselves, and their agents, and other persons connected immediately
with the music hall.

"Lusby's Music Hall is, as I have said, situated in the Mile End Road;
and there is a paved footway in front of it of some thirty feet or so
in breadth, and then, between the paved footway and the carriage-road,
there is a piece of ground which some of the witnesses described as
waste ground, and others as roughly paved, of about ten feet or so in
breadth.

"The other witnesses, of whom Mr. Rainsford, who is a clergyman, I
will select as an example, spoke also to the defendant's demeanour.
His demeanour on these occasions is quiet and gentlemanly and
courteous; and one of the plaintiff's witnesses, Mr. Dale, spoke of
him, in cross-examination, in similar terms. Sometimes the person to
whom he offers a tract responds with a sharp word, but on the
evidence, as it stands, there is no ground for saying that the
offering of the tract brings him into any angry or noisy altercation
with any person to whom he is offering it, even those who have
rejected it. He said, about one-third of the times that he has been
there (he has been there on numerous occasions), he has been alone,
and sometimes he goes with two or three friends, who are also engaged
in missionary work, and occasionally, he said as many as from twelve
to eighteen. Mr. Grenfell, whom I have already mentioned, spoke of him
as having a _remarkable ascendancy over the persons whom he met on
this pathway_; sometimes he also was accompanied by ladies.

"In my opinion, as the result of the evidence, all these persons
conducted themselves in an orderly manner. They do not, as was alleged
on the part of the plaintiffs, and particularly by the plaintiff
Crowder, in his evidence, form a 'living barricade,' nor do they
cause, in my opinion, any obstruction to the highway.

"Now, the defendant says that plaintiffs and their servants, and
particularly their manager, have been the real cause of such
disturbances as have arisen. The principal offender is Mr. Friend, the
manager, whose testimony I cannot rely upon. Young stands on a level
with him. Young was the doorkeeper, and was not called as a witness.
Mr. Crowder and Mr. Payne have certainly, each of them, taken some
part in creating the disturbances, though in a less degree than Friend
and Young. Now, the witness Howes, who also gave his testimony,
amongst other witnesses, described what was done by some of these
persons whom I have named. They walk up and down with Mr. Charrington.
I should say that his beat, or his patrol, if I may use such a term,
appears to be a distance of about thirty yards each way from the music
hall; and they not only walk up and down with him, but, according to
Howes, they tread on his heels, and a mob accompanies them as they go.

"Mr. Mason, the shorthand writer, who also gave his evidence
admirably, was a witness to the same effect. As Mr. Kerwin, another
witness for the defendant, said (and I believe him rather than the
plaintiffs' witnesses on this point), if Mr. Charrington had been left
to himself, there would have been no crowd and no disturbance. What
they said is this: I mean, what Friend particularly does, and Young
also; they try to incite the passers-by, and those persons who are
coming from the music hall are irritated. Well, it is said, it is
natural they are irritated; I have no doubt, and it is a fair
observation to make, that they are, to some extent, naturally incited
against him. They look upon this as a crusade against the music hall;
but they have gone far beyond, in my opinion, what they were justified
in doing. They called on the mob to shout, and, on several occasions,
certainly, Friend has tried to incite them, by saying, 'Halloa, boys,
halloa!'

"They assail him with foul and filthy language and they have cursed
him and they have sworn at him; they have assailed him with flour and
with pease-pudding; they have knocked his hat off; they have kicked
him, and the roughs from the hall have certainly made a dead set upon
him. On one occasion he was assaulted, and the man was committed to
prison for three months. They have actually, some of them, thrown
human filth from the windows. On one occasion, particularly, there was
a violent attack made upon him; that is, in October 1883, and I am
satisfied that that was an organised attack. He was driven across the
road, and had to seek refuge in a police section house on the opposite
side. On one occasion they gave him in charge, and the magistrate
dismissed the case, making, I am satisfied on the result of the
evidence, observations which showed that the charge was wholly
groundless. Mr. Piggott, who was a witness for the plaintiffs (and who
denied what I am about to state, but I think he was in error; I think
Mr. Piggott was an excitable man, and a strong partisan), threatened
him with a stick. Besides this, the defendant has been kicked.

"On one occasion, Friend endeavoured to incite the mob in this way.
The witness was delivering some tracts, when Friend called on the
passers-by to assemble, and said, 'Come and see what this man is
calling your wives--nothing but common whores.' The people followed
him to a coffee house window, there were people in the street; he was
then going to read a tract, and found it was not what he wanted.
Friend, said the witness, and I am satisfied that he is right, caused
the crowd. There is some truth indeed in that metaphorical description
that Mr. Charrington in the witness box gave himself; he said he was
no more responsible than a target that is shot at. They have
maltreated his friends, or those who have assisted him. Alston, who
looks a respectable witness, was hit in the face for calling attention
to the man who had knocked in the hat of one of his friends, and the
man Young, the doorkeeper, actually committed the indignity of
spitting in his face. Kerwin, another respectable witness, was butted
in the stomach. Mr. Rainsford, the clergyman, was threatened to have a
knife put into him, and Mr. Grenfell himself was mobbed."

These are hard and definite records.

But you must picture to yourselves Frederick Charrington and Ion
Keith-Falconer accompanied by their friends, night after night--in all
weathers--conducting their campaign amid the jeers and obloquy of the
mob.

Often, from the upper windows of the music hall they were drenched
with flour, red ochre, and even more horrible things than these.

But Frederick Charrington stood there undaunted. His physical courage
was supreme. His moral courage was even greater than that. He was
determined upon the work which God had set him--he did not flinch nor
falter.

What he must have endured I only faintly hint at. It is not my design
to draw a lurid picture of that ascetic abnegation, that utter
throwing away of all that makes life sweet, which was his cheerful,
daily portion.

But I remember an old Cornish woman, whom I met on a wild,
heath-covered moor upon a windy Sunday afternoon, when we were both
leaving a little granite meeting-house, where a rugged, moorland
farmer had spoken of his spiritual experience, and his fresh-cheeked
daughters and their friends had sung hymns to the accompaniment of an
harmonium, hymns which were drowned by the rushing mighty winds.

The old lady, whom I helped over the rough tussocks of grass--she is
dead now, and, I am sure, in Heaven--turned to me, coughing and
spluttering, when we had for a moment some shelter from the wind.

"Ah!" she said, referring to the words of the preacher, "Jesus
belonged to have a brave, bad time! 'Twas a bitter nailing, sir, 'twas
a bitter nailing!"

That is the note--that is the right note in which, I think, we ought
to revere in memory those strenuous days when Frederick Charrington
dared everything for the Lord.



CHAPTER VI

THE FIGHT ON THE LONDON COUNTY COUNCIL


The personal campaign against Lusby's Music Hall, the astounding
details of which are found in the preceding chapter to this, was
complemented by Mr. Charrington's work upon the London County Council,
to which we find him elected as member for Mile End.

Some one has told me that after Mr. Charrington was returned to
London's local Parliament, one of his congregation at the Great
Assembly Hall remarked that he ought to be known from henceforth as
"the member for Religion." Certainly, Mr. Charrington immediately
recommenced his efforts to purify London, and these attempts--upon
such a public stage--made his name known to almost every one in
England in a very short space of time.

It was during the London Licensing Sessions that the world at large
first heard of him. It was his efforts to make the Empire, the
Aquarium, and other places of amusement, fit for the patronage of the
ordinary man or woman, that called down upon his head a tempest of
scorn, a tornado of obloquy, and induced the congratulation, the
prayers, of thousands of Christian men and women who thought with
him.

We have seen him endure personal violence of the most vindictive kind,
as he stood fighting for his convictions, outside the music halls of
the East End. We are to see him now, no less calm and dignified,
enduring the insults of the press, and the angry opposition of his
colleagues upon the Council.

Here is a little study in contrasts!

Upon one occasion, during the battle in the East End, Mr. Charrington
was arrested as causing an obstruction, and taken to the local police
court, where he was confined all night in a cell. He had his Bible
with him, and during the hours of his incarceration, he solaced
himself with the word of God. In the morning, he was accosted by a
fellow prisoner--as all the offenders of the night before were
marshalled in the passage outside the cells.

"What are you in for?" said his new friend.

"Oh, I am in for a little affair in connection with Lusby's Music
Hall," said Mr. Charrington with a smile.

The other chuckled. "Well, I never!" he said, "so am I! I sneaked a
'am from the bar of the same 'all."

There were others in that dismal company who recognised the young
evangelist who had worked so earnestly among them for so long. He
seized the opportunity. He prayed with these derelicts of the night,
and ere they were ushered into the court to stand their hurried
trials, they had all sung a hymn together, the police standing
reverently by in complete sympathy with what Mr. Charrington did. The
evangelist was liberated at once, the magistrate remarking that the
charge was perfectly unfounded, and that, if he wished. Mr.
Charrington would have his legal remedy for false imprisonment. It is
hardly necessary to say that the evangelist brought no action against
the police or their instigators. Of all the men I have ever met, he
has realised and applied the words of the Gospel to practical life. He
has always turned the other cheek.

Here is one picture. Come with me now into the debating-room of the
London County Council and see Frederick Charrington, well-dressed,
well-groomed, strikingly handsome, and with the manner of the polished
man of the world, quietly, but forcibly, combating the emissaries and
paid supporters of vice.

I believe that this, his first prominent appearance in the London
County Council, was the occasion of much surprise.

Although he had never advertised himself at all, his name was, of
course, familiar to his colleagues. Buried in the East End as he
was--and has always been--he was, nevertheless, not unknown by rumour.
The assembled members of London's parliament expected to see an
elderly, bearded man--the typical missionary among the poor. They saw,
instead, a slim and debonair gentleman, aristocratic in appearance,
and self-possessed in manner. Such shocks to preconceived notions are
not nearly so rare as people suppose. A type--of this or that
vocation--gets fixed in the public mind in some odd way. The reality
is often startlingly opposed to the expected.

Every one who looks at the photograph of Mr. Charrington in evening
clothes, which I made him have specially taken for this book, will
agree with what I say. Indeed, during his whole life in the East End,
people who have never met him before, have called upon him for
spiritual or material assistance, and have not left him without
expressing their surprise and wonder at his personal appearance. A man
once came to him who would hardly believe that he was "the" Mr.
Charrington.

"I thought I was going to see an old bloke," he mumbled in clumsy
apology, "you know, one of them old blokes with a white beard, seeing
as I'd 'eard of you for so many years."

So, when Frederick Charrington stood up to oppose the licenses of
certain notorious music halls in the West End in the London County
Council, his personal appearance and manner created a vast amount of
surprise, and, if what I have heard is true--and I have no reason to
doubt it--something of consternation also.

The Licensing Committee of the London County Council met in the
Clerkenwell Sessions House, to consider applications for music,
dancing, and theatre licenses. Mr. T. G. Fardell, Chairman of the
Committee, presided, and there was a very full attendance of members.

The Sessions House had just been under the hands of painters and
decorators. It looked quite bright and cheerful, but it proved quite
inadequate for the accommodation of those people directly interested,
and others who had gathered to hear Mr. Charrington give his evidence
and endeavour to purge London of so much that he felt inimical to
Christianity.

[Illustration: _Photo Elliot & Fry_]

FREDERICK CHARRINGTON IN 1912

                                                 [_To face p. 138._]

I have before me all the verbatim reports of that historic meeting.
The fairest and most unbiased seems to me that of the _Daily
Telegraph_, and it is from those columns that I reprint an epitome of
what occurred. I see no better way of presenting the scene as vividly
as possible than by doing this, but my readers must understand that I
have only made extracts, as the whole proceedings are far too long to
be incorporated in a book of this size.

And, moreover, I shall only print the record of Mr. Charrington's
opposition to the licenses of music halls known by name, then and now,
to the great mass of the public.

For months he had been obtaining evidence as to the character of these
places, and also of similar and less famous ones. In a general
picture, such as I wish to present, the cases of the less important
halls must be eliminated. It is sufficient to say that the opposition
to these minor licenses was as carefully considered, and as earnestly
presented, as the objection to the others.

I will deal at once with the objection which Mr. Charrington made to
the renewal of the licenses to the Empire Theatre of Varieties in
Leicester Square. In order to make certain references in the report
intelligible to the reader, I must say that one of Mr. Charrington's
inspectors--a Mr. Frye--was a grocer by trade. Half the ribald press
of London, for many days, constantly referred to this fact. "Mr.
Charrington and his Grocer" became a byword in the columns of purely
worldly newspapers. It was a cheap enough joke, and I entirely fail to
see why a grocer should not be as efficient a critic of morals as any
one else. But if Mr. Frye had been a solicitor, a banker, or a vendor
of smoked spectacles, through which to look at an eclipse, the
comments would have been just the same.

Mr. George Edwardes applied for the renewal of the music and dancing
license held by the Empire Theatre, Leicester Square.

Mr. Charrington: I oppose this license.

Mr. Forest Fulton, M.P., who appeared for the applicant, said no
notice of opposition had been received.

The Chairman asked whether Mr. Edwardes would prefer to have the case
adjourned.

Major Probyn: I think it exceedingly unfair to applicants not to have
had notice of opposition. It is not at all in conformity with English
ideas of fair play.

Mr. Beachcroft thought that as the option of having the case adjourned
was given, there was no case of complaint.

The Chairman: The Theatres Committees were not aware of any opposition
until this moment.

Mr. Forest Fulton said the difficulty of course was that they had no
knowledge whatever of the nature of the complaint which was made,
whether it was that they were harbouring prostitutes, or allowing
indecent songs.

The Chairman observed that it was quite as inconvenient to the
Committee as it was to the applicant.

Mr. Charrington said that the reason of his opposition was that the
Empire was not only the resort of prostitutes, but that the
prostitution was of a most dangerous character to those who went to
the house. The license he had opposed previously affected the poor of
the East End of London, whereas in this case the license was
particularly dangerous to young men of the better class. He was told
on good authority that there might be seen in the hall young fellows
from Oxford and Cambridge, who there saw vice and prostitution in its
most attractive form. The prostitutes, who were often in evening
dress, were to be found in the best parts of the house, and not, as in
other music halls, in the cheaper seats. If the committee did not see
their way to withdraw the license, he trusted that they might draw
attention to the state of matters and so deter many from being
inveigled into this place. It was also a frightful source of
temptation to young women of the poorer classes. The evidence of his
informant would show that the dresses of the performers were very
indecent, especially in the ballet called "A Dream of Wealth." He
opposed the licenses so that he might not again be accused of
partiality in attacking poor places of entertainment only.

The Inspector Bartlett was then called.

Mr. Forest Fulton: Oh, this is the grocer again.

Witness, in answer to Mr. Charrington, said he visited the Empire, and
thought that the dresses were very objectionable as they exposed the
shapes of the performers very much. He thought them very indecent.
That was in the ballet called "A Dream of Wealth."

Did you see any people who were disgusted besides yourself?--There was
a lady sitting before me with her daughter, and I heard----

Mr. Forest Fulton: I believe I am in the presence of a judicial
tribunal, and the statement of this witness as to what he heard
somebody say who is not to be called is in defiance of the first
principle of law and justice as administered in this country.

Mr. Charrington: Did other people show by their behaviour that they
were disgusted? Did you not hear them?

The Chairman: Objection is taken to the question, and we must be
governed, as near as may be, by the practice in courts of law.

Mr. Forest Fulton said he objected from every point of view. The
witness could give the impression upon his own mind, but not upon the
minds of other people.

Witness: Some people went out.

Mr. Forest Fulton said the witness was not able to peer into the minds
of other people. He said some people went out, but they might have
gone out for fifty reasons.

Mr. Charrington: Have you not evidence that they said they were
disgusted?

Witness: I only heard----

The Chairman: You must confine yourself as to what this witness saw
that he thought of an objectionable character.

Mr. Charrington: Tell us what you saw, especially as to the indecency
of the dresses.

Witness: My impression was that the dresses were indecent.

Mr. Charrington: I will ask what was the impression upon the audience,
because I think that is important.

The Chairman: The witness has stated that he considered the dresses
were objectionable, but he has not said why they were objectionable.

Mr. Forest Fulton: He said that the dresses were objectionable as
disclosing the shapes of the performers.

[Illustration: MR. CHARRINGTON APPARENTLY SNUFFED OUT

A widely circulated cartoon during the Licensing Fight on the London
County Council

                                                  [_To face p. 142._]

Replying to further questions by Mr. Charrington, witness said he
found in the dress circle a number of prostitutes, respectably
dressed, walking about in twos. They were very well-dressed indeed. In
the dress circle he counted twenty or thirty. He did not see them in
other parts of the house, but he saw one come downstairs, look about,
and go up again. He was there about three hours. He did not see them
drinking with gentlemen. He went outside, and saw them go away in
hansom cabs--some with gentlemen. He saw one come down with a decanter
of brandy under her "harm," get into a hansom, and drive away with a
gentleman. He believed she was a prostitute.

Cross-examined by Mr. Forest Fulton: I only once visited this place. I
have been many times in a theatre. I have never seen a ballet at the
theatre or the opera. I have seen ladies in evening dress at the
theatre. There was nothing very different in this case from the
ordinary evening dress worn by the people of this country as a matter
of habit. I do not know that it is possible for any ballet to be
performed without the performer wearing tights underneath the dress. I
believe that it is the practice in every country in the world that
where a ballet is being performed, tights are worn under the dress.
That was what was done here.

The tights are worn under the short dresses?--They had long dresses,
but they opened down the side.

What do you mean?--The dresses were drawn up at the sides.

You were shocked?--Not shocked, but I think it was indecent.

You thought it was indecent?--Yes.

But you were not shocked?--No.

In further cross-examination witness said he submitted his report to
Mr. Charrington a few days ago. He did not do so sooner because he had
several places to visit, and he was told to send in all his reports
together, and Mr. Charrington had been out of town. This was his first
visit to the Empire. He knew the women were prostitutes by their way
of walking round. It was different from the way ordinary people
walked, in respect that they walked in twos.

Do I understand you to ask the committee to say that they were
prostitutes because they walked in twos? And the manner they were
going about, and, when they passed by people, the suggestions they
made with their eyes.

Did they look at you?--I do not know as they did.

Did they look at you in the manner you have suggested?--I was hardly
swell enough for that.

Did you see anything come of the looking?--No. I did not see that
anybody took notice of them. I may say I saw one walk away and sit
down beside a gentleman and get into conversation with him. That was
the only case I observed. I cannot say I observed any of the
undergraduates who have been spoken about. Beyond the case I have
mentioned, I saw the women do nothing except walk about. The lady who
went downstairs turned back. I cannot say if she saw me when she
turned back. I cannot say if this is the reason she turned back.
Nobody spoke to her. My impression was that she was a prostitute. She
never solicited me--none of them ever did. The contents of the
decanter the lady brought down might have been sherry: it might have
been toast and water. I cannot say whether I said in my report that
the decanter contained brandy. I saw the lady in the place earlier in
the evening. She did not have the decanter then. She did not solicit
anybody as far as I saw."

Several members of the Committee stating they did not wish any more of
this class of evidence.

Mr. Charrington said he wished to call the responsible manager of the
Empire.

Mr. George Edwardes was accordingly examined by Mr. Charrington, and
stated that he was responsible manager of the Empire. They did not
knowingly admit prostitutes to the Empire. They turned away ten or
twelve every night. An inspector of police was stationed at the
money-box to refuse them admission.

If a member of the committee says he has been there, and has seen
fifty or sixty prostitutes, you would say he was a liar?

The Chairman suggested that Mr. Charrington should not put such
questions.

Mr. Charrington: If a gentleman went into the Empire and said there
were seventy or eighty prostitutes there, you would say he must have
made a mistake?

Mr. Edwardes: I should ask him to go with me and point them out. I
deliberately say we do not admit women into the Empire if we know them
to be prostitutes. The same applies to brothel-keepers and bullies. We
keep a large staff of police and detectives to stop that.

Mr. Charrington: We know all about the police. We do not want any
evidence from them. I do not think I need ask you any more. I shall,
however, ask the police to come forward and swear, probably as usual.

Several members warmly protested against this as an insinuation
against the police.

Inspector Burke was then called, and stated that the report to the
Commissioner of Police was that the house was well conducted. He
testified that, in his belief, every effort was made to keep out
prostitutes. Prostitutes might be admitted, but they were women who
were not known as such.

Mr. Davis, who said he was interested in the welfare of the people of
London as any member of the Council, said he went there one Saturday
night and found the place well conducted. He was not accosted there,
although he was when he got into the street.

Mr. Charrington said his contention was not as to the behaviour of the
prostitutes, but as to their presence.

Mr. Davis said it was the case that prostitutes were to be found at
fashionable West End churches.

The Chairman then announced that the Committee were in favour of
recommending that the license be granted. He wished to say that the
Committee generally did not agree with what had been said as to the
evidence of the police, and that it was not just to say their evidence
was untrustworthy.

       *       *       *       *       *

In opposing the licenses at the London County Council of some of these
more notorious music halls, Mr. Charrington, according to the regular
procedure of the council, had to conduct the whole case himself
without any legal training, and was not able to have a barrister to
speak for him. On one occasion he had Sir Charles Russell opposed to
him, and also Mr. Grain, these eminent counsel representing the music
halls. During the case in question some point arose in regard to one
of the halls, and Mr. Charrington said to Sir Charles that the noise
was so great on the other side that it drowned the counsel's voice and
perhaps he did not hear correctly what Sir Charles had just said. But
if he _had_ said so-and-so, Mr. Charrington thought that he would find
that he was misinformed. Sir Charles thereupon consulted his
solicitor, and rising to his feet, bowed, and said, "That is so, Mr.
Charrington." At the conclusion of the case Mr. Grain came over to Mr.
Charrington and said, "I really must congratulate you, Mr.
Charrington, on the way in which you have stood to your guns."

One can read this story, this official account of Frederick
Charrington's noble efforts to rid London of what he firmly believed
to be a plague-spot, from two points of view. But one can only come
to one conclusion about the earnestness of the man himself.

I am personally not very sympathetic to this effort of Charrington's,
in those days. I think he would have been better advised to have
realised that men and women cannot be made good by any Act of
Parliament. Of the personal campaign outside Lusby's Music Hall I
think very differently. He was then endeavouring to oppose the views
and the solace of Religion to the forces of Evil.

    No crowd encircled him about,
      He stood despised with two or three--
    But like a spring in summer drought,
      The word he uttered, quickened me.

    Since then I tread the pilgrims' way,
      Still plodding on through sun and rain,
    But, like a star shines out that day,
      The day which saw me born again.

Here, he was making a well-meant endeavour to do something which the
experience of life shows to be impossible. But whatever we may think
of the method, one cannot but admire the courage which made this man
hold himself up to public obloquy, misrepresentation, misunderstanding,
in the way he did. I am writing the life of Frederick Charrington as
it has occurred, and the more I engross myself with his splendid and
fearless history, the more I admire the man himself. I am of another
generation. Social circumstances have altered since the time of which
I write. Other ideas occupy the public mind. But I do ask you, who
read this book, to think with me, and to join with me, in an
admiration for such a stern and uncompromising fighter for what he
believed to be the truth.

I have said that Mr. Charrington's name was bandied about among the
sensual and the vulgar--all over England--as a term of reproach. It
will be as well if I give some concrete instances of this. For one
thing he was cruelly caricatured in all sorts of illustrated
papers--many of the drawings quite passing the limits of legitimate
fun; and at certain of the theatres grotesque and hideous figures were
brought upon the scene designed to represent him and introduced to the
audiences in that way. The opposition went as far as it dared. Of what
was said _a vive voix_ I can only surmise, but it can be estimated
from the virulence and bitterness of the printed attacks made upon Mr.
Charrington at this time.

The _Scots Observer_, for example--and the paper, as every one knows,
was most brilliantly served by the best young literary blood of the
day--wrote as follows--

     "By the gracious condescension of the London County Council,
     that august body which includes all bright, particular stars
     of vestrydom and watches with maiden-auntish tenderness over
     the public morals, we are permitted for another year at
     least to expose ourselves to the perils of the music halls.
     But thankful as we are for thus much of mercy, to
     contemplate the future without apprehension is impossible.
     That bright band whose microscopic vision detects indecency
     on the chastest hoarding, has not at present the support of
     a compact majority. But the sentimentalists of all
     denominations are rallying round the chieftains of the
     fig-leaf, and when Mr. Charrington and the great M'Dougall,
     scourge of the music-hall, are put in power, the fires of
     Smithfield will soon be set ablaze for all whose costume and
     deportment do not satisfy the modest County Council.
     Meanwhile, the defenders of virtue--in others--are crippled
     and helpless. They cannot hope to carry the citadel of vice
     at the first assault. They must perforce content themselves
     with enacting scenes which are nothing less than a national
     scandal. And the protagonist is Mr. Charrington's Grocer.

     "This person has been suborned to do what he himself would
     call the 'Alls. His business is to seek out impropriety
     wherever it may be found. Mr. Charrington is himself far too
     good to pass the porches of sin. For him it is enough to
     shout in the doorway and distribute handbills. But his
     Grocer is made of sterner stuff. Did he not declare on oath
     that he was not easily shocked? He has been 'winked at' by
     'bad characters' at the Popular Palace of Varieties. He has
     clamoured for recognition in the lounge of the Empire; but
     the 'lydies' of the West End Music Hall declined to waste a
     look upon him. 'He wasn't swell enough,' he complained. Of
     course he wasn't. Does the man not know his betters?
     However, he was quite sure the performance was indecent,
     because some people went out and the dresses were not what
     he was accustomed to see at Mile End. He is absolutely
     convinced that the 'lydies' who frequent the Empire are no
     better than they ought to be, and his reasons are ingenious,
     if not entirely conclusive. It is worth while to set them
     forth with some circumstance; (1) the 'lydies' were
     respectably dressed; (2) they wouldn't look at him; (3) they
     walked two and two; (4) one of their number was observed
     carrying a brandy-bottle under her 'harm'! A 'lydy' with a
     bottle under her 'harm' is likely to arouse suspicion, and
     when she is accompanied by another 'lydy' (not a gentleman)
     her character is gone for ever. That Mr. Charrington should
     employ the service of the creature who wrote this testimony
     is not surprising: a fanatic is capable of anything. But
     when you read that the Grocer is now the accredited agent of
     the County Council, you can only conclude that that
     respectable body has marked out the music hall for
     destruction, and devoutly believes that any stick is good
     enough to beat a dog withal.

     "Reason does not seem to have played a conspicuous part in
     the deliberations of Mr. Charrington and his friends after
     the case of the Empire was cleared away from vice. War was
     declared against the Aquarium, because Mr. Coote, Cardinal
     Manning, and the faddists, have smelled out impropriety in a
     poster. The fact that posters are outside the jurisdiction
     of the Council was no bar to the discussion. The great
     M'Dougall observed, with a characteristic touch of Zolasim,
     that all was not well with Zæo's back. Another sensitive
     Councillor objects to snakes, and begged that Paula's
     portrait might be withdrawn. And finally the Council
     threatened (its action cannot be otherwise described) that
     if the directors did not suppress their posters, it would
     not renew their license. To impose this condition were
     _ultra vires_; but Mr. Charrington and his Grocer are the
     ultimate arbiters of morality, and we can but submit."

Thus the howl of the witty, the brilliant, yet the thoroughly
irreligious.

The _Saturday Review_ had its say in an article so stupid in its
bitterness that I do not wish to quote it here. But I should not be
giving a complete picture if I did not include one or two of the
remarks made by the professedly anti-Christian press--newspapers
which owed their very existence to their pandering to vice.

For example, an amusing print--long since fallen into oblivion--but,
during its brief space of life, known as _Sporting Truth_, was pleased
to remark as follows--

     "The best censors of morals are the public, who are quite
     able to get along without the aid of the Council. We do not
     want to be made moral by a paternal Council any more than we
     wish to be made sober by Act of Parliament. And the sooner
     the Council turns itself to its own work--to the better
     drainage of the city, to the improvement of the water
     supply, and the thousand and one other urgent needs of this
     mighty town--the better we shall be pleased. And if they
     must have the spies and informers they appear to have so
     plentifully engaged--the Peeping Toms, the Paul Prys, the
     key-hole listeners, the dirty-minded, leprous beings they
     seem so pleased to patronise--the man who can never see a
     couple crossing a field but he scents immorality in the air,
     the lineal descendants of those revered elders in God who
     concealed themselves in order to descry Susannah's
     nakedness--if they must have these writhing, detestable
     _police de moeurs_ in their employ, let them withdraw them
     from music halls, and send them to the sewers; and the
     quicker they are poisoned in that foul, mephitic atmosphere,
     the better for the business of the world."

This is enough.

It is necessary to have indicated the nature of the opposition to Mr.
Charrington's work for the purification of the music halls, but it
serves no good purpose to particularise further. Let me rather turn
to another side of the evangelist's fighting life. Let me tell, as I
am impatient to tell, of his wonderful purity crusade, and its
results. It is a terrible story, and shows Frederick Charrington,
perhaps, in the greatest peril of his career, yet--as always--undaunted
and unstayed.



CHAPTER VII

THE FIGHT FOR THE PURITY OF THE EAST END


In 1885, the late Mr. Stead, whose death this year in the "Titanic"
suddenly closed so brilliant a career, startled the whole of England
by the publication of his "Maiden Tribute" in the _Pall Mall Gazette_,
of which he was editor at that time.

When the Criminal Law Amendment Bill was talked out just before the
defeat of the Ministry it became necessary to rouse public attention
to the necessity for legislation on this painful subject.

The evidence taken before the House of Lords Committee in 1882 was
useful, but the facts were not up to date; members said things had
changed since then, and the need for legislation had passed. It was
necessary to bring information up to date, and that duty--albeit with
some reluctance--Mr. Stead resolutely undertook. For four weeks, aided
by two or three coadjutors of whose devotion and self-sacrifice,
combined with a rare instinct for investigation and a singular
personal fearlessness, he explored the London Inferno.

"It has been a strange and unexampled experience," he wrote. "For a
month I have oscillated between the noblest and meanest of mankind,
the saviours and destroyers of their race. London beneath the gas
glare of its innumerable lamps became, not like Paris in 1793--'a
naphtha-lighted city of Dis'--but a resurrected and magnified City of
the Plain, with the vices of Gomorrah, daring the vengeance of
long-suffering Heaven. It seemed a strange inverted world, that in
which I lived in those terrible weeks--the world of the streets and
the brothel. It was the same, yet not the same, as the world of
business and the world of politics. I heard much of the same people in
the house of ill-fame as those of whom you hear in caucuses, in law
courts, and on 'Change.' But all were judged by a different standard,
and their relative importance was altogether changed. It was as if the
position of our world had suddenly been altered, and you saw most of
the planets and fixed stars in different combinations, so that at
first it was difficult to recognise them. After a time the eye grows
familiar with the foul and poisonous air, but at the best you wander
in a Circe's isle, where the victims of the foul enchantress' wand
meet you at every turn. But with a difference, for whereas the
enchanted in olden times had the heads and the voices and the bristles
of swine, while the heart of man was in them still, these have not put
on in outward form the 'inglorious likeness of a beast,' but are in
semblance as other men, while within there is only the heart of a
beast--bestial, ferocious, and filthy beyond imagination of decent
men.

"For days and nights it is as if I had suffered the penalties
inflicted upon the lost souls of the Moslem hell, for I seemed to have
to drink of the purulent matter that flows from the bodies of the
damned. But the sojourn in this hell has not been fruitless. The facts
which I and my coadjutors have verified I now place on record at once
as a revelation and a warning--a revelation of the system, and a
warning to those who may be its victims. In the statement which
follows I give no names and I omit addresses. My purpose was not to
secure the punishment of criminals, but to lay bare the working of a
great organisation of crime. But as a proof of good faith, I am
prepared to substantiate the accuracy of every statement contained
herein."

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

I can only paraphrase and hint at the nature of the burning pages
which heralded the most awful revelations of London life ever
presented to the public, revelations which ended in a revolution in
the laws affecting immorality. And I must not stay to do more than pay
a slight tribute of respect to the brave and courageous man who did so
much for womenkind.

As some of my readers may be aware, in the earlier part of this
year--1912--I had occasion in a public work of mine to pay a man whom
I never saw, but with whom I had been in intimate correspondence about
various social matters for a very considerable time, a tribute of
respect I had long wished to make. One of the last letters, upon a
subject affecting public thought, ever written by Mr. Stead was
written to me--just before he made his final voyage in the Titanic.

I am telling here, for the first time, some of the secret history of
that "Maiden Tribute" movement--for it was _to Mr. Charrington_ that
Mr. Stead came in the first instance in order to find out the truth of
what was going on in the East End. Up to that time, Mr. Charrington,
though, of course, he had been painfully aware of many of the horrors
that surrounded him, had been too occupied with his other campaigns,
and his evangelistic work, to take sword in hand, himself, against
this particular aspect of the immorality of the darkest portion of
London.

Do not misunderstand me. You have just read of what Mr. Charrington,
with the most fearless courage, did in the case of the Battle of the
Music Halls. What I mean is that he had not yet begun the
extraordinary campaign against the brothels of the East End, of which
I have to tell in this chapter.

At any rate, he was able to respond to Mr. Stead's request, and it was
he who first--if I may so use the word--"introduced" Mr. Stead to the
erst-while ruffian of whom the editor of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ goes
on to speak.

It is of some historic interest, and I wish my readers to remember
that it was Mr. Charrington who first put Mr. Stead upon the path
which had such magnificent results.

The man of whom I speak, and who told Mr. Stead of the horrors that
went on in the East End, was converted in the Great Assembly Hall by
Mr. Charrington by means of that magnetic and spiritual power which he
has on so many occasions wielded like a veritable Apostle. The fellow
was led from the dark byways of unnamable infamy and brought to Jesus.

At the present moment of which I write, he is an active worker for
Christ, and holds an official position in one of our great over-sea
colonies, to which he was shipped by Mr. Charrington.

It was owing to this conversion that when the late Mr. Stead came to
Mr. Charrington for information, the evangelist was able to put him
into communication with this man.

Mr. Stead used this man's revelations in his "Maiden Tribute of Modern
Babylon," under the heading "Confessions of a Brothel-keeper." The
statement was to the effect that the man had formerly kept a noted
house of ill-fame near the Mile End Road, but was now endeavouring to
start life afresh as an honest man. Mr. Stead saw both him and his
wife, herself a notorious woman, whom he had married off the streets,
where she had earned her living since an early age.

He gathered that the white slave traffic, more particularly in regard
to very young girls, was in the most flourishing and lucrative
position. He exposed all the details, the working of this infernal
machinery, and all England was thrilled with horror. This man made it
a part of his daily business to go away into the country, and to decoy
girls from their parents for bad purposes. Among his patrons were many
wealthy men who paid him large sums--monsters of iniquity, who stood
at nothing to gratify their evil desires. The whole story is a
systematic confession of a depravity which can hardly be equalled, and
yet we see how, before the man was put into communication with Mr.
Stead and confessed, Frederick Charrington was able to rescue even
such an one as this, and bring him to Jesus!

I have quoted other testimonies elsewhere, but I think this is
probably the most striking instance upon record of the exercise of Mr.
Charrington's God-given power.

Never was a more striking amplification of the saying, "It is never
too late to mend." Never was a more extraordinary instance of the
power of Jesus to cleanse and purify, than in the case of this man.

He owes everything, his whole chance of Eternal Life, his veritable
salvation, to Frederick Charrington, through the working of the Holy
Spirit.

If the evangelist in all his long career had done nothing else than
this, even then, I beg leave to think, his career would have been a
marvellous one.

Miracles still happen. This is one of them. I have gone into some of
Mr. Stead's efforts in the furtherance of this bill for the protection
of young girls. After his publication it was deemed advisable to
further influence public opinion by holding a great demonstration in
Hyde Park. A public meeting was accordingly held, at which the project
was considered. At this meeting Mr. Charrington was unanimously
elected chairman of the executive to carry out the necessary
arrangements, Mr. Samuel Morley, M.P. acting as treasurer. Everything
was organised successfully, and a gigantic meeting was held in Hyde
Park, noted clergymen and ministers, leading laymen, and members of
Parliament, presiding or speaking on the platforms erected for the
occasion. Huge processions were formed and came from all parts of
London. It must be remembered that this demonstration was for the
furtherance of a bill for the protection of young girls, and, perhaps,
the most noticeable and touching feature of the processions was the
van-loads of quite young girls dressed solely in white. Mr.
Charrington tells me that he will never forget the effect this
particular feature had on one of the opponents of the bill, who came
out of one of the great clubs in Pall Mall, and who turned perfectly
white as he saw these groups of innocent children.

In 1887, the state of the East End was still appalling. It was then
that our "Valiant-for-Good" began a furious, God-inspired onslaught
upon the dens of East London, which actually resulted in the closing
of two hundred brothels and in purifying the East End to an extent
that can hardly be realised by those who knew it in those days, and
who know it now.

Alone, or occasionally accompanied by a friend or two, always unarmed,
Charrington penetrated to the foulest sinks of iniquity.

He came this time as an avenger of Christ in the first instance. He
came to reprove the blackest evil--he came with a sword in his hand to
destroy it.

And destroy it he did.

I am told by those who remember that strenuous fight that the bullies,
the keepers of evil houses, the horrible folk who battened upon shame,
and enriched themselves with the wages of sin, feared Frederick
Charrington as they feared no policeman, no inspector, no other living
being.

They ran from him. They hid themselves like frightened birds at the
mere rumour of his approach, as he marched alone among them.

His name actually excited the same sort of terror as the name of
Napoleon excited in England in 1813. The blackest scoundrels in London
trembled both at his footsteps and his name.

And it was not only that he came determined to sweep them out of
existence, to destroy their horrid trade, armed with all the powers of
his organisation and the majesty of the law--the supine law which he
himself had stirred to activity--it was that he came among them as a
man of God, radiating the wrath of the Almighty against sinners, and
by that mere force of personal magnetism which was actually testified
to in a surprised court of law, insisting upon the fulfilment of his
commands!

I am not going into too many details, but let me tell of one street
alone which was purged and cleansed by the evangelist.

I think no more striking record than this could possibly be found.

"Lady Lake's Grove, Mile End, has long been notoriously the most
disorderly and the most irreclaimable of any of the streets or roads
of East London. A mere lane, running almost parallel with a portion of
the Mile End Road, it contains about eight houses, while, near the
middle of the Grove, and running off at right angles, is another but
an infinitely smaller lane, only some four feet in width, known as
Cottage Row, nearly the whole of the houses in which are devoted to
the shelter of loose women, and what are colloquially known as their
'bullies.' These 'bullies' are men who, for the purpose of having some
sort of a legal claim upon the proceeds of the shame of these women,
either marry or live with them, or, when the earnings are small, take
up the profession of thieves. For this latter purpose the houses in
Cottage Row are peculiarly adapted; the whole property is somewhat
like a rabbit-warren, communicating, as the houses do, with each
other. The rooms contained in each of the five houses in Cottage Row
number but one or two, and it is in these rooms, crowded with women
and children, that scenes of the grossest immorality frequently take
place. The eight houses known as 22, 24, 26, 28, 30, 32, 34, and 36,
Lady Lake's Grove, are but little better than those in Cottage Row.
They contain about six rooms each, of the most dilapidated
description, each of which are let off to one, two, three, and even
four girls, and women of loose character, and at rents varying from
four to six shillings for each person occupying the rooms. In none of
these houses are there less than ten girls and women carrying on their
nefarious trade, and in some there are as many as twenty. The scene on
every night of the week at Lady Lake's Grove is one of the most
unqualified bestiality, the women occupying the houses in the Grove
being largely reinforced lately by those whose former haunts have been
indicted. Worse than all, an extensive system of procuration has been
carried on at some of these houses for a long time past, the agents of
'Continental houses' finding at the 'Grove' their largest and cheapest
supply of 'goods.' Hitherto, owing to the fear of the 'bullies' who
reside in the locality in large numbers, there have been none
sufficiently courageous as to lodge information against the houses in
the Grove, and it was reserved for Mr. F. N. Charrington, of the Great
Assembly Hall, to take up the cudgels against the Grove. This he only
did after long and careful personal inquiry had convinced him of the
character of the houses. The summonses were taken out this week
against the owners of the houses mentioned in the 'Grove'--amongst
them William and John Loman, Emma Breeson, and Charlotte Squire,
together with the owners of the houses in Cottage Row--and were made
returnable at the Thames Police Court yesterday afternoon. On the
receipt of the summonses, however, the owners of all the houses in
Cottage Row decided that the better policy would be to close their
houses, which was at once done. The owners in Lady Lake's Grove,
however, decided to hold out a little longer, and accordingly four of
them waited until Wednesday to close their premises. The owners of the
four houses, 22, 24, 26, and 28, a little more determined, perhaps,
refused to close their houses even then.

"In the meantime, Mr. Charrington, to show that he was actuated by no
animosity towards the girls and women themselves, determined to give
them a breakfast on Thursday at one o'clock--the usual hour of
breakfasting with these women. No formal invitations were issued, but
on Thursday morning Mr. Charrington, accompanied by one or two of his
fellow-workers, went into the 'Grove' and personally invited the women
and the girls there to the breakfast. The reception accorded Mr.
Charrington and his colleagues was by no means flattering--on the
contrary, it was in the highest degree threatening. The women standing
on the steps openly laughed at him, while the bullies hanging about
began to close round them in a decidedly 'ugly' manner.

"The discreet appearance of a policeman's helmet at the further end of
the 'Grove,' however, induced the bullies to move away to a
respectable distance, while Mr. Charrington proceeded from house to
house, begging and entreating the women to come. The invitation was at
first viewed with some amount of distrust, and open expressions of its
being 'a plant' were frequently heard, but as Mr. Charrington
proceeded to tell them that his only desire was to show that he was
not their enemy, they began to get a little more confident, and
finally, about twenty-five girls who had been plying their trade
outside the four enclosed houses made their way to the hall--the
majority of them confessing that their only object was 'to have a lark
with Charrington.' Arrived at the small hall, they found two long
tables laid out with piles of bread-and-butter and ham and beef, with
two large coffee urns steaming at either end. Mr. Day-Winter was
sitting at the organ at the time, and by a happy inspiration he
proceeded to start the refrain 'For Auld Lang Syne.' The reception was
somewhat different from what the women had expected, and after a brief
pause of surprise they joined heartily in the refrain. And then they
proceeded to attack the viands placed before them--an operation in
which the latter suffered the greatest damage. It cannot honestly be
said that the talk and the general remarks indulged in were of the
most carefully chosen or elevating character, but, bad though it was,
Mr. Charrington and his friends patiently bore it, nor ventured to
protest when matters went considerably further, and the coarsest of
jokes were cut. One satisfactory feature, however, there was,
deserving of mention. The girls and women who had met Mr. Charrington
that morning with expressions of open and undisguised hostility now
began to see that he was sincerely anxious for their welfare, and
treated him accordingly. It was, perhaps, a mistake--though a
well-intentioned one--to start the singing of hymns at the close of
the meal; Sankey's solos and a very recent connection with disorderly
houses do not always agree, especially at such short notice. Mr.
Charrington saw at once that the attempt at reformation was too
premature, and proceeded accordingly. He asked the girls whether they
had any objection to leaving their names and addresses for the purpose
of ascertaining whether something might be done for them in the
future, and the information was furnished to the best of their
ability, considering that some of them had no other names than 'nick'
names, such as 'Aunt Sally.' And then they were asked if they had any
objection to their photographs being taken in groups--a request to
which they assented with even more avidity after they had extracted
from Mr. Charrington a promise that they each should have a copy. They
were rather rough and very coarse-speaking groups that were formed
before the photographer's lens--groups in which every colour under the
sun might have been found in a proximity at utter variance with all
the prevailing laws of fashion--but taken they were. Then, while the
photographer examined his proofs, Mr. Charrington and others
questioned the girls as far as possible as to their future prospects,
and, without a word of rebuke, asked them whether they intended to
continue their present lives, or whether they really wished to become
a little better. These inquiries had to be conducted in the quietest
possible manner, for there was, among the women present, one who
owned a house in the 'Grove,' the girls in which had practically sold
themselves to her, body and soul, and who seemed in no way disposed to
allow them to be taken to a place where they were not likely to
increase her shameful receipts. One such instance was that of a
light-hearted Irish girl, who, on some pretext or other, ran round a
corner to where a gentleman connected with one of the Refuges was
standing, and, in a few excited words, told him that she was tired of
the life she was leading; that she would see him a few days later, but
that she must not be seen talking to him on any account. It was with
sad hearts that the little party saw the girls troop out from the hall
into their old haunts of vice."

These details are almost too dreadful for amplification, but I must
conclude this story of Charrington's battle for purity with the
extraordinary incident of a woman known as Mrs. Rose.

Mrs. Rose was a procuress and brothel-keeper of the worst description.
She was told that Mr. Charrington had her name in his "black book,"
and was coming, as indeed he was, for the purpose of warning her that
he was taking proceedings.

The woman was standing at the door of her house when the news of Mr.
Charrington's approach was brought. She at once ran indoors, fell upon
the floor, and died within the space of a very few minutes.

There are some who will say--and far be it from me to disagree with
them--that terror of detection acting upon a weak heart caused this
evil woman's sudden death. This is the way in which it might be
scientifically accounted for. But, science, which so often thinks
itself the destroyer of religion, is, after all, only the
handmaid--the unconscious handmaid--of the Unseen. It was surely the
power of God, approaching in the person of His servant, who "pressed
God's lamp to his breast," that struck down this woman, as a terrible
example to all the others?

It must be an august and terrible thing for a man to know that, filled
with the power of the Holy Ghost, he was the medium of so sudden and
awful a death.

During the Purity Crusade such dramatic instances were of constant
occurrence. Two girls rescued by Mr. Charrington--who afterwards gave
evidence in the Battle of the Music Halls case--were decoyed into a
public-house known as the "Red Cow" which still exists quite close to
the Great Assembly Hall, by the publican to whom the place belonged.
They remained there all night. The man, who had previously publicly
cursed Mr. Charrington in the most appalling way, took poison, and was
found dead in his bed on the very next morning.

There was also a humorous side to all this strenuous campaign.

Mr. Charrington on one occasion set out to rescue a young girl who was
being detained in a house of infamy. He was accompanied by two
detectives disguised as water-inspectors. The girl was duly rescued,
and upon the mantel-shelf of the principal room of this abominable
house the evangelist discovered his own portrait. He was naturally
considerably startled, but still more so when one of the detectives
told him that there was not a house of this description in the East
End which had not such a portrait.

The explanation, of course, is very simple. The keepers of these
places wished to have a ready means of identifying the man who was
breaking up a dreadful trade.

Altogether two hundred brothels were swept out of existence. The
rescued girls were sent to the beautiful home provided for them by the
liberality of Lady Ashburton. Souls and bodies were saved.

A man had come into dark places, in the words of St. Paul: "Giving no
offence in anything, that the ministry be not blamed; but in all
things approving yourselves as the ministers of God, in much patience,
in affliction, in necessities, in distresses, in stripes, in
imprisonments, in tumults, in labours, in watchings, in fastings; by
pureness, by knowledge, by long-suffering, by kindness, by the Holy
Ghost, by love unfeigned, by the word of truth, by the power of God,
by the armour of righteousness, on the right hand and on the left, by
honour and dishonour, by evil report and good report; as deceivers,
and yet true; as unknown, and yet well-known; as dying, and behold, we
live; as chastened, and not killed; as sorrowful, yet always
rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet
possessing all things."



CHAPTER VIII

FRUITION!


All the work of years, all the successes, the fact that Frederick
Charrington had become an acknowledged leader--perhaps I should say
"_the_" acknowledged leader of the armies of Christ in the East End of
London--are now about to culminate in the erection of that last, and
permanent, "Great Assembly Hall."

We have seen him in all his earlier periods. We approach the moment
when his work for our Lord is to be consolidated in a concrete form.
The huge machinery for good inspired by him, invented and directed by
him, is to be centralised. A new temple of righteousness is to arise,
built by hands indeed, but far more by prayer and self-sacrifice.

The present chapter marks a very definite stage in the career of which
I am privileged and happy to write.

The subaltern has become a commander-in-chief, and a
commander-in-chief who, for the first time, is about to have a
commissariat.

The time has arrived when the words of the Wisdom of Solomon sound
strangely true.

"Then shall the righteous man stand in great boldness before the face
of such as have afflicted him, and made no account of his labours.

"When they see it, they will be troubled with terrible fear, and shall
be amazed at the strangeness of his salvation, so far beyond all that
they looked for.

"And they repenting and groaning for anguish of spirit shall say
within themselves, This was he whom we had sometimes in derision and a
proverb of reproach:

"We fools counted his life madness, and his end to be without honour:

"How is he numbered among the children of God, and his lot is among
the saints!"

The foundation stones of the frontage of the _final_ Great Assembly
Hall were laid in November 1883, the Right Hon. the Earl of
Shaftesbury, K.G., the president of the mission, taking the chair.
Over five hundred ladies and gentlemen, including many of the local
clergy and ministers, witnessed the ceremony, in which the venerable
earl himself, Lady Blanche Keith-Falconer, Miss Cory of Cardiff, Mr.
John Cory, Mr. George Williams, Mr. and Mrs. Frank Bevan, the late
Lady Hobart, and others, took part.

The foundation stone of the great Mission Hall itself, which is the
centre of the whole group of buildings, was laid by Her Grace the
Duchess of Westminster, on July 4, 1885, and opened by John Cory,
Esq., J.P., February 4, 1886.

I am anxious that readers of this book shall have a very complete
picture in their minds of this centre of Mr. Charrington's work.

They must see it as it was then, from a contemporary's reminiscences;
they must also see it as it was when, only three or four months ago,
I, Mr. Charrington's biographer, made a comprehensive experience of
it.

Let the first chronicler, at the moment when the largest mission hall
in the world was thrown open to view, speak before me.

"'Does it really hold five thousand people?' was a remark I overheard
in the crowd which had gathered outside the entrances to the New Great
Assembly Hall, on the day of the opening, the 4th of February, 1886.
The doubter was soon set at rest upon that point by those who had had
the advantage of a private view. A few days earlier I had availed
myself of Mr. Charrington's invitation, and had noted the carpenters
putting the finishing touches to the magnificent building which, like
some Aladdin's palace, had risen in the space of ten months. I was
prepared for surprises, but not such a surprise as the one here
provided. The effect the first view of the hall produced upon the mind
was one of amazement.

"Size, beauty, and simplicity, are its three great qualities. But, so
true are the proportions, its vast capacity is not at once
discoverable. It requires some little effort to impress upon the mind
the idea that a ground-floor area, seventy feet wide by one hundred
and thirty feet long, is very seldom secured unbroken. All the seats
on the ground floor are movable, and not fixed as pews, so that when
occasion requires, an extensive promenade under one roof can be in a
few minutes commanded. And so again the large accommodation furnished
by the two galleries is not immediately perceived, the curving lines
of the architecture making no feature too prominent. The beauty of the
proportion subordinates every part of the building, and all unite in
a pleasing effect.

"From two spots a capital view of the hall can be obtained. Standing
in the centre of the uppermost gallery, looking towards the organ, the
eye notes the depth, forty-four feet in the clear, from the flat
ceiling to the parquet floor. The lines of the galleries converge upon
the double platform, with the choir space behind it, and the organ
recess, now concealed by the painted drop curtain. Placing oneself
upon the upper platform, the width of the building can be seen at a
glance, but not the length, the platform itself extending a good way
outward. If the length but not the height is to be seen, the point for
the spectator to station himself is at the entrance from the
vestibule, or a sweeping perspective may be even obtained from the
iron gate in the Mile End Road, the centre passage-way having an
uninterrupted line from the pavement to the organ; few such buildings
can boast as much.

"The illumination of the hall I heard frequently and favourably
commented on. There are upwards of 130 windows, which, being glazed
with yellow glass, admit a pleasant-toned light, whilst they wholly
exclude any objectionable view. The bright orange, complemented by
chocolate, of the decorations assists the aerial effect thus obtained,
and there is an additional benefit secured by the adoption of ground
glass windows. By shutting out external surroundings the hall is
rendered self-contained. No mean neighbours, murky atmosphere, nor
curling smoke distract the attention, which is left free to
concentrate itself upon the life within the building itself. In a
word, it will be quite possible for a visitor to imagine himself far
from the squalor of the East End of London, from the moment he enters
the Great Assembly Hall.

"The windows, especially the clerestory windows over the galleries
beneath the flat ceiling, breaking the line of the coved sides, serve
also to enhance the pleasing effect produced by the graceful lines of
the architecture.

"At night the artificial lighting is not less striking, a continuous
row of gas jets following the outlines of the clerestory arches. A
skilful arrangement of subsidiary lights destroys all shadows, and the
effect is that of bright sunshine. An alternative system dispenses
with the upper jets and substitutes a row at the level of the first
gallery which is sufficient to give light to the ground area, when
small meetings only are to be held.

"With regard to ventilation, the plan selected seems most effectual.
Every part of the building is under separate control, and there are
numerous cunning little contrivances which are simple and not
patented, but which do their work extremely well.

"In an accoustical sense the hall is perfect. I am told that the flat
panelled ceiling, which resembles in form that of the House of
Commons, contributes to this result.

"I was curious to know the truth of the assertion that from every
seat, and there are four thousand three hundred, a view of the speaker
upon the upper platform could be gained. I found it a fact.

"Three prominent adjuncts of the hall remain to be described. The
first is the great organ, containing 2178 speaking pipes, erected at
the cost of £1000 by Messrs. Bevington & Son. The natural steel colour
of the pipes has been preserved. It is a very fine instrument, and is
not dwarfed or spoilt by the platforms in front of it, nor hidden in
the recess which it fills. This shell-shaped alcove acts as a sounding
board.

"Over the great arch there are bas-reliefs representing groups of
angels in the act of praise. From this arch falls the painted drop
curtain, the subject of the picture thereon being the Feeding of the
Five Thousand on the slopes of the Sea of Galilee. The curtain gives
colour to the hall, and protects the organ when not in use.

"Under the choir platform there is a large inquiry room, a part of
which is partitioned off to provide space for a gas engine to work the
great organ.

"Another unusual feature is the octagonal Italian loggia or lobby,
which intervenes between the frontage buildings and the hall. It is
forty-four feet each way, by thirty-four feet high, and is lighted
from the roof. The landings from two of the four great staircases, at
each corner of the hall have exits into two galleries or balconies,
looking down into the lobby.

"The warming of the building is by an improved hot-air method, and the
exits for use in case of fire are ample."

The opening meeting, an occasion fraught with a significance that only
Mr. Charrington and the thousands of friends who support his work can
realise--for the outside world has known but little of the great work
compared with its knowledge of other, and more largely advertised,
agencies for good--was of an extraordinary character.

Mere lists of names do not convey much, and yet, in an archive such as
this, I suppose some indication--at any rate--must be given of those
who were present, or, unable themselves to be there, were keenly
interested in the great thing that had come to pass.

Among those names which will still have an interest for the readers, I
may mention the Duke of Westminster, Duchess of Westminster, Earl of
Aberdeen, Lord Mount Temple, Lord and Lady Cameron, Lord Justice Fry,
The Lord Mayor, Lady Alexander, Lady Augusta Montagu, Lady Victoria
Buxton, Lady Aitchison, Lady Abercromby, Lady Harrowby, Sir R. Owen,
Sir W. Bowman, Sir J. Coods, Sir E. Colehart, General W. Hill, Bishop
of London, Canon Mason, Rev. Webb-Peploe, Rev. J. T. Wigner, Rev. H.
A. Mason, Rev. Hugh Price Hughes, Rev. A. J. Robinson, Rev. F.
Hastings, Rev. W. Glenny Crory, Dr. Armitage, Dr. Adler (Chief Rabbi),
Dr. A. Grant, Mrs. Henry Fawcett, Miss Robinson (Portsmouth), John
Hilton.

Mr. Charrington, having asked for silence, announced that Mr. John
Cory (the well-known millionaire colliery proprietor) would take the
chair, and face the enormous crowd of jubilant people that thronged
the mighty hall to its utmost capacity.

Lord Radstock engaged in prayer, and then the chairman began his
address.

     He said--

     "I have received some letters since I have been in the
     hall, and I will give you an extract from one, as it may
     interest you, and especially the workers. It is addressed
     from St. George's Infirmary, and the writer says: 'Three
     years ago I gave myself to the Lord in the old Great
     Assembly Hall. On the opening of the new structure, in which
     you are engaged to-night, my heart goes out with love and
     sympathy to all the workers there. Would that I were among
     you to-night.'

     "God bless that good man. It is an encouragement to the
     workers here to know of one such who has received blessing
     on this spot. I do not intend to detain you long. We have
     eloquent speakers on the platform, whom you wish to hear,
     but I would remark that I only express the feeling of my
     friend Mr. Charrington, and of all the workers here, in
     saying that we have to lament to-night the absence of one
     who took a hearty interest in this Mission, and who would no
     doubt, if the Lord had spared his life, have occupied the
     position that I have the honour to occupy to-night. I refer
     to the Earl of Shaftesbury. (Applause.) We can quite
     imagine, by the words our late president spoke at the laying
     of the foundation stone of the frontage, how delighted he
     would have been to inaugurate the opening of this beautiful
     and splendid hall, and I would like to remind you of his
     words. He said: 'Mr. Charrington has said that he desires a
     larger building, and so do we desire it, and so let every
     one desire it, and pray for it heartily, and do what in him
     lies to get it. I trust you will have that building.'

     "We have now to thank God we have this large building, which
     has been prayed for so long, and was so much desired by our
     esteemed and good friend, Lord Shaftesbury. This splendid
     building will, I am sure, always remind us that we must not
     despise the day of small things.

     "Mr. Charrington commenced this glorious and
     self-sacrificing work about seventeen years ago in a
     night-school, and afterwards in a hayloft. Then in a large
     upper room, next an iron hall, later on in a tent, again in
     a bigger tent, to seat 1500, and finally he purchased the
     present site at a cost of £8000. I can well remember the
     time that my friend came down to Wales, many years ago, in
     great ecstasy of delight, having bought this land, and with
     the idea of putting up a large Assembly Hall upon it. And
     now he has his heart's desire! On this site, I understand,
     he erected a temporary building, to hold about 2000 people.

     "Even this place was not large enough, and he rented a
     music-hall to seat 3000 on Sunday evenings, the temporary
     hall being open every night for seven years. This temporary
     building, being condemned, was taken down, and then comes
     this last effort--the erection of this magnificent hall to
     seat 5000 people. I am sure that our united prayer will be
     to ask the Lord that thousands of souls may be saved in this
     place.

     "I am delighted to find the splendid frontage building
     consisting of the Coffee Palace, without intoxicating
     drinks, and the Book Saloon, where pure literature is sold,
     with various club rooms, Young Men's Christian Association
     and Young Women's Christian Association Rooms, besides three
     fine entrances.

     "I must say that the sums which have been subscribed
     towards this building I feel have been a very good
     investment, and I am exceedingly pleased with the whole
     undertaking.

     "But I feel more than thankful to God to-night, and I am
     sure every one will join in the thanksgiving offered by Lord
     Radstock, and I am more than satisfied when I remember the
     hundreds, nay, I may say thousands, of souls that have been
     saved through the instrumentality of my friend Mr.
     Charrington, and his helpers. The good that has been
     accomplished here, of course, no one can tell, and I rejoice
     to know that the same gospel--the old, old story--will be
     continued to be preached here. But Mr. Charrington not only
     offers salvation to the sinner, for he has undertaken
     operations on a large scale, in periods of distress, to feed
     the famishing and the starving; and I observe that in a
     short season of six weeks six hundred pounds were spent in
     bread and cocoa. Blessed is he that considereth the poor.
     (Applause.) What the late Earl of Shaftesbury said at the
     laying of the foundation stone fully expresses my feeling.

     "Take, then, for your motto, 'Forward, in the name of the
     Lord,' and with energy, perseverance, and unflinching
     reliance on the promise, 'I am with you,' go and seek each
     one in his own place, each one in his own sphere, and also
     by united action, to win sinners for Jesus. Remember that in
     the East End of London, with its million of inhabitants,
     there is room--not only for this large hall, but for many
     more.

     "I say, then, 'Forward, in the name of the Lord,' and
     continue, as hitherto, to rescue the perishing. Duty demands
     it. The strength for your labour the Lord will provide. I
     have now to declare this hall open, and may the Lord bless
     the workers, and everybody connected with it."

It is getting on for thirty years now since those stirring words were
spoken, and still the Great Assembly Hall stands in the Mile End Road,
close by the old brewery, and is the greatest centre of Christian work
in the whole of East London. From its first building until the present
time, the work that has gone on there has never diminished in power
for good, the energy of the workers has never flagged. The
ramifications have been enormous. The Assembly Hall has become, as it
were, the hub of a great wheel, with spokes extending in every
direction, and I now propose to give an epitomised account of some of
these stupendous activities, to present the Great Assembly Hall to my
readers as it was and as it is.

From accounts of its beginnings in the earlier days I have gathered
many quaint and even amusing stories.

One of the preachers whom Mr. Charrington enlisted under his banner
was known as "Hellfire Tom." This man was an engine-driver on the
Brighton line, a skilful mechanic, and, at the same time, a great
drunkard. Upon one occasion, when driving his engine at full speed, he
was so drunk that he missed a warning signal, and dashed through two
gates upon a level crossing, thus endangering his own life and those
of all the passengers in the train. He was tried for the offence, and,
very rightly, received a sentence of three months' hard labour.
However, he was converted, and became a strict teetotaler, an earnest
preacher for Christ, and would relate his experiences with a
rough-and-ready eloquence that touched many hearts and led others to
find the salvation that he himself had found. In connection with this
man there is a curious story, which seems singularly à propos to tell
here, when, as one reads, certain alterations in the Burial Service of
the Church of England are proposed, and it is suggested that a
modified form of the beautiful words of committal should be used in
the case of evil-livers--thus constituting the officiating clergyman a
sort of judge-in-advance of a person who has departed this life, and
whom he may be called upon to bury. This man, "Hellfire Tom," lived
before his conversion in a house of ill-fame. He related that one of
the poor girls there died, and two or three of her friends attended
her wretched funeral. These girls had no good influence whatever in
their lives, Christ was little more than a name to them, but one of
them came back to Hellfire Tom, and said that "it was all right with
Sal, as the parson had said she had sure and certain hope of
everlasting life"--words which seemed to comfort the poor creatures
very much.

Another man who addressed Mr. Charrington's congregations in the
earlier days was a certain Harvey Teasdale in private life. In public
he rejoiced in the proud distinction of being the "Chief Man Monkey of
London." He earned his bread by leaping and climbing round the
galleries of Sadler's Wells Theatre, and was, it seems, a most
disreputable character until he came under the influence of the gospel
and definitely embraced a Christian life. He became one of the
preachers at the hall, and numbers came to hear him who had known him
in his theatrical days.

Yet the most remarkable of all the preachers of this period was Henry
Holloway. He was a convicted burglar who had spent seven years in the
hulks at Gibraltar. In connection with the Mission he was always
announced as "A voice from the convict cell," or as "The returned
convict," and was naturally the means of reaching an enormous number
of the criminal classes. On one occasion Mr. Charrington found a crowd
of rough-looking men at the door of the new hall, waiting to gain
admission. They at once said, "Oh, Mr. Charrington, you must let us
in. We are all returned convicts and do want to hear Henry Holloway."
The evangelist managed to take them round to the back of the hall, and
let them in by a side entrance.

All these preachers were converted to the gospel before Mr.
Charrington first knew them. He used them as the instruments of his
work.

And what will my readers say when I tell them that, on several
occasions, an old and extraordinary looking man in picturesque
clothes, and with a strongly marked face, like a grotesque caricature,
was in the habit of giving temperance addresses, and was none other
than the great George Cruikshank himself! the most famous caricaturist
perhaps that England has ever known? This, of course, was in the quite
early period, but I like to think of the odd trio I have
mentioned--and, did space allow, there are many, many others equally
as strange--as testifying to the power of God upon them under the
auspices of the evangelist.

As I am speaking of personalities, it will not be out of place here to
quote the testimony of a well-known preacher as to what Mr.
Charrington did for him.

This gentleman is a personal friend of mine, and he preaches
constantly at the Great Assembly Hall to-day. His name will be known
to many of my readers. I give it here, and print his story in his own
words, at his own request. It is his own wish that his name should
appear, and I can but bow to it, and myself point out the personal
self-sacrifice his decision must have entailed.

But it was ever thus--any one whom Frederick Charrington has
influenced for good has always been ready to come forward at the hour
of need and testify to what he has done for them.

In the chapter entitled the "Battle of the Music Halls," you will
remember another instance of this loyal readiness, this time on the
part of two poor girls who had been rescued from a horrible life, and
restored to health and to respectable society by Mr. Charrington.

Mr. J. B. Wookey said to me, and my secretary took his words down in
shorthand exactly as they appear here: "I was at one time Senior
Deputation Secretary to Dr. Barnardo. It was while I was in the midst
of that work, often suffering from strain of voice and nerves, that I
began to take a little intoxicating drink to produce sleep. Then I was
frequently the guest of people who pressed drink upon me, and slowly
but surely it gained a terrible hold. I really could not do without
it. I had to be stimulated by this means for work. Up to that time I
had never publicly made a fool of myself. But it became necessary to
keep on increasing the dose. Well, about that time my mother, who was
a member of the Society of Friends, was taken sick, and ultimately
died. To her I was very passionately attached, and being left alone in
the room looking at her dear, dead face, I asked myself, if she could
speak, what would she be likely to make as a last request? I knew too
well what she would say. I procured a sheet of notepaper, and wrote on
it a most solemn vow that I would never again touch the intoxicating
cup. I folded the paper and placed it in her dead hand, where it now
remains in the grave. And yet, within a week, so strong had the
appetite for drink taken hold of me, that I broke that most solemn
vow. Then it appeared as if all was over. 'There came a mist within
the weeping rain, and life was never the same again.' From that time
onwards my descent was rapid. My good friend Dr. Barnardo died. I felt
that there was only one thing for it, and that was to put the Atlantic
Ocean between myself and my past; which I did. Then a terrible
domestic calamity made it imperative that I should return to this
country, and after months of anxiety of mind which no words of mine
can describe, I felt that I was utterly lost, body and soul. I
purposely avoided everybody I had ever known, and buried myself in a
neighbourhood to which I had hitherto been a complete stranger. I
could open the Bible, but could not read. Did often kneel, but could
not pray. Could sit down to food, but could not eat. There seemed to
be one thing and one thing only that could calm a guilty conscience,
and give me sleep of mind, body and soul, and that was drink. In the
midst of saner moments I often prayed that I might die, and yet I knew
too well I was not worthy. One day, however, I was most anxious to see
Mr. Charrington's secretary, and having reason to believe that my old
friend Mr. Charrington, whom I had known intimately for nearly thirty
years, was out of town, I ventured to call at his house. To my utter
amazement, Mr. Charrington himself opened the door. The very sight of
him who knew all my troubles almost paralysed me. He, however,
insisted on my coming inside. He preached no sermon, asked me to read
no tract, but gave me a warm grip of the hand, offered me a seat at
his table, treating me with the utmost possible brotherliness and
kindness, and spoke words of hope and good cheer. He took me down to
his beautiful home on Osea Island as his guest for a few weeks. I came
and remained nearly eighteen months without a break. During that time
I regained my mental balance, and once more felt the tight and loving
grip of my Saviour and my God. I feel now that the old enemy has been
finally conquered, and that all that is left for me to do to work out
my own salvation, is to obey the sacred injunction to 'watch and
pray.' Out of the last thirteen months I have been preaching for five
months at the Great Assembly Hall, and although it has cost me
something to open my old wounds, I have been able to do it for the
sake of other victims of strong drink, and I have been privileged to
see hundreds of men sign the pledge of total abstinence and yield
themselves to God. I have also visited other centres of Christian
work, and hope to give the remainder of whatever time is left me to
do all that in me lies to dethrone the drink fiend, and to draw lost
ones to the Saviour who came to seek and to save them."

And while I am still dealing with people, I must quote the words of
Dr. Waldo, the well-known American missionary, who for some years now
has crossed the Atlantic to hold a short mission season at the hall. I
had many interesting conversations with him about Mr. Charrington and
his work, and shall not easily forget his genial and masterful
personality. His words are deeply interesting, and show how much
America is in sympathy with the work at the Great Assembly Hall.

"The first thing I felt when I entered the Great Assembly Hall was a
sense of the immensity of the building. Mr. Joe Clarke, who was then a
missioner, and burning with enthusiasm, showed me through the
building, and particularly took me straight to the pulpit, and said,
'Every big building has a key, and you must receive the key of the
Great Assembly Hall.' He went to the extreme end, and I read from the
Book, and from this key I have preached for eleven successive years in
the Great Assembly Hall. The next gentleman I saw was Mr. Charrington,
who, in his hearty way, received me into his home at 41 Stepney Green.
That was eleven years ago. His hearty reception, the cordiality and
good-will beaming from his bright and searching eyes, made a profound
impression upon me as he asked me to take a seat in his simple home.

"After preaching my first sermon on the word 'Sympathy,' Mr.
Charrington said that his pulpit was free to me to preach anything
that I wished. The thought of preaching in a hall capable of holding
five thousand people made me feel somewhat timid, and I shrank from
the responsibility of facing the congregation in the greatest
evangelistic centre in the world. But after attending the
Saturday-night prayer meeting that has been famous all over the East
End of London as the centre of its spiritual life, as I heard the new
and old converts lift their hearts in grateful prayer to God, and
heard the petitions offered on my behalf, soon the feeling of timidity
lifted, and a courage filled my being that enabled me to be inspired
with the thought of the great Apostle of olden days who said that 'I
am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God,
and salvation to every one that believeth.'

"The morning service at eleven was largely attended, and the old fear
of the multitude left me. I was caught up in the spirit of devotion
that seemed to pervade the entire company. Then came the evening
service when the congregation of between four and five thousand people
assembled to hear the first message from me, the young American who
hailed from Chicago.

"The service, which was a sample of the whole of the services held in
this magnificent centre, left a profound impression on my mind. First
I was conducted to the vestry, where a score of deacons and others met
for a word of prayer, led by the hon. superintendent, Mr. Charrington,
who asked that God's blessing might rest upon the multitudes, and upon
the speaker. Whilst engaged in prayer, the music burst forth from the
tremendous audience, led by Mr. Winter. He sat at the vast, pealing
organ, directing the enormous waves of sound. Led by a huge choir, all
joined in the magnificent hymn, 'Sinners Jesus will receive,' which
gave the cue to the entire service, and, in fact, every service in the
great hall. We soon found ourselves upon the top platform. Behind us
were a hundred voices, male and female. The deacons and lay preachers
were on the platform, and Mr. Charrington sat in front on the one
side, and myself on the other. A spirited service of wonderful power
began, and when the time came for the message of the evening, as I
looked at the sea of faces stretched out before me, I was thrilled in
the extreme, and realised that I was there, listening and facing the
greatest opportunity of my life, in speaking to these people.

"The text of the evening was, 'God forbid that I should glory, save in
the Lord Jesus Christ.' The message came free, as if directed by the
Spirit of God in answer to the prayer of the people. It was easy to
preach. The surroundings demanded the best that was in a man, and the
occasion furnished ample opportunity to make a profound impression.

"After the message was delivered, Mr. Charrington followed in his
magnificent way, and in a voice that was heard in every corner of the
great hall, and out into the street, he made his tremendous appeal for
all to meet the preacher and workers in the inquiry room, where the
opportunity would be given to sign the pledge of total abstinence, to
yield themselves to God, and receive a higher and a grander life.
Dozens that night surrendered themselves. Even after the service was
over, the religious work was not done. Three or four bodies of workers
were on the Mile End Waste preaching the gospel.

"During every summer Americans have visited this Mission, having heard
of it in their own country from me and from others, particularly the
_Ram's Horn_, of Chicago, and several other noted papers of America
which have "written up" this work of Mr. Charrington's, and brought it
close to the hearts of the leading philanthropists throughout the
entire Republic. On one occasion fifteen school teachers from
Cleveland visited the hall with a well-known educationalist in charge,
and were so enthusiastic about it, and with the service, that, in
spite of the fact that dinner was waiting for them at the Hotel Cecil,
they would not fulfil their engagements, but lingered to see the East
End Londoners in devotion in the Great Hall, and in the streets. The
universal testimony of these travellers, who had visited ten different
nations of the world in their travels, was that they had never met
anything in all the world like the work of the Great Assembly Hall of
the East End of London.

"On one occasion, Mr. Charles Herrendeen, of Chicago, with his wife
and son, came to the hall. He is a well-known millionaire and
philanthropist. They sat upon the platform during the entire service!
A handful of gold was afterwards found in the collection plate, which
was rather unusual. He was a personal friend of mine, having been
trustee of a church of which I was pastor in Chicago. He was perfectly
amazed with the enormity of the work, and said that he believed that
'God was nearer to the work of the Great Assembly Hall than any
portion of His work throughout the kingdom.'

"Another time, J. L. Campbell, another famous preacher, visited the
hall during the evening of the day on which King Edward was crowned,
and listened to the discourse that was delivered by his friend. He sat
upon the platform with his face beaming with joy. He said as he left,
that he believed 'God Almighty smiled as much upon that service as He
did upon that which was held in Westminster Abbey at the coronation of
the king.'

"At another time, Mr. Brown, the great wholesale bootmaker, who
resides in St. Louis, became greatly interested in the whole work, and
particularly with the boy Jack Cook, who held several missions in the
great hall. He adopted him and sent him to a school, and generally
fitted him out for his life's work. When he had attended his first
service and listened to all the enthusiasm that emanated from the lips
of Mr. Charrington and the boy preacher of the evening, he said,
'Surely the Lord is in this place. Surely this is the gate of Heaven!'

"I remember one night that a man, who was a great drunkard, came in at
the request of Mr. Charrington, and promised that he would come back
again the next night, which he did. Finally, after his conversion,
through his zeal and eagerness he became one of the leading officials
of the mission, and chairman of the Board of Deacons. He bore the
testimony that it was not anything that he had _heard_ at that
meeting that made the profound impression upon him, but the
extraordinary _personality of Mr. Charrington_, who took him by the
hand, and led him to the place of worship, and to the Saviour of the
world. He said, 'I shall never forget the handshake of the great man
of God, who invited me to prayer with him.'

"Another millionaire from America, in attending service at the Great
Assembly Hall recently, said, 'We have most of the biggest things in
the world in America, but we have got no place anywhere in our country
for the benefit of humanity like this.'

"Yet another American visited the hall when I was conducting my yearly
mission, and took the march through the streets, and witnessed the
seven hundred poor enjoying a bountiful meal, and remained to the
evening service. Upon leaving, he said, 'I have travelled into
different parts of the world, and I confess I have never seen anything
like this at home, or abroad. It is a great need handled in a Christly
way.'

"And I myself have for twelve successive summers preached during the
month of August, and I have no hesitation in saying that this is the
greatest field I know of on earth for sociological study, and for
Christian service. Here sin is rampant, and here Grace is having the
victory, 'For where sin abounds, Grace doth much more abound.'"

There have been very many preachers, of course, during the long life
of the Great Assembly Hall. It would be almost impossible to mention
them by name, and perhaps invidious also. But Mr. Charrington has
been, especially of late years, much indebted to the Evangelisation
Society, who have sent him many of their most powerful preachers.

All these preachers have given due testimony in their time and place,
not only to the good that they are able to do to others by their
mission under Mr. Charrington's direction, but also to the spiritual
good that has resulted to themselves, and to that feeling of "home,"
that sense of companionship and union, which will never leave them
when they think of the vast building, and those who worked there so
nobly and so long.

It is absolutely impossible, and it is outside the scope of this book,
to go into any details of the thousands and thousands of people,
living and dead, who have been led from a life of wretchedness and sin
to happiness and peace. Of the thousands and thousands of people who
have been _materially_ assisted, I can only speak, generally, a little
later on. These facts, however, are evident in every line of this
biography. What I have not hitherto insisted upon, but which,
nevertheless, is a curious and interesting fact, is that the Tower
Hamlets Mission, which centres in the Great Assembly Hall, has always
been an _aristocratic_ Mission.

Charrington himself has never sought publicity. He has lived a very
humble and quiet life, scarcely known personally outside the East End
of London, and even during late years, since the beautiful island of
Osea has passed into his possession and he has a noble country house
there, he has by no means lived constantly upon the Island. He is firm
as ever in his devotion to the East End, and his visits to Osea are
only occasional. And yet, though Mr. Charrington is so little
personally known, his institution of "The Great Assembly Hall" is
known the world over. He is known by his works, "his works do follow
him." He has never gone beyond his work.

This is an undoubted fact. And yet, throughout his whole labours, he
has been supported by some of the leading people of the country.
Except in cases of very rare and intimate friendship, such as that
with the Hon. Ion Keith-Falconer, and the Earl of Kintore, his
father--with a few others--Mr. Charrington has always refused to enter
into the _social_ life of the great people who have shared his
_Christian_ life and helped in his _Christian_ work. One memorable
visit to "Broadlands," the seat of Lord Mount Temple near Romsey,
deserves mention. Among the guests were the great Lord Shaftesbury and
the late Mr. Wyndham Portal, then Chairman of the South Eastern
Railway. Mr. Portal told Mr. Charrington that he had often played
billiards with Lord Palmerston, who on returning from the House of
Lords--generally at a very late hour--always played a game.

The billiard room at "Broadlands" was preserved exactly as Lord
Palmerston had left it when he played his last game there. This, of
course, was a private visit, but Mr. Charrington afterwards attended a
religious conference held at the house. Men of all shades of opinion
were present, and Mr. Charrington spoke on the same day as Canon Body.

He is not unsocial, however--you have a pen-picture of the man as he
is in the last chapter of this book. It is simply that he cannot,
_will_ not, spare a minute from active good works in the East End.
Yet it would be wrong of me, as his biographer, if I did not draw
attention to the support he has had, and this is a fitting place in
which to do it.

I certainly ought to mention the late Lady Ashburton. This lady,
famous in her lifetime for her good deeds, was always a patron of Mr.
Charrington's work. In 1881 she paid the whole expense of taking two
thousand five hundred members and friends of the Great Assembly Hall
to Southend-on-Sea, and at the time of the Battle of the Music Halls
she bore all the expense of the Rescue Home for Girls, besides giving
large donations to the work.

It was when present at the opening of a beautiful hall which Lady
Ashburton built at Canning Town, that Mr. Charrington first met the
late Duchess of Teck. After the proceedings, the Duchess turned to the
Marquis of Northampton, and said, in that breezy and genial way, for
which she was so well known, "But where is Mr. Charrington? No one has
introduced me to Mr. Charrington! I _must_ see Mr. Charrington. Please
bring him to me."

Mr. Charrington had the honour of being presented to the Duchess, who
was accompanied by the then Princess May, now Queen of England, and
had a most interesting conversation with the royal couple.

Subsequently the Duchess and the Princess visited the Great Assembly
Hall, accompanied by Lord Dorchester, and were shown over that noble
building.

It is interesting to note that our beloved Queen Mary has herself
stood in that great East End centre of sweetness and life. It is more
interesting still to record that King George himself gave the first of
those regular "feedings of the hungry," which have continued without
intermission every Sunday for so many years, and have literally saved
people from actual starvation, time after time.

A good deal has been said in this book about the late Earl of
Shaftesbury--the good Earl, as he was known to every one. The present
Earl of Shaftesbury, Chamberlain to the Queen, has continued his
predecessor's interest in the work of the Great Assembly Hall. As many
people know, Lord Shaftesbury has a very beautiful voice--indeed, an
enterprising American syndicate once offered him a thousand pounds a
night to go to the United States and sing in public!! It is needless
to say that this offer was refused, but in interesting contrast to it
is the fact that Lord Shaftesbury one night came to the Great Assembly
Hall from the West End during a furious tempest which would have
deterred nine men out of ten, and sang "The Star of Bethlehem," and an
excerpt from "Elijah," to the poor people who were being fed at the
time.

I wish I could recount the innumerable incidents which have occurred
when great or famous people have visited the hall. It is impossible to
do so, however, for they in themselves would make another book. But,
as showing the extent of the help Mr. Charrington has been able to
command, I will at least give a list of famous names--a list for which
I recently wrote to the secretary of the Mission, Mr. Edwin H.
Kerwin.

Such names as these have a definite weight, which is the sole reason
why I give them.

     H.R.H. Princess Mary, Duchess of Teck; H.R.H. Princess May,
     Duchess of York (now Queen Mary); The Duchess of Bedford,
     The Duchess of Sutherland, The Rt. Hon. the Earl of
     Shaftesbury; Louisa, Lady Ashburton; Lord Radstock, Lady
     Radstock, The Hon. Ion Keith-Falconer, Lady Hobart, Hon.
     Hamilton Tollemache, The Earl of Kintore, Hon. Granville
     Waldegrave, Lady Beauchamp, Lady Blanche Keith-Falconer, Sir
     R. Beauchamp, The Earl of Aberdeen, Lady Rosslyn, The Hon.
     E. Waldegrave, Princess Lina and Olga Galitzin, The Countess
     of Warwick, Lady Eva Grenville, Hon. A. Ayrton, Count A.
     Bernstorff (Berlin), Princess Alexander Paschkoff, The Duke
     and Duchess of Westminster, Prince Oscar of Sweden and
     Norway, The Baroness Burdett-Coutts, The Countess of
     Seafield (Georgina), Lady Henry Somerset, Baroness Langenan,
     Lord Esme Gordon, Prince Galitzin, Lady Hope, Lord and Lady
     Carrington, The Earl of Westmoreland, Hon. G. Kinnaird, Hon.
     Emily Kinnaird, Hon. Elizabeth Kinnaird, Lord Kinnaird, Hon.
     Mary Waldegrave, Sir Arthur Blackwood, The Earl and the
     Countess of Dudley, The Countess Amherst, The Countess of
     Portsmouth, Sir George Williams, Lady Algernon
     Gordon-Lennox, The Marchioness of Ripon, Lady Gray, Sir
     George Cooper, Bart., Julia, Marchioness of Tweedale,
     Dowager Countess of Warwick, The Hon. Harry Lawson, Lady
     Cooper, Lady Rookwood, Lady Brownlow Cecil, The Viscountess
     Dupplin, The Hon. Randolph Adderley, Lord Brabazon, Lord
     Rosebery, K.G., Lady Macnaughton, Lady Warren, Lord
     Rothschild, Lord Beresford, Lord Coleridge, Q.C.; Lady
     Pullar, Lady Ernestine Bruce, Lady Mary Lawson, Count
     Paschoff (Berlin), Sir James Whitehead, Bart., Sir Wilfred
     Lawson, Bart., Sir James Anderson, Bart.; The Hon. Montagu
     Waldegrave, The Hon. F. Bridgeman, M.P.; Sir John Pullar,
     Major-Lieut. Sir Charles Warren, Rev. Canon Wilberforce.

I will also add that one of the most munificent of Mr. Charrington's
millionaire supporters was the late Mr. John Cory. He gave Mr.
Charrington two hundred a year as a regular thing. In addition to
that, from time to time he bestowed large sums upon the Mission
entirely independent of his yearly subscription. Shortly before his
death he sent Mr. Charrington a cheque for a thousand pounds to cover
the expense of the village hall on Osea Island, and, when recently
staying with Sir Clifford Cory, Bart., Mr. Charrington ascertained
from him the fact that his father gave away in charity nearly a
thousand pounds each week!

Yet Mr. Charrington has found that the millionaires of to-day are not
nearly so ready with their cheques as those of the past. The great
growth of material comfort, the increasing love of magnificence and
splendour, seems indeed to have deafened the ears of the very rich to
the piteous cry of the starving poor in the East End. If only this
book awakens some of those so abundantly blessed with riches to what
has been done, and is being done, by Mr. Charrington, then its
publication will indeed be blessed.

Did not the late Lord Shaftesbury say--and is it not true
to-day?--"This is a great and mighty work. I can only say that I
rejoice to think that such a work as this is to be extended, and well
does our friend Charrington deserve it. No man living, in my
estimation, is more worthy of success for the devotion of his heart,
the perseverance of his character, the magnificence of his object, and
the way in which he has laboured, by day and night, until he has
completed this great issue."

I went, a few weeks ago, during the time of the great dock strike of
this year--1912--to see the actual feeding of the hungry in Mr.
Charrington's hall. I wish I could have taken with me a dozen of the
richest men in England. I defy the most flinty-hearted Dives in
existence to see what I saw, and remain untouched.

And, remember, that what I saw has gone on regularly for a long space
of time.

I arrived at the Great Assembly Hall just after lunch upon a Sunday.
Outside the hall a uniformed band was gathering, and by it stood a
large, portable hoarding, mounted upon a handcart, bearing the words,
"The Great Assembly Hall," and inviting all and sundry to visit the
hall that evening and attend the service.

Even at that early hour--the "feeding" was not to take place till two
hours later--along the railings which border the small ornamental
garden which forms an oasis in the roaring Mile End Road, and are
immediately in front of the hall, a crowd of patient, silent men had
formed a _queue_, extending for many yards, and shepherded by a couple
of watching policemen. There they stood in line, men of all ages, from
the very old to the mere lad, the faces of each one of them pinched
and gashed with hunger. The eyes had a dull, hopeless stare, the weary
figures in their rags expressed the utmost dejection in every curve.

[Illustration: THE GREAT ASSEMBLY HALL

Feeding thousands of London's poor

                                                  [_To face p. 196._]

The band started a stirring march, Mr. Charrington and I at its
head, together with various other workers of the Mission, who
distributed handbills of the evening service as we went along.

We marched a little way down the Mile End Road, and then we turned
into some of the narrowest and most dreadful slums of London. In some
of these slums the policemen have to patrol in couples for fear of
aggression. At every door, at every window of these rookeries, were
dozens upon dozens of faces, with the marks of drink and deep poverty
upon them. Children swarmed everywhere like bees in a hive. And yet,
among all that misery and destitution, it was most pathetic to see how
many of them--the little girls especially--were as neatly dressed as
their parents could manage, and how their shining hair was brushed and
tied up with odds and ends of ribbons.

We passed a large group of young men openly gambling upon the
pavement. We passed a little house where, not so very long before, two
young men had entered at seven o'clock in the morning, and murdered an
old woman who lived there for the sake of a few shillings. We passed
innumerable drunken men, some of them fighting and quarrelling among
themselves, and more than one drunken woman leaned, leering and
nodding, against the wall of her house.

And yet, not a word was said against us. In no single instance, during
that two hours' progress, was even an insult hurled at Mr. Charrington
or his friends. On the contrary, people waved cheerily to him from
upper windows, and he brandished the inevitable umbrella, which he
carries as a sort of baton upon these occasions, with a merry
greeting. The little children ran to him and hung to the tails of his
frock-coat, proud to hold his hand, and to march with him at the head
of the music. In streets where at least half of the population were
known to the police, and were of the definitely criminal classes,
there was nothing but welcome for the evangelist and his music. There
was no preaching whatever. Now and again, where two or three foul,
dark streets converged, the band stopped and played, very touchingly
and sweetly, for it is composed of first-class instrumentalists, that
beautiful hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light." That was all, though on all
hands the eager helpers were distributing handbills and inviting
everyone to come to the Great Hall in the evening.

We had started upon the last part of our march, after one of these
halts, when a very drunken man came up to me, and thrust his arm
through mine. He had not lost the power of his legs--at any rate with
my assistance--and for half an hour or more he insisted on walking
thus with me, by Mr. Charrington's side and at the head of the band,
pouring out praises of the evangelist in a thick, but sufficiently
intelligible voice! It was a curious experience--to me, at least--but
it did not seem anything out of the way to my new friends. Suddenly
the head of an old man protruded from an upper window, and a voice
hailed Mr. Charrington in loud and friendly greeting.

"Who's your friend?" I asked, and when the answer came I looked with
added interest, for every one who reads newspapers has heard of the
old gentleman known as "Bill Onions,"--that writer of curious
doggerel verse, who has been imprisoned something like 480 times for
drunkenness, and who, for many years now, has been a convinced
teetotaler, and every year attends at the police court of his last
conviction to receive the congratulations of the magistrate!

When we got back to the Great Assembly Hall the crowd of the hungry
had enormously increased, as also had the attendant policemen. The
gates leading into the smaller hall, where the feeding takes place,
were opened, and the men filed in, shepherded by the policemen, and
delivered their cards of admission.

I stood outside and watched, and it was explained to me that only a
certain number of men--and women, in another hall which I did not see
on this occasion--were able to feed each Sunday. I think the number is
somewhat over seven hundred. But it always happens that a certain
number of the tickets which have been distributed on the previous
Sunday are not used. There are generally about twenty. The recipients
may have got work, may have left London in search of it, or may, alas,
have succumbed to their privations, and be where hunger can tear them
no more, as was the case with one poor woman who came to the hall on a
Sunday, and had her first meal for that day. On the following Monday
and Tuesday it was afterwards ascertained that she had nothing
whatever, and she died on the Wednesday.

This is known, and, in consequence, a large number of poor outcasts
join the _queue_ in the hope that there will be room for them.

When all the regular ticket-holders had been admitted, the tickets
were counted, and, upon this occasion, it was found that some
seventeen more invitations were available.

Seventeen men were counted off from the _queue_, their faces
brightening with an inexpressible relief as they marched into the
hall. But I never saw, in all my life, anything like the hopeless
despair that came upon the faces of the large number of men who were
left, who had waited for hours upon this single chance of a meal, and
who must now disperse unsatisfied. It touched the very spring of
tears, and stabbed the heart with a pain that cannot be forgotten. It
was my first experience of anything of the sort, and it was at that
moment that I began to realise--though only dimly, then--what Mr.
Charrington was doing, and had been doing, for forty long years. The
excellent lunch I had just had at my club in the West End seemed to
turn to stone within me.

I have little space to devote to the actual meal. I shared it--it was
good and sufficient. I sat upon the platform and saw the ravenous
eagerness with which these poor men ate what they could. Many of them
saved a crust or two and wrapped it in their handkerchiefs to make
another meal later on. At the conclusion of the tea, a very short
speech was made by a gentleman connected with the Mission, who had, in
the past, nearly ruined himself with drink, but is now a happy and
prosperous Christian, helping to uplift others. It was not a
sensational speech, the emotions of the hungry were not worked up by
rhetoric. It was a simple, heartfelt statement.

At the conclusion, more than twenty men of their own accord walked up
to a little side table and signed the pledge. This goes on day by day
in the Great Assembly Hall, and the percentage of those who keep their
promise has been investigated! It is well over fifty per cent.!

Upon the evening of the next Sunday I attended the service in the
great hall itself.

The enormous place was packed with people. The upper gallery of all
was absolutely crowded by men, many of them in the last stages of
destitution, all of them quiet, reverent, and attentive. I was told
that a large number of them admitted, to use their own words, that
they had "done time." Of the service itself I will say little. I have
already quoted other opinions of such services. But, to me personally,
who had never been present in my life at anything of the sort, the
impression was wholly satisfying. The music was perfect. The singing
was by a vast trained choir, the finest that can be heard in the East
End of London. The enormous organ was assisted by a band as well as
the singers. There was absolutely nothing sensational, _nothing
bizarre, nothing vulgar or in bad taste_.

The gospel and the gospel only was preached. Any shibboleths
would--personally--have repelled me. Nothing but the story of Jesus
and His love for humanity was told. Mr. Charrington himself presided.

The preacher was my friend Mr. James B. Wookey, whose testimony to the
work accomplished by the evangelist's powers is given in another part
of this book.

I was sitting just behind him upon the high platform, surrounded by
the Deacons and Choir. I could not see the preacher's face, but his
voice, which went pealing out into the great Hall before me, reached
my mind as well as my ears with every inflection and change of note.
It was an occasion which I shall not easily forget. Here was a man
preaching to an enormous number of people in the first place. No
ordinary church would hold such a concourse. In the second place the
congregation was unique. There were well-dressed and prosperous people
not only upon the platform, but in the body of the Hall and first
gallery, and stretching right away to the roof were hundreds upon
hundreds of outcasts, the men and women for whom Society has no
place--the down-trodden and despised.

To these Mr. Wookey addressed an appeal, couched in very simple
language, yet it was his use of English which drove home in an
extraordinary way.

If we think of it, the greatest effect in all appeals to the heart
have been got by the use and arrangement of simple words. If one takes
that triumph of the English language, Milton's Lycidas, it is
extraordinary to notice how in the most tender and most beautiful
lines the monosyllable predominates.

It was just that fact which the preacher of this night thoroughly
understood. It was strong nervous English, capable of being
comprehended by the meanest individual in the Hall, and yet it was
tensely living English also. I confess to extreme surprise. In a
minute or two, however, my point of view was changed. I was touched,
and deeply touched by the intense pathos of an appeal such as I have
seldom heard. I was caught up, as many other members of the
congregation were also, by the almost painful driving force, the
tremendous earnestness behind the words. I watched the faces in the
gallery, row after row; I saw the tense and almost breathless interest
upon every one of them. Nobody moved or stirred. The congregation was
frozen into attention.

The subject of the sermon was simple enough. We were asked to give up
our sins, we were entreated almost with tears to give up strong drink,
and come to Jesus. Not simply in the hope of personal happiness and
future salvation--though this was, of course, implied--but because
every evil act we commit gives personal pain to the Saviour who died
for us. It was an intensely moving sermon, and it must have knocked at
the hearts of very many of us. There was a dead silence, and in tones
faltering with emotion, the preacher concluded by quoting the
well-known couplets--

    "He died that we might be forgiven,
      He died to make us good,
    That we might go at last to Heaven,
      Saved by His Precious Blood."

Afterwards, in a large room under the hall, I saw many fallen men and
women kneeling quietly with one or other of the helpers and confessing
all their sin and troubles to Him who alone can heal and pardon.

Strange experiences have been the lot of Mr. Charrington during this
part of the work. On one occasion a young man was about to commit
suicide, and had a bottle of poison in his pocket. Mr. Charrington
wrestled with him upon the floor of the room and took the bottle from
him by force, thus saving his life.

So much for my own experiences. Let me conclude this necessarily
circumscribed account of the living, burning activities of the Great
Assembly Hall at this day, by telling my readers that upon Lord
Mayor's Day, when the Chief Magistrate of London holds his Civic State
in the grand old hall in the city, two or three thousand of the very
poorest are also entertained at the Great Assembly Hall by Mr.
Charrington and his co-workers, on behalf of the Lord Mayor, the
Sheriffs, and the City Companies.

The poor have enjoyed this banquet for twenty-six years in succession,
and I take a typical account of one of these feasts from the columns
of a daily paper published in 1902.

     "There was a pleasing though pathetic scene witnessed last
     night in the Great Assembly Hall, Mile End Road, when a
     large number of London's destitute poor were entertained to
     supper. As the people of all ages trooped in to take their
     seats at the long benches laden with good things, many a wan
     face brightened, as it had probably never brightened before,
     at the prospect of a good and nourishing meal. For the most
     part the people came with freshly washed faces, and nicely
     combed hair, and to one who did not know the vast metropolis
     and its slums, it would be impossible to believe that these
     were the people--or at least, many of them--who practically
     lived in the streets, and helped to augment their own and
     their parents' incomes by selling matches, flowers, and
     other articles along the kerbside. There were about two
     thousand guests, and when they once 'fell to' there was
     almost a silence. This gradually increased into a murmur,
     then into a general clatter of tongues as the good fare
     began to warm them. Then, here and there, came a merry peal
     of laughter. By the time the meal was finished, every one
     was gay and happy; each was in a veritable fairyland, and
     quite oblivious of the life of the morrow. But even such a
     momentary ray of sunshine into the lives of toil and trouble
     may help to fashion a character and teach not a few of them
     what can be done by kindness and well-dispensed generosity,
     while those who were responsible for the feast were amply
     recompensed.

     "This annual gathering was begun in the year 1887, when
     three to four hundred people were fed, and from that time
     onward, owing to the flow of contributions, for which the
     Lord Mayors of London and their Sheriffs have been in a
     large degree responsible, the number of people provided for
     at this annual gathering has reached upwards of two
     thousand. The task of finding out the most deserving has
     been left to the clergymen, ministers, mission workers, city
     missionaries and others. No distinction of sect is made.
     Each recipient received a meat pie, a cake, two apples, and
     a loaf, while tea was plentifully supplied. At the
     conclusion of the meal, a very amusing entertainment was
     provided. The following telegram was sent to the Lord Mayor:
     'Two thousand guests send greetings and thanks to Lord
     Mayor, Lady Mayoress, and Sheriffs.'"

The reply came speedily, and was as follows--

     "Lord Mayor, Lady Mayoress, Sheriffs, and Ladies, greet the
     guests at Assembly Hall, and thank them for telegram which
     will be read by Lord Mayor to company at Guildhall. Lord
     Mayor hopes guests are spending pleasant evening, and
     regrets he cannot personally greet them.

  "Lord Mayor."

     "Shortly after nine o'clock these happy people for a while
     went out into the Mile End Road and sought their squalid
     homes, after threading their way through London's murky
     streets on a typical November night. Who is responsible?
     What is responsible? How shall the sufferings of the poor of
     the East End of London be alleviated?"

The following appeared in the _Daily Graphic_, November 11, 1902--

     THE OTHER BANQUET

     "In the East End, when people speak of the Lord Mayor's
     Banquet, they do not refer to the affair at the Guildhall,
     but to the meal which has now been provided at the Assembly
     Hall, Mile End Road, on sixteen consecutive Lord Mayor's
     Days. Mr. Charrington is responsible for the organisation of
     this treat to the East End poor--a treat which is doled out
     to any who are deserving of it and need it, irrespective of
     their nationality or religious belief. Two thousand
     invitations were issued for the banquet held last night. The
     tickets were given for distribution to any responsible men
     and women who applied for them. All the two thousand
     invitations were accepted, but, in addition to these, a very
     few guests were invited at very short notice; in fact, they
     came to the doors--hundreds of them--and clamoured for
     admission. They had but one excuse to offer for their
     behaviour--they were hungry. Some of them were brought
     inside the gates and as many as could be fed, were fed, but
     there were hundreds who had to be persuaded by the police to
     go away. They came back to the doors again--and again--and
     again. For what? A cup or two of hot tea, and a paper bag
     containing a pork pie, a pound cake, a roll, and two
     apples. After the meal there was some music by the students'
     orchestral band, a few speeches, and a display of animated
     photographs given by Mr. Luscombe Toms. The guests were
     welcomed by Mr. Charrington, in the name of the Lord Mayor,
     and a telegram of thanks and congratulation was sent to the
     Lord Mayor and the Sheriffs. The Lord Mayor had contributed
     twenty guineas towards the expenses, the Sheriffs ten
     guineas each, Sir Horace Marshall twenty guineas, and
     donations had also been received from several City
     Companies, and members of the Common Council. When the
     banquet and entertainment were over, all the paper bags had
     gone, and the urns, which had contained three hundred and
     fifty gallons of tea, were empty. Outside there was a
     hungry, envious crowd."

There has always been a great Banquet at Christmas also, in addition
to that provided by the Lord Mayor upon his day.

It is interesting to remember that last year before King George left
these shores to proceed to the Great Durbar, he not only took thought
for the high business of State, but also for the needs of his poorer
subjects. He sent a cheque for ten pounds from Buckingham Palace to
aid the Tower Hamlets Mission in its work of feeding the East End poor
at Christmas. Mr. Charrington announced the fact to the guests and
intimated that the present was the third occasion on which King George
had sent a cheque for the purpose.

An enormous work has been done among the children of the East End in
connection with the Great Assembly Hall. There is the largest Sunday
school in London, there are many agencies for giving the little ones
holidays away from their sordid surroundings.

Quite adjacent to the Great Assembly Hall is another Hall capable of
seating 1000, known as the Children's Hall. It is used exclusively for
Christian and Temperance work amongst the children of the
neighbourhood, and is under the control of Mr. Edward H. Mason, who is
also Superintendent of the Sunday School, which is probably one of the
largest in the Metropolis.

Much attention is devoted to music. Complete Oratorios, and also Gems
from the Oratorios are frequently given, the large Choir and Orchestra
being composed entirely of the working people of the neighbourhood,
and have been brought to a high state of perfection by the Musical
Director of the Mission, Mr. G. Day Winter.

The Temperance work--Mr. Charrington's life-work--is unceasing. I have
thought it just to sum up all that the evangelist has done for the
cause of Temperance in another chapter, so I need not refer to it
further in this.

But I must certainly mention the emigration work which has been
carried on in connection with the Hall with great success. One of the
principal helpers in this work was Captain Hamilton, a retired Army
Captain, who for many years took an unceasing interest in the
emigration problem in connection with the Tower Hamlets Mission. Four
thousand people were sent out to Canada from the Hall, and finally, by
a curious turn of fate, Captain Hamilton himself emigrated to British
Columbia.

My endeavour in writing of the Great Assembly Hall is rather to give
a vivid picture of all that goes on there, without a multiplicity of
detail. But if this account leads any one to wish for further
information--as I pray that it may lead many people--a postcard to Mr.
Edwin H. Kerwin, the secretary, will immediately bring them all the
information he or she may wish to obtain.

"He who giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord."



CHAPTER IX

THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE


Mr. Charrington's name is, of course, indissolubly linked with the
Temperance cause. His work for Temperance has been the most strenuous
of all his efforts. His hatred of strong drink, begun so many years
ago when he gave up the great fortune that was made from beer,
persists to-day with undiminished force.

Throughout the whole of this book the evangelistic Temperance work is
very evident, but in this chapter I gather up a few special instances
connected with his lifelong anti-drink crusades.

Of his earlier days, I have gathered a great deal of information from
Mr. Richardson--Mr. Charrington's old and valued friend, who is
referred to elsewhere in this book.

Here is one story of this time taken down in shorthand exactly as Mr.
Richardson told it me.

"A large meeting was held in the East End for the support of certain
candidates for the London School Board. The three great brewers,
Edward North Buxton, Sir Edmund Hay-Currie, who is now the secretary
of the Hospital Sunday Fund, and Mr. William Hoare were present.

"Mr. Bryant, of the celebrated match-makers' firm, was in the chair.
Mr. Charrington went to this meeting, and took some few men with him.
Before starting, he said to them, 'We are pretty sure to get some
bones broken, so do not come unless you are willing to run the risk.
We must keep near the door, and look out for our heads. We shall very
likely be thrown down the stone staircase.'

"They went to the meeting, and just got in the back of the hall of the
Bow and Bromley Institute. There were nearly two thousand people
there. Mr. Hoare, the brewer, was speaking. He was a very hesitating
speaker, and was just saying, 'And we must do something for those
wretched, ragged little children that roam about our streets and are
not gathered into the schools.'

"Mr. Charrington thought that as he hesitated for another sentence, it
was a good opportunity to break in, and he said at once, before Mr.
Hoare could speak again, 'Why, it is you, Mr. Hoare, with your beer,
and you, Mr. Buxton, and you, Sir Edmund Hay-Currie, with your gin,
who are causing these wretched, ragged children to be roaming about
our streets. It is you who are ruining and blasting the homes of the
working classes, and I am ashamed to see you clergymen and ministers
supporting these brewers and distillers upon this platform here
to-night.'

'Mr. Charrington had only gone, in the first instance, to make a
protest, not a speech, and expected to be thrust out of the place
every moment. He hesitated for a moment, and there was a death-like
silence. The proverbial pin could have been heard (if it had been
dropped). Then amidst the silence a voice said faintly, 'Why, it's
young Charrington! It's young Charrington!' And then another one said
a little louder, 'Well done, Charrington! Well done, Charrington! Go
it, let 'em have it, let 'em have it!'

"These publicans were going against their own people because their
houses were all tied ones. Then followed a scene of indescribable
excitement. The language used was unprintable. Mr. Charrington
suddenly found himself in the most extraordinary manner the champion
of the people. They took him up in the most enthusiastic fashion,
shouting out for a speech, delighted with him for personally opposing
the brewers, and denouncing them to their faces. They cursed and swore
at them, calling them everything imaginable. During all this there
were ladies upon the platform. All the people were shouting, 'Make way
for him! Make way for him!'

"They pushed one another aside, and somehow made a little alley for
him right up to the platform at the other end of the hall, and
cheering him on as one would a fireman going up a ladder. He walked
forward amid the deafening cheers of the people, mingled with the
awful curses on the brewers and the distillers upon the platform.

"When he got as far as the platform, those on it did all they could to
keep him off. However, he managed to get on to a chair, laid hold of
the rail, and swung himself on to the platform. As he did so the
supporters of the brewers thrust their fists at him and tried to beat
him off.

"Mr. Charrington just got his footing, and threw himself head first at
the stomach of the gentleman standing just in front of him. He
recovered himself, and then jerked his elbow into the stomach of the
gentleman on his right, and then his other elbow into the gentleman on
his left. There was a grand piano standing at one side of the
platform, and he climbed on to this and ran along it, and managed to
drop into a chair just beside the chairman.

"All this time the people were yelling and getting frantic with
delight, as they saw him on the platform at last. And then clergymen
on the one side, and Nonconformist ministers on the other, began to
abuse him, saying that his conduct was disgraceful. He said that, on
the contrary, their being there at all was disgraceful. It was
criminal for Christian ministers to be supporting brewers and
distillers.

"The chairman rose and tried to get a hearing. 'Whenever he was
chairman,' he said, 'he always tried to act justly and see that
justice was done to all sides. As it was a public meeting, Mr.
Charrington had just as much right to speak as any one else. If he
would kindly wait until Mr. Hoare had finished his speech, he would
then call upon Mr. Charrington for his.'

"The people present invited Miss Hastings, a lady of good family, to
become the candidate in opposition to the brewers and distillers. Mr.
Charrington proceeded to advocate her cause, and pleaded with the
electors to vote for the lady candidate instead of the brewers and
distillers. The result of it all was that Edward North Buxton only got
in by four votes, and Miss Hastings was returned at the head of the
poll. Mr. Hoare was turned out."

On another occasion, when Mr. Charrington was member for Mile End on
the London County Council, a licensing debate was held at which he was
present. It was decided that the licenses of public houses then closed
should drop, so as to reduce the number of public houses in London.
Mr. F. C. Carr-Gonn, a great property owner in South London, was
another member, and was also present on this occasion.

On the subject of the Temperance question Mr. Charrington used some
illustrations of the evil effects of drink, and said, "Only recently
we have had a case of a young man who was otherwise a respectable
young fellow enough until he got intoxicated. Although the facts of
the case were scarcely known, because he was alone with his mother at
the time, it was said by the doctor afterwards that he had kicked his
mother to death. He must have kicked her for nearly an hour, and her
head was battered to a pulp, and he had kicked out all her teeth. She
was most horribly disfigured. All this was through the effect of
strong drink. He was a very affectionate son otherwise."

Just then, Mr. Carr-Gonn, in a state of great excitement, rose.

The chairman on that occasion was Lord Rosebery. It had been decided a
short time ago that the chairman was always to be addressed as "Mr.
Chairman," regardless of his title.

Mr. Carr-Gonn, being in a very excited condition, hardly knew what he
was saying. He cried, "Mr. Rosebery! No, I mean my Lord Chairman! No!
no! I mean Mr. Rosebery! My Lord Chairman, will you stop him! will you
stop him!"

Lord Rosebery rose and said, "I am sorry, Mr. Carr-Gonn, but I must
rule that Mr. Charrington is perfectly in order, and if he likes to
illustrate the subject, he is at liberty to do so. I cannot interfere.
Please proceed with your speech, Mr. Charrington."

At this, Mr. Charrington went on to tell another story of a poor Irish
couple who lived in a very dark little alley in the East End of
London. They were a respectable and loving couple. The husband,
however, would generally get drunk on Saturday nights. One Saturday
night he came home drunk as usual, but his wife had made a point of
never nagging him, and always spoke kindly to him when he was like
that. She got him to rest on the bed on this particular occasion,
saying, "Lie down for a little and sleep. You will be better when you
wake up."

When he woke up, she said kindly to him, "Oh, Tim, Tim, do give up the
drink; it will be better for us all." His only reply was to pick up a
bar of iron that was lying on the fender, and did duty for a poker,
and with one blow smash in her skull. She never spoke again. He had
killed her on the spot. And when Mr. Charrington heard of this, he
said, "Well, he stopped her voice, but so long as I have got breath in
my body, she being dead, shall go on speaking through me--I will
repeat her words: 'Give up the drink; it will be better for us all.'
It will be better for the nation, it will be better for the families,
it will be better for us all to give up this cursed, damning drink."

We know that all this started the temperance policy of the L.C.C.

I now come to an incident in Frederick Charrington's splendid work
for Temperance which shows, as clearly as anything can show, the
enormous stir that his determined opposition to the liquor traffic
made in London at the time of which I speak.

The brewing interest, and the publicans, held a meeting in Trafalgar
Square. It was to have been a mass meeting, and indeed it was largely
attended, though not so largely as was anticipated by the originators.

A counter temperance demonstration was organised, and in the result
the brewers' meeting was completely spoilt and broken up.

Now with this counter demonstration Mr. Charrington had nothing
whatever to do--as it happened. His name, however, was so widely
identified with the Temperance cause, that the opposition had no doubt
in their own minds that their meeting had been disturbed by him.

They determined, therefore, to "get even" with him, and the method
selected was to smash up everything at the next meeting in the hall.

Mr. Charrington had issued invitations for six o'clock, but at
four-thirty the Mile End Waste was alive with a huge crowd, numbering
among its members some of the most sinister-looking ruffians in
London. They were there with a definite and avowed purpose of
retaliation.

In a lane by the side of the hall, so seriously was the situation
viewed, a hundred and fifty mounted police were waiting.

The crowd clamoured for admission, and surged forward, making the most
violent efforts to enter at different points.

In the event, the people became so numerous and threatening, that the
authorities of the hall were simply compelled to throw the doors open
and admit them.

The hall was filled in an incredibly short space of time, and it was
filled by the worst elements in the crowd--the hired bullies who were
to wreak the vengeance of the liquor lords upon Mr. Charrington and
his supporters. Each man of this crowd had been provided with a bottle
of whisky, and many of them had bludgeons in addition.

A great rush was made to the platform, and a yelling fury of drunken
men endeavoured to storm it, the stewards literally fighting for their
lives to protect it.

I am informed that the _mêlée_ passed description, and that many of
those who were in it had to be removed to the nearest hospital that
night.

The police rushed in and linked arms three deep to hold the assailed
platform, upon which Mr. Charrington was sitting, calmly surveying the
tumult.

Even after some semblance of order was restored by the police--that is
to say, after the actual fight ceased--the subsequent proceedings were
all in dumb show. Huge blackboards were produced, resolutions written
upon them, and declared carried with drunken roars of approval. Sir
Wilfrid Lawson was to have spoken at this meeting, but he remained in
a committee room, and was not allowed to show his face at all, as the
resentment of the crowd was specially directed against him--though not
more so than against Mr. Charrington.

When the whole affair was over, many credible witnesses saw the hired
bullies being paid half-a-crown each at the entrance of the hall, by
men with bags of silver coin, who had organised this disgraceful riot.

I must now deal with one of the most curious coincidences that has
ever come across my notice.

Sir Walter Besant, as I said in the first chapter of this book, drew
his character of "Miss Messenger" from Mr. Charrington, and his action
in regard to the paternal brewery. As a result of Sir Walter's
book--_All Sorts and Conditions of Men_--the People's Palace
definitely grew into being, and was about to be erected. Frederick
Charrington, on two memorable occasions, was brought into direct
conflict with the controlling authorities upon the ever burning
question of drink.

The first instance when this occurred created a tremendous sensation
in the Press.

Summoned by the then Lord Mayor (Sir John Staple), who presided, a
largely attended meeting was held in the Mansion House, in connection
with the Beaumont Trust scheme for the establishment of the People's
Palace for East London. Besides numerous supporters of the movement
there were present a large number of persons who were desirous of
eliciting the views of the trustees as to their intentions with
respect to Sunday opening and selling intoxicating drink, and it was
evident that there were many who believed that the trustees had
already decided to open on Sundays and to sell liquor, although no
declaration had been made to the effect.

[Illustration: A CARTOON WHICH APPEARED IN _FUN_ DURING THE PEOPLE'S
PALACE AGITATION

                                                  [_To face p. 219._]

The Lord Mayor explained that before the money in hand could be made
available it was necessary that further sums should be received.
Having dwelt upon the desirability of technical training, one of the
objects of the scheme, his lordship said certain questions had been
put with reference to the proposed opening of the People's Palace on
Sundays, and to the sale of alcoholic beverages.

Sir E. Currie then made a statement as to the position of the scheme,
and announced that his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had written
regretting his inability to be present, and expressing his unabated
interest in it. Similar letters had been received from Lord Salisbury,
the Duke of Westminster, and others. The Queen's Hall now building
would be ready for opening early next summer.

Mr. F. R. Jennings, Master of the Drapers' Company, then moved, "That
the efforts of the trustees who are promoting the establishment of the
People's Palace for East London merit the sympathetic and practical
support of the community."

General Sir D. Lysons seconded.

Before the resolution was put to the meeting Mr. F. N. Charrington
rose to make some observations, and in reply to the Lord Mayor, who
intimated that Mr. Ritchie, M.P., and Sir R. Temple would not be able
to stop, declined to postpone his remarks, as they applied to the
first resolution only. A great many persons on both sides were
anxious, he said, that the principles should be settled before the
details were discussed, and one lady, who represented many others, had
declared she would not give a sixpence until it was settled whether
the People's Palace would be opened on Sundays or not, and whether
intoxicating drink would be sold there.

The Lord Mayor, interposing, read the resolution and added, that, as
chairman of the meeting, he considered the question raised did not
effect the motion.

Mr. Charrington rose and said, "I beg leave to say that it is
impossible to say whether the efforts of the trustees do merit our
sympathy and support until we know whether the Palace is to be opened
on the Lord's Day or not, and whether a license is to be applied for."

The Lord Mayor replied, "I should be very unwilling to prevent any
gentleman from speaking, but if you persist, I must rule you out of
order. I should be very sorry to do so."

Mr. Charrington bowed. "Then it is impossible for us to give an
opinion until the question is settled," he said. "We ask: Is strong
drink going to be sold or not, and is the Palace to be opened on the
Lord's Day? We only want these two questions answered. Both sides want
to know whether these questions are to be answered or not."

A scene of great disorder immediately ensued, and the Lord Mayor
sternly said, "I must ask you to resume your seat."

Mr. Charrington was quite unmoved. He said, "I contend that my two
questions are entirely legal. We are cursed enough with strong drink
without having any more introduced into this Palace, which is intended
for the benefit of the public."

"You are out of order altogether," was the Lord Mayor's rejoinder.

"There is beer and gin enough already," said Mr. Charrington.

The Lord Mayor: "I must ask you to leave the hall. I will not allow
this to continue."

Mr. Charrington: "Is this place to be opened on Sunday or not?"

The Lord Mayor: "Sir, if you persist in interrupting the meeting when
I have declared you to be out of order, I shall have you removed."
(Loud cheers and counter-cheers. Cries of "Bravo, Charrington!")

Mr. Charrington: "I have a legal right to speak."

The Lord Mayor: "I will take all the responsibility upon myself, and
if you don't sit down, I will order the police to remove you."

Mr. Charrington still persisting, Sir E. H. Currie left the platform
and swore at Mr. Charrington, who replied, "We've had enough of your
gin shops; go back to the platform," which he did. A police officer
having been sent for, he was directed to remove Mr. Charrington.
Accordingly, the evangelist, who was loudly cheered, left the hall
amidst great excitement, exclaiming at every step, "The curse of
strong drink!"

This action of Mr. Charrington's created an enormous sensation
throughout England. It was felt, and, I think, very rightly felt, that
such a courageous action, in such a celebrated place, would further
the Temperance cause and give it a new impetus.

I have records of nearly the whole of the religious Press at that
time, and their praise and support of Mr. Charrington's action was
unanimous.

The interruption was much criticised, of course, but mark the result.
Within two or three weeks the trustees wrote officially to the _Times_
to say that the decision arrived at was that intoxicating drinks
should _not_ be sold. As a consequence of this all the polytechnics
inserted a clause to the same effect in their trust deeds. Mr.
Charrington contends, therefore, that by standing on a chair for five
minutes he accomplished--and for nothing--what would have cost a
couple of thousand pounds to advertise and ventilate in the Press!

How right, how inevitably right he was, is amply proved by the story
which I am about to tell of what actually occurred at the People's
Palace during the next year. The passengers along the Mile End Road
one Saturday evening in November, between ten and eleven o'clock, were
amazed to cross the path, at almost every few yards, of a solitary
drunken man, and groups of three and four men in a similar condition,
in volunteer uniform, reeling about, shouting, singing, swearing, and
otherwise conducting themselves in a lawless and riotous manner. Every
one was curious to discover the cause of the unusual scene, and it was
soon whispered abroad that the intoxicated volunteers were issuing
from the People's Palace, where they had been treated to a Jubilee
supper. A ragged little urchin, who had been chaffing several
volunteers, who were sprawling about in the mud together, not far from
the Lycett Memorial Chapel, in characteristic fashion, replied to the
inquiry of a friend of mine, "They've been 'olding the Jubilee, sir,
at the expense o' Charrington; not the Assembly 'All one, ye know, but
the one 't's got the brewery. Ain't they tight, sir? Charrington's
beer bin too strong for 'em."

The supper was a complimentary "Jubilee" one, given by Mr. Spencer
Charrington, M.P., of Mile End, one of the leading partners in the
brewery firm of Charrington, Head & Co., and treasurer of the People's
Palace, to the 2nd Tower Hamlets Rifle Volunteers. The guests numbered
about a thousand men of the regiment, with thirty-two officers and
many civilians, among these being the President of the Local
Government Board, and half a dozen East End clergymen. When we
consider the amount of liquor which was given to each man--since
intoxicants could not now be sold in the Palace--it is not difficult
to understand this truly disgusting form of celebrating the Jubilee of
our gracious Queen. Of the thousand volunteers at the supper, it was
authoritatively stated that no fewer than six hundred were the worse
for drink. On leaving the scene of their evening's debauchery, and
coming into the night air, some of the volunteers became nothing
better than madmen. They rushed into the shops of tradesmen in the
Mile End Road, smashed their weighing machinery, and otherwise caused
considerable damage. They grossly insulted respectable women and
girls, and in various other ways annoyed and terrified the lieges.
Some were picked up in the gutter lying dead drunk, and bespattered
from head to foot with mud, not only in the Mile End Road, but in
various other parts of the East End. Others were lifted into cabs by
friends, and in some cases by policemen, and sent home.

Is it to be wondered at, after what has been mentioned, that a
portion of the 2nd Tower Hamlets Rifle Volunteers have acquired for
themselves the appellation of the drunken "six hundred"?

The scandal created by this affair was enormous, more particularly in
the East End, where the People's Palace stood and was a prominent
centre in the people's lives.

Mr. Charrington was determined upon a course of action which should
prevent such a disgraceful scene recurring for ever and a day.

He accordingly drafted and sent a memorial to the late Queen Victoria,
which ran as follows--

     "_To the Queen's Most Excellent Majesty._

  "MADAM--

     "In approaching the Throne, we desire to bring to the notice
     of your most Gracious Majesty the fact that the People's
     Palace, Mile End Road, which on the occasion of its opening
     was honoured by your Royal presence, has been used for
     purposes for which it was never designed, and which we are
     assured Your Majesty could not and will not approve.

     "Mr. Spencer Charrington, M.P. for the Mile End Division of
     the Tower Hamlets, invited, on Saturday, the 5th inst., six
     hundred of your Majesty's loyal (Tower Hamlets) Volunteers
     to dinner.

     "Not content with the provision of a substantial repast, Mr.
     Charrington, who is one of the firm of brewers bearing that
     name, caused to be introduced into the noble hall of the
     People's Palace no less than ten 36-gallon barrels of ale,
     and enormous quantity of whisky, besides gin and other
     spirits, etc.

     "These liquors were distributed during the evening to your
     Majesty's Tower Hamlets Volunteers, with results which have
     seriously compromised their character, discipline and
     honour. The fact is that inside the building scores of
     Volunteers were seen in every stage of intoxication, and
     that from 10.30 p.m. until 11.30 p.m. the whole roadway in
     front of the People's Palace was the scene of the most
     degrading intemperance. Large numbers of young men, members
     of the Volunteer corps referred to, came out of the Palace
     reeling about in every stage of drunkenness.

     "Their conduct was shameful and abominable, and what is
     truthfully described in a leading article in the _Eastern
     Post and City Chronicle_ as 'The Orgy at the People's
     Palace,' disgraced the whole neighbourhood. Mr. Charrington
     is a large brewer, and a Member of the House of Commons, and
     it would appear that his great influence has sufficed to
     keep out of the London daily Press any notice or criticism
     of this great disgrace to a large public institution.
     Therefore we have taken the opportunity of bringing the
     facts before the notice of Your Most Gracious Majesty. Mr.
     Charrington is one of the principal Trustees, and the
     Treasurer of the People's Palace. It is humbly submitted to
     Your Gracious Majesty that this gentleman is not at liberty
     to use this Institution for scenes as those described on the
     corresponding page of this memorial.

     "We are simply expressing the desire of large numbers of
     Your Majesty's dutiful subjects, when we humbly and
     respectfully ask that Your Majesty will be graciously
     pleased to cause such inquiries to be made as may be
     desirable to ascertain the facts as set forth in this
     letter, and that Your Majesty's powerful influence may be
     exercised to prevent such demoralising scenes being again
     witnessed at the People's Palace. This institution was
     designed to further the instruction and social elevation of
     Your Majesty's subjects residing in the East End of the
     metropolis, and it was never contemplated that it should be
     used to foster intemperance amongst Your Most Gracious
     Majesty's loyal volunteers.

     "We remain, with profound respect, Your Majesty's most
     dutiful subjects,

                                "FRED. N. CHARRINGTON,

                                Great Assembly Hall, Mile End, E.

                                "HENRY VARLEY,

                                48, Elgin Crescent, W.

                                "EDWIN H. KERWIN,

                                31, Mile End Road, E."


A reply was received from Sir Henry Ponsonby as follows--

                                                  "_Balmoral_,

                                          "_November 20, 1887_.

     "SIR,

     "I am commanded by the Queen to acknowledge the receipt of
     your letter of the 16th instant, and to inform you that it
     has been referred to the Trustees of the People's Palace.

                    "I have the honour to be, Sir,

                           "Your obedient servant,

                                "HENRY F. PONSONBY."


On the 14th of December of that year Mr. Charrington had the
gratification of knowing that his efforts had been crowned with
success. He again received a letter from Sir Henry Ponsonby, which ran
as follows--

                                              "_Windsor Castle._

                                              "_December 13, 1887._

     "SIR,

     "Your letter of the 16th November was duly forwarded by the
     Queen's command to the Trustees of the People's Palace. The
     Trustees have passed a resolution that in future no
     intoxicating liquors will be allowed upon the premises of
     the People's Palace.

                            "I have the honour to be, Sir,

                                "Your obedient servant,

                                     "H. F. PONSONBY."


This was a signal success for temperance, a success entirely due to
Frederick Charrington's personal efforts. His energy has always been
extraordinary, and one is really lost in amazement as one thinks of
those days. He interrupts, throws into utter confusion, an important
meeting at the Mansion House. He risks his life over and over again in
his temperance crusades. Determined to stamp out the abuse of drink,
he not only memorialises the Queen of England, but achieves his
purpose in so doing. It is an astonishing record.

In one of the debates in the Houses of Parliament, the question of
compensation for the closing of public houses occurred, and one of the
greatest demonstrations ever held was held in connection with this,
and entitled "The No Compensation Demonstration." It is supposed to
have been the largest gathering of people that ever came together in
Hyde Park.

A meeting of leading temperance workers was held in Lord Kinnaird's
private house in town on this subject. Mr. Charrington happened to be
away at the time, and so was not present at this meeting. When he
returned, he found that they had come to the conclusion that the
Government was too strong for them to make any opposition to their
proposals to compensate the publicans. Mr. Charrington said, "Oh, but
this will never do. We must have a great demonstration." He then and
there determined to start it on his own responsibility. He first of
all paid a visit to the lobby of the House of Commons, and interviewed
all the members he could who were in favour of temperance. He informed
them that a demonstration was going to be held, despite the resolution
taken at Lord Kinnaird's meeting, and that being the case, would they
join in and help in it? They all agreed to give their time or their
money for the project. After that Mr. Charrington went round to the
temperance societies, telling them that he had arranged for the
demonstration to be held, and asking them if they would join in with
his scheme?

They all agreed to help. Thereupon Mr. Charrington called in the
assistance of well-known temperance workers, and started on his own
part. The various churches in the metropolis and the temperance
societies all entered into the scheme, with the exception of the
Salvation Army, who would not join as a body. Mr. Charrington's
warmest supporter was Cardinal Manning, who brought all his people
with their bands and consecrated banners.

This was shortly before the Cardinal's death, and Mr. Charrington
often recalls with great interest the visit that he paid to the
Cardinal in relation to this matter.

One of Mr. Charrington's honorary secretaries, Mr. Samuel Insull,
accompanied him to the residence, and, not knowing that Mr.
Charrington was already very intimate with the Cardinal, he said, "Do
you know Mr. Charrington, Your Eminence?" who replied, "I should think
I did know Mr. Charrington," and, laying his wasted hand upon Mr.
Charrington's shoulder, he said "God bless him!"

It is sufficient to say here that the whole demonstration turned out
to be the greatest success ever accomplished in the temperance cause.
So great were the numbers attending, that when, at the close of the
meeting, people were passing out from the gates, the end of the
procession was still coming in at the other end of the park. It is
calculated that there were at least over two hundred thousand people
assembled.

Mr. George Nokes, familiarly known as the Bishop of Whitechapel, has
for long years been one of Mr. Charrington's most trusty lieutenants
in conducting the total abstinence propaganda amongst the poor, with
whom he is a great favourite.

The more I write of this biography--and my pleasant labours are now
coming to a pleasant conclusion--the more I marvel at the unequal way
in which honours are bestowed in this country.

We all know the famous joke made by "Punch" when that satirical
journal coined the word "beerage" as a substitute for "peerage." Sir
Wilfred Lawson, himself a great friend and earnest supporter of Mr.
Charrington, commented upon this fact over and over again. In all his
public speeches he drove it home, and in light verse, for which he had
a pretty talent, he again pointed the moral. I have in my possession a
book lent me by Mr. Charrington, consisting of cartoons by Sir Frank
Carruthers Gould, of the _Westminster Gazette_, and Sir Wilfred
Lawson, who supplied the accompanying verses. The book was published
some years ago by Mr. Fisher Unwin, and was entitled _Cartoons in
Rhyme and Verse_. Upon the title page there was a characteristic note
"to the reader," by Sir Wilfred, who said,

    "If any one thinks that these verses are 'rot,'
    I'm the very last person to say they are not."

Despite Sir Wilfred's humbleness, I have no hesitation in saying that
if the verses in question have no literary form, they nevertheless go
straight to the point.

I will quote two of them.

            "THE BREWER'S POWER.

    Who to the heathen far away,
    Send Christian men to preach and pray,
    And bring them to a brighter day?
                My Brewer.

    Who, when aloud the poor have cried,
    And poverty is raging wide,
    Has means of charity supplied?
                My Brewer.

    Who fills his pocket with the sale
    Of porter, beer, and generous ale,
    Which crowd the workhouse and the gaol?
                My Brewer.

    Who fills our slums with waifs and strays?
    Who havoc with our nation plays,
    And brings disgrace on all our ways?
                My Brewer.

    Who is it bosses all the show,
    As through this curious world we go,
    And dominates both high and low?
                My Brewer."

And again,

                 "THE BISHOP AND THE BREWER

    Said the Bishop to the Brewer, 'Sir, I very greatly fear,
    From all that I have heard, that you adulterate your beer.

    Said the Brewer to the Bishop, 'Nay, that really is not true;
    Who told you such a story? I insist on knowing who.'

    But the Bishop he was silent as to what they put in beer,
    He didn't seem to have, in fact, the very least idea.

    For in all his great researches, both in pamphlet and in 'vol.,'
    It never really struck him that it must be alcohol.

    Sir William Gull has told us how the world by this is cursed,
    That alcohol of all bad things is just the very worst.

    But the Bishop--dear, good man!--he still has got a strong idea,
    That there's something very charming in the purity of beer.

    Oh! these Bishops and these Brewers, I really greatly fear,
    They will never, never solve this point about what's in the beer.

    But the land is full of sorrow, and there's little hope of cure,
    Unless these wise men hit upon a beer that's really 'pure.'

    Then let us set to work, boys, with heart, and hope, and cheer,
    And help them all we can to get 'The Purity of Beer.'

    'Tis beer which keeps in comfort--as by every one is known,
    The Brewer in his mansion, and the Bishop on his throne.

    The British Constitution, and all we value here--
    Church, Army, Navy, Parliament--it's corner-stone is beer."


The brewer, because he amasses a large fortune out of beer, is
ennobled.

The ex-brewer--Frederick Charrington, for instance--who gives up an
enormous sum for conscience' sake, and an enormous sum again made from
beer, remains unhonoured, save by the love and adherence of his own
people in the East End. If Frederick Charrington had mixed up an
active political propaganda with his Christian work, by now he would
have received a baronetcy or at least a knighthood. If he had been
merely a paid secretary of some philanthropic organisation, he might
yet have been knighted--as more than one recent ennoblement shows. But
because he gave up everything, and worked for his Master, without
pandering to this or that political party--though in politics he is a
Liberal--the _accolade_ has never come in his way. From his own point
of view I know such an honour would count as nothing. It is for other,
and unworldly honours, that he has lived his life. But, as a
recognition of his self-sacrifice and devotion, surely some public
acknowledgment from the throne would be a very proper thing?

The poor people are not snobbish. It matters nothing to Mr.
Charrington's million or so of humble friends whether he is "Mr." or
"Sir." But--and of this fact I am thoroughly persuaded--they would
regard any honour which His Majesty might be pleased to confer upon
him as not only well-merited, but in some sort a fitting recompense
for a life of work and devotion almost unequalled in the annals of our
time.

I will conclude this chapter of special reference to temperance work
by quoting a poem dealing directly with Frederick Charrington, and
which has had a very considerable success.

I take it from the _Gordon League Ballads_, written by "Jim's Wife,"
who in reality is Mrs. Clement Nugent Jackson. The book is entitled
_More Gordon League Ballads_, and was published by Skeffington & Son
last year.

The first series of these ballads sold in many thousands, and as
dramatic stories in verse for reading or reciting at temperance
meetings, they can hardly be surpassed. Nearly all of them are founded
on fact, as is "A Brave Man," which I give below.

I make no apology for the inclusion of this verse. It is thoroughly
representative of what is publicly thought about Frederick Charrington
by his innumerable friends and admirers.

"A BRAVE MAN

              Brave men--I say it humble,
                Are common on English ground;
              Common as spires and chimneys
                Whenever you walk around;
    But the man of whom I'm thinking was brave with a bravery rare--
    Ah! a hundred times rarer than rubies--in England or anywhere.
              I am thinking of a Brewer.
                This may take you by surprise!
              But the tale has fact to rest on,
                And is not a pack of lies.
    He was rolling rich and generous--generous to every one.
    A Brewer and a Gentleman, John Sidney Donaldson.

              He sent big cheques to Hospitals,
                And for Children's Holidays,
              And to Unemployed Relief Funds,
                And Homes for Waifs and Strays.
    He was kind to all poor people and meant to do 'em good!
    Though he knew but precious little about the neighbourhood
    In which the greatest number of his licensed houses stood!
              'Twas the poorest part of London,
                Drink-riddled through and through,
              But his agents worked the business,
                And all John Donaldson knew
              Was how it looked on paper
                And the dividends he drew.
    He was Member for a County that was like a garden ground,
    For blossom and for beauty and for orchards smiling round.
              And you always found him willing,
                To open his Manor gates
              For Band of Hope rejoicings,
                And Sports, and Temperance Fêtes.

              When Parliament was sitting,
                It happened, one spring day,
              He visited his brewery.
                And strolling up that way--
    Alone, and sort of curious to see what he would meet--
    As he passed a gorgeous public, gilded and tiled complete,
    He saw a tipsy woman flung out into the street.
              The man who flung her savage,
                Went back inside the place;
              She fell upon the curb-stone
                And cut her head and face.
    And she wasn't more than thirty. 'I'll give that man in charge!
    Says John Donaldson a-blazing, for his heart was big and large,
              Too large to hurt a woman--
                And then he went across
              To lift the tipsy creature,
                And I've heard him say--a Force
    Like twenty batteries struck him, and made his eyes see fire!
    For painted on the house-front was--DONALDSON'S ENTIRE!
              He looked up at the sign-board.
                The house was his own tied house.
              A new one--not long opened--
                And called 'The Running Grouse.'
    He'd meant to call that man out. He'd meant to make a row.
    And send for a policeman--but he couldn't do it now.
    Something rose up and held him. The crowd that ran to stare,
    Said the woman's home was handy, so he helped to take her there,

              And a wretched hole he found it!...
                A man was up the stairs,
              Trying to cook his dinner,
                And give five children theirs.
              Just home from his work--poor devil
                He looked up with a frown
              When he saw what they were bringing--
                'Ah!' he says, 'Chuck 'er down.
              If you'd brought 'er in 'er coffing
                I'd 'ave tipped yer 'arf-a-crown.'

              'Your wife is hurt and bleeding,'
                John Sidney Donaldson said.
              'My wife,' groans the husband bitter,
                'I wish she was yourn instead!'
              And he picks up his yelling baby,
                And crams its mouth with bread.
    'Tain't the fust time she's a-bleedin'. 'Ere's a 'appy 'ome,' says he.
    'That's the mother of my childring! an' she don't get drunk on tea!
              Bright and 'appy, ain't we, guv'nor?
                I dunno who you are,
              But "The Running Grouse" 'ave done it--
                With its dirty Private Bar!'
    He shook his fist out of the window--'We don't want it 'ere.
    My wife was a sober woman, and it's ruined her in a year!
              A curse on the 'ouse, an' the landlord!
                An' I'll say it till I'm dead....'

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

    John Donaldson gave him a sovereign,
      And went out with a hanging head.

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

              He haunted that part of London
                For three whole months and more;
              And he saw what Brewers seldom see,
                What he'd never faced before.
    He saw the truth stark naked--not glossed or veiled or hid,
    He saw with his own eye open that harm that his own beer did.

              He saw for himself--John Sidney,
                Wherever his Houses stood,
              A Force that worked for evil,
                That did not work for good.

    He saw--he was bound to see it--in the slums the drink-shops made,
    Christ's flag torn down and trampled by the brute heel of the Trade.
              He saw, laid bare as murder
                Done in the broad daylight,
              The base and ceaseless tempting
                That goes on day and night.
    The tempting of men and women already weak in will,
    And poor enough in pocket, to be poorer and weaker still.

              'We didn't want it 'ere!'... No!
                And they didn't want it there!
              Yet here it was, and there it was,
                For ever! Everywhere!
              The Tied House in the open,
                The Hidden Drinking lair,
    The Spirit Vault, the Cellars, the Private Bar and seat,
    Calling from every corner and tempting from every street!

              The cries, the blows, the curses,
                Entered into his ears.
              He saw his golden profits
                Blackened with blood and tears.
    He saw--as angels see them--the facts of what has grown
    The saddest money-making the world has ever known.
              And when he'd seen it fairly,
                He didn't turn and run!
              In a hurry to forget it!
                As many would have done.
              He wasn't built that way,
                John Sidney Donaldson.
    He took and thought for over half a year.
    And then he made his mind up--steady and firm and clear--
    To sacrifice his fortune and say good-bye to Beer!

              'You're a fool,' said brother Brewers.
                'And mad!' said the world outside.
              'I've seen ... _and I can't unsee it_,'
                John Donaldson replied.
    'There are other ways of business that are happier ways and higher,
    And I won't make another shilling out of DONALDSON'S ENTIRE!'

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

              I don't say he turned pauper
                And slept upon the boards!
              But instead of a man with millions
                Heading straight for the House of Lords,

    He dropped to a man with hundreds--just heading for nothing at all
    But the prize that falls to the conscience which has answered a noble call.
              He is living now in London,
                Careless of blame or praise.
              Working to help the People
                In a hundred splendid ways.
              Pledged to the cause of Temperance
                To the ending of his days.
    What he did may be forgotten, or labelled a mistake!
    But the sacrifice of riches is a mighty one to make.
    I'm proud of this little Island that gave John Donaldson birth
    And I place him right in the forefront of the bravest men on earth!"

Since I am quoting a few verses in this chapter, I may perhaps give,
as a final specimen, a few sternly vigorous lines which were handed to
me by my friend the other day. They express, he told me, his whole
sentiments upon the drink question in a nut-shell. They are not in the
least my own, but that is not the point--their interest lies in the
fact that they represent Frederick Charrington's unalterable
convictions in a succinct form.

             "LICENSED--TO DO WHAT?

    Licensed _to make_ the strong man weak;
      Licensed _to lay_ the wise man low;
    Licensed a wife's fond heart _to break_,
      And _make_ her children's tears to flow.
    Licensed _to do_ thy neighbour harm;
      Licensed _to kindle_ hate and strife;
    Licensed _to nerve_ the robber's arm;
      Licensed _to whet_ the murderer's knife.
    Licensed thy neighbour's purse _to drain_,
      And _rob_ him of his very last;
    Licensed _to heat_ his feverish brain,
      Till madness crown _thy_ work at last.
    Licensed, like a spider for a fly,
      _To spread_ thy nets for man, _thy_ prey;
    _To mock_ his struggles--_suck him_ dry,
      Then cast the worthless hulk away.

    Licensed, where peace and quiet dwell,
      _To bring_ disease, and want, and woe;
    Licensed _to make this world a hell_,
      And _fit_ man for a hell below."

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

    "Call up the dead from their cold, cold graves
      And summon up memory's link,
    And see if human tongue can tell,
      The millions damned through drink."

To sum up and crystallise his great temperance efforts, Mr.
Charrington has invented a concrete symbol of them. The initials
B.R.O.T.A. stand for "The Blue Ring of Total Abstinence," which is
entirely Mr. Charrington's idea, and serves as a badge that unites
abstainers throughout the whole world.

This ring is made of metal and blue enamel, bearing the aforesaid
initials. It can be had in cheap metal, while for richer people it is
manufactured in gold set with diamonds. In itself it is a beautiful
and decorative thing. As a symbol, as a cementing of the great
brotherhood of abstainers formed by Mr. Charrington, it is unique. Mr.
Charrington invariably wears one of these rings himself, and from the
farthest parts of the world applications for them are daily received.

We now pass to the final chapter of this book, where we see Frederick
Charrington in an entirely new setting.



THE LAST CHAPTER

LORD OF THE MANOR OF OSEA


You have seen the subject of this memoir under very many changing
circumstances, the central figure in one lurid scene after another,
but there is a side to Frederick Charrington's life as strangely
contrasted as possible to nearly all I have hitherto written.

My readers will not have accompanied me so far without realising that
in Mr. Charrington is an unique personality. No one has done what he
has done, and the originality of temperament has always been curiously
aided and abetted by originality and strangeness of circumstance. I
venture to think that this chapter illustrates not the least
interesting of the great missioner's activities. Certainly he again
appears against a background without parallel in English life to-day.

A few years ago--many people will remember it--the press of Great
Britain was full of articles upon Osea Island.

Mr. Charrington, it was announced, had purchased this island, lock,
stock, and barrel, and was about to develop it as a seaside and health
resort, while at the same time carrying out the great temperance
scheme.

The whole of the island was to be let or sold under express conditions
that no license of any kind whatever would be permitted, or clubs for
the sale of intoxicating drink.

Osea was to be, in short, a Temperance Island, and as such was to
stand alone in the United Kingdom.

The announcements which appeared at the time of which I am speaking
created an extraordinary amount of interest.

[Illustration: THE PIER, OSEA ISLAND, WITH MR. CHARRINGTON'S STEAMER,
THE "ANNIE," APPROACHING]

[Illustration: THE SALTINGS, OSEA ISLAND

                                                   [_To face p. 240_]

The _Spectator_ said--

"Mr. F. N. Charrington is about to try a most interesting
experiment--the effect of total prohibition under fair conditions. He
has purchased the well-wooded island of Osea, on the coast of Essex,
and intends to turn it into a seaside resort in which the manufacture,
sale, and consumption of alcohol will be absolutely prohibited. No
license of any kind will be granted, and stringent conditions as to
intoxicants will be inserted in all the leases. The island, in fact,
will be a large sanatorium conducted on strict temperance principles,
and will, it is probable, be in the first place a resort for the great
number of persons who wish to break themselves finally of the habit of
excess in drinking. The evidence which will gradually accumulate will,
we hope, be sifted with much care, and will help to settle three
disputed points. Will total abstinence for a time eradicate the desire
for drink?--a question upon which the evidence of prisoners is by no
means hopeful. Does total abstinence develop, as many affirm, a
tendency to the use of drugs such as opium and ether?--a doubt
suggested by the mass of experience acquired in the East. Has total
abstinence any effect in diminishing working energy? Teetotalers
declare with one voice that this question is already answered in
the negative; but none of the Northern races as yet show themselves
convinced, though there is an approach to the conviction manifest in
Canada."

Nearly every paper of any importance in the kingdom devoted
considerable space to Mr. Charrington's new scheme.

Near New York there is another island where no intoxicants can be
obtained, and it was hearing of this that first gave Mr. Charrington
his idea as to the purchase of Osea.

The thought of a drink-barred domain arose in his mind as a logical
outcome of his forty years experience in dealing with the miseries and
vices of the poor in East London. The work for temperance naturally
brought Mr. Charrington into contact with all sorts and conditions of
people, and it was not only the slaves of the fiend alcohol in the
lower classes--he saw many members of the upper classes going down to
their destruction no less surely than their poorer brethren.

He made inquiries, and thought over the whole problem with sustained
and earnest attention.

He found that while there were several sanatoria for well-to-do
inebriates scattered up and down the country, yet, in nearly every
case, such retreats were in proximity to the public-house. No one knew
better than he to what lengths the inebriate will go when the craving
is upon him, and he found that the unhappy victims who were confined
in grounds often very limited in extent would either cunningly or
violently break away and secure alcohol.

It was then, while meditating upon the best methods to adopt in
rescuing inebriates, that Mr. Charrington noticed a report of the fact
that a New York temperance society had purchased an island for a
retreat or a sanatorium. Here, it seemed to him, was a thoroughly
admirable solution of the problem. Proprietorship of an island
precluded the incoming of drink across the silver streak of sea, and
at the same time, the domain was large enough in extent to make living
upon it perfectly pleasant and without any sense of confinement.

One cannot, however, go to Whiteley's and order an island, and there
was still the problem of finding one which should be suitable for the
purpose. It was solved at last by the purchase of Osea.

Nothing could have been more convenient. The island is a _real_
island. It is always surrounded by deep water on three sides, while on
the other the mainland is reached by a road called "The Hard" about a
mile long, and only uncovered at low tide.

Shortly after the acquisition of Osea Mr. Charrington stated his plans
to an interviewer. How these plans have been extended I shall proceed
to say, but meanwhile it is interesting to read the proprietor's views
at the time, when the island had only just become his own.

The interviewer of _Household Words_ wrote--

     "I had noted in a contemporary: 'Mr. Charrington has long
     been a power in the East End, where his name is a household
     word,' and I thought it would be in the eternal fitness of
     things if I interviewed him for _Household Words_. As
     Honorary Superintendent of the Tower Hamlets Mission he is
     naturally a very busy man, and as soon as he could give me
     a few moments I put the question to him--

     "'What is the main idea of this new scheme of yours of a
     teetotal island?'

     "'It is not altogether new,' was the reply, 'for the same
     idea has been carried out on various properties owned by
     temperance landowners of not allowing drink licenses on any
     part of their property, as is the case with the Corbett
     estates; but the good work has been rendered ineffectual by
     drink being obtainable on adjoining property.'

     "'Drink would not be obtainable in inebriate homes,' I
     suggested.

     "'Inebriate homes situated in ordinary neighbourhoods
     experience the same difficulty,' he exclaimed. 'Inmates
     afflicted with the accursed craving will scale high walls
     and walk miles to obtain drink. You would not credit the
     trouble they would take, the fatigue they would undergo, and
     the risks to life and limb they would run to procure
     alcohol. It is only a man who has spent a lifetime in a
     practical study of the question who can realise its
     difficulties.'

     "'And you anticipate much good from the acquisition of
     Osea?'

     "'In many ways, yes. As a retreat for those whose removal
     from all chance of temptation is a necessity it will be
     perfect. Instead of being confined within four walls, like
     being in a prison, they will be able to roam at large for
     four miles. Already I have had applications from persons
     wishing to buy building plots for inebriate homes,
     convalescent homes, and from one lady M.D., who desires to
     erect a house for her patients suffering from nerve trouble,
     and to whom the quiet will be invaluable.'

     "'Will it be populated entirely by invalids and inebriates?'

     "'Oh, dear, no! Yachting men have applied for sites for
     bungalows, and can have them on agreeing to the
     non-intoxicant clause. It will be a very delightful
     temperance seaside resort. The island is well wooded, with
     high elms running in single lines north and south and east
     and west, the trees being in centre of avenues, and by
     planting young trees on either side we shall get double
     avenues, as in Chicago and Berlin.'

     "'Have you commenced to build yet?'

     "'Only workmen's cottages for the builders' men to live in,
     and these will be picturesque, half-timbered dwellings,
     similar to those in the city of Chester.'

     "'And you anticipate a commercial success for your
     philanthropic investment?'

     "'Most decidedly. Since I acquired Osea at a remarkably
     moderate cost, I have seen two other islands offered for
     sale for the same purpose, one near Tenby, and one in
     Scotland, at £28,000 and £18,000 respectively, which figures
     are a great contrast to mine, and Osea has the great
     attraction of being the nearest seaside resort to London.'

     "'How do you reach it?'

     "'By Great Eastern Railway to Maldon in Essex, and thence by
     a steamer which has been purchased, which now runs twice a
     day, the distance being only five miles.'

     "'And Osea is not a desert island?'

     "'It never has been since the Conquest. In the Doomsday
     Survey Book (1086) there had always previously been on the
     island three serfs, one fisherman, and pasture for sixty
     sheep. If needed there would be room for 10,000 people. Osea
     has many natural attractions. It abounds with most curious
     marine plants and shrubs, and is so wild that some of the
     sea-gulls, the tuke, the stone-runner, and the bar-goose
     have taken to breeding on the shore.'

     "To be able to enjoy life on an island within forty miles
     of the metropolis, including sea-bathing, fishing and
     shooting, has the wonderful charm of novelty, to say nothing
     of its freedom from the pandemonium created by drinking
     trippers. This of itself ought to draw all London
     holiday-makers, and we wish Mr. Charrington success in his
     noble efforts to promote temperance amongst the people, and
     trust he may have the gratification of seeing his most
     sanguine hopes realised and his self-sacrificing labours
     truly and thoroughly appreciated."

In a book such as this, which purports to be a comprehensive history
of Frederick Charrington's life, and which will be the only lengthy
biography of him ever written with his sanction, it is necessary that
I should give some account of the island with which his name will
always be associated.

I propose, in the first instance, to tell the history of the island
from the very earliest times, and afterwards to describe it in detail
and to say something of my life with Mr. Charrington there. It may
have struck some of my readers that up to the present I have said
little or nothing about the great evangelist's personality. When I
began this book I decided to leave this intimate part of the biography
to the very last chapter. I designed to draw a pen picture of the man
as he is to-day, as he lives upon the island which is his home among
the simple things of nature.

In the first place, to the history of Osea. This has been compiled by
his friend Mr. Rupert Scott for an excellent little publication issued
by Messrs. Partridge, which is in itself a complete guide to the
island.

Mr. Scott tells us that before the Norman Conquest the name of this
jewel of the Blackwater was Uvesia, and later Ovesey or Osey.

"During the reign of Edward the Confessor (1042-1066) it was owned by
one Turbert, who was Lord of the district.

"At the time of the Norman Conquest it was in the possession of one
Hamo Dapifer, nephew to William the Conqueror. He held it as a manor,
and four hides of land, and there resided on it one bordar or
resident. According to the Doomsday survey book (1086), there had
always previously been on the island three serfs, one fisherman, and
pasture for sixty sheep, and at the time of the survey belonged to the
Bouchier family, afterwards created Earls of Essex; and was included
in the Capital Manor, or Parish of Great Totham.

"During the reign of Henry II (1154-1189), it was held by Henry
Malache, from the king, as one knight's fee. This is found in a MS. of
the time of Henry VIII, viz.: 'Totham Magne cum Ovesem, alias Ovesey.'
It is not known how this Henry Malache was related to the Bouchier
family.

"In the reign of Edward II (1315), the Island of Osea was owned by
Gilbart de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, and then came into the
possession of Bartholomew de Bouchier and his wife, who retained it
from 1410-1411 under Henry VI.

"Its next owner was Sir Hugh Stafford, who married Elizabeth, daughter
of Bartholomew, Lord Bouchier, who died in 1420, and was held 'by him
as the Manor of Oveseye from King Henry V, as the Honor of Bologne, by
the service of half a knight's fee.'

"The island next came into the hands of one Ludovic Robbesart, and
Elizabeth his wife, in 1431, during the reign of Henry V, and upon
their death for the following two years was held by Anne, widow of the
Earl of March.

"The next possessor of Ovesey Island was Henry Bouchier, created first
Earl of Essex, and he held the manor of Totham-Oveseye from King
Edward VI, and died in 1483.

"He was followed by Anne Bouchier, Marchioness of Northampton, who
brought the island to her husband under the title of 'Manor or Isle of
Ovesey, with free fishery, free warren, and wrec of the sea.' She died
in 1570, during Queen Elizabeth's reign. Her husband forfeited his
estates for espousing the cause of Lady Jane Grey, but this Manor of
Ovesey was returned to him by a letter patent from the Queen dated
August 8, 1558, for his maintenance.

"On the death of the above Anne Bouchier, Marchioness of Northampton,
this manor descended to the heir-at-law, one Walter Devereux, who was
the first Earl of Essex of that name; but in order to carry on his
warfare in Ireland he mortgaged and sold his estates in Essex,
including 'Ovesey Island,' which was purchased by a Mr. Thomas
Wiseman, of Great Waltham, as, or 'in the name of one tenement, isle,
or land surrounded with water in Great Totham' and called 'Awsey,'
otherwise 'Ovesey.' Mr. Wiseman held it of Queen Elizabeth by a
Knight's service. He died July 15, 1584, without issue.

"It then came into the possession of his two sisters, Elizabeth, wife
of Richard Jennings, and Dorothy Wiseman.

"Osea Island was purchased by a Mr. Charles Coe, of Maldon, but it is
not known from whom, and it was still owned by him at the time of his
death in 1786, and afterwards was conveyed to the Pigott family, who
were evidently related to him, because on the south wall of St.
Peter's Church at Maldon there is a mural monument to 'John Coe
Pigott,' and dated March, 1802.

"The next owner of the island known was Mrs. Pigott, who married Henry
Coape, and was succeeded by his son, Henry Coe Coape, who, through
troubles, had to make it over to his brother."

       *       *       *       *       *

Few spots of only a comparatively small acreage have so well-defined
and localised a history as this, and the knowledge of what Osea was,
no less than what it is, adds a unique interest to Mr. Charrington's
possession.

I arrived at Osea Island, where nearly the whole of this book has been
written, upon a bright afternoon in June. The run from Liverpool
Street to Maldon is quite a short one, and on descending from the
train at the little old-world Essex station, it was difficult to
believe that the island of which I had heard so much, and on which, as
it has turned out, I was to spend so many happy days, was really
within reach.

I drove through Maldon, and came out into an ordinary country road
fringed with dust-powdered hedges and high trees. It was ordinary
enough, and if any country lane upon a June afternoon can be lacking
in the picturesque, the lanes through which I was driven were so. It
was all rather flat and monotonous, and the sense of anticipation was
a little dulled.

After a drive of about two and a half miles, however, the coachman of
my carriage turned to me, and pointing with his whip, said, "That is
Osea."

I craned my neck forward, but could see nothing but a distant clump of
what were evidently very large trees, cutting into the horizon in a
silhouette of dark green. There seemed to be no trace of island
whatever, and even when I stood up in the carriage I could see nothing
but an adjacent sea-wall, and the red sails of some great sea-going
barge, moving, apparently, among the corn-fields.

The suggestion was curiously Dutch, and reminded me of a journey I
once made down the great ship canal which runs from Holland to Ghent.
A few minutes afterwards the carriage took a sharp turn to the right.
The fields changed their character. Coarse pasture-land took the place
of corn, and we were running upon a well-kept road bordered by wire
fences, which seemed to lead directly to the estuary itself. And then,
in a moment more, I got what was my first real glimpse of Osea. The
carriage climbed a gentle eminence, and there, spread below me, for
the first time I saw the wide salt marshes and the long, curving
ribbon of road, submerged twelve hours in the day under fifteen feet
of water, which is the only approach to Osea by land.

Beyond was the Island.

One saw at once, and this was the first and prevailing impression,
that this was a real island. On either side beyond it was a stretch of
gleaming sea, the Island forming the centre of the picture. Just
below the road proper ended, and what is locally known as "The Hard"
took its place.

The horse began to go more slowly, and in forty seconds we had left
all cultivated lands behind and were travelling at a slow trot upon
one of the most curious and interesting highways--for "The Hard" can
claim to be that--in England.

It was dead low water, but this strange roadway was still covered here
and there with little marine pools through which the horse--well
accustomed to the journey--ploughed his way manfully. A long row of
stakes, at an interval of every ten or twelve feet or so, showed the
course of the road, and separated its firmness from the vast expanses
of mud on either side. The stakes were all hung with brilliantly-coloured
sea-weed, and decorated with arabesques of barnacles. Everywhere, here
and there, were sullen tidal creeks, or rather lakes in the mud, which
the receding tide had still left full of water. The word "mud" is an
unpleasant one, and it suggests something very different from what I
saw. Even the more technical and correct phrase, "saltings," hardly
gives a reader who has not seen this peculiar and interesting feature
of our English landscape, any adequate idea of the scene.

I have already spoken of the long stretches of water, now touched to
red and gold by the rays of the afternoon sun, but all round them the
whole of the "mud" was covered with the marsh zostera, or
widgeon-weed, in every variety of delicate greens and yellows. It
looked firm enough to the eye, and yet I knew well that a few steps
away from the good, firm passage of "The Hard" would mean frightful
danger. Once in the mud a man would sink well up to his waist. He
would sink no farther, probably, for the saltings are not quicksands,
but he would be held in a grip as firm as steel, and, unless rescued,
would remain until the "cruel, crawling foam" crept up and engulfed
him.

As we covered the first few hundred yards of the last stage of our
journey I realised with a thrill that we had indeed left the confines
of ordinary landscape, usual experience, very far behind. The plovers
were circling and calling all around us with their slow, graceful
flight, a colour symphony in dark black-green with flashes of white.
Everywhere they called to each other with their melancholy voices and
seemed quite unafraid of man. I could have shot half-a-dozen in the
first three hundred yards from the carriage, had I been bent on
slaughter.

The strange calls of the marsh-birds--not strange to me, however, who
had spent many winters wild-fowling in various parts of the United
Kingdom--were heard on either side. With flute-like tremolo the
red-shanks--dove-coloured and white--pirouetted in quartettes over the
marsh. I saw at least two varieties of the rarer gulls, and then,
greatest excitement of all, not a hundred and fifty yards away stood
three great herons, full three feet tall, standing like sable
sentinels against the green.

And now, at last, we were actually a few yards from the island itself.
A well-made road, bordered on one side by a sea-wall, grown over with
thick grass and brilliant with wild flowers, ran inland. Upon the
other side were smiling cornfields, and everywhere among the fields
rose great elms.

From where the sea-road touches the Island, up to Mr. Charrington's
home, the "Manor House," is exactly a chain mile. After the fields,
the road turns sharply to the right, and proceeds along a fine avenue
of shady trees until the "village" is reached.

For several years in succession parties of the Unemployed have been
sent to Osea by the Mansion House Committee, the _Daily Telegraph_
fund, and other agencies, and it is partly by means of their work that
roads were made, sewers laid in the village, and the costly sea-walls
strengthened.

There are quite a lot of people who can hardly conceive a picturesque
village without, as its central adornment, a village inn.
Personally--though, no doubt, there are such places--I have never seen
an English village without a public-house. Certainly in any novel
dealing with country life the village inn is always mentioned, and
frequently plays a spectacular part in the story, while upon the stage
a village scene is never complete without the rustic public-house.

Not so at Osea, though I defy any one to find a more picturesque
little spot than this tiny settlement in the heart of the Island.

Apart from the one that I have just mentioned, there are other
features about the village that make it unique.

In the first place, it is incredibly small at present. In the second,
the buildings form a most astonishingly picturesque blend of old and
new.

There is an old, flower-covered cottage as one enters, beyond it is
the village shop, where every necessary can be obtained. The farmer
who farms the cultivated land of the island lives there in a charming
old house. Close by in the little village square are enormous elm
trees with seats built round their trunks, affording a most grateful
shade upon a hot day. There are a few other quaint houses of
considerable age, and two of the prettiest and most artistic little
bungalows that I have ever seen. These are but the beginning of a
whole series of these charming little residences, and are already
occupied. With their red roofs, white walls, and green-painted
windows, they are as neat and dainty as one of those delicate models
of chalets that one buys in Switzerland.

But the principal building in the village is the convalescent home, to
which it is intended to bring some of the sick and suffering poor who
come under the sheltering care of the Great Assembly Hall workers.
This home is nearly finished. The interior alone remains incomplete,
and the sum of about a thousand pounds is yet required before it can
be opened. I am concerned now, however, merely with its picturesque
aspect, and I remember well how struck I was by my first view of the
beautiful gabled house with its tall white Tudor chimneys, its
Elizabethan woodwork, its true peace. The great bow windows are filled
with leaded glass, the high-pitched roofs are of red tiles, and when
at length the necessary money is forthcoming I can well conceive what
a Paradise this Island Palace of Rest will seem to those who come to
it from festering alley and foetid slum.

There is another very interesting building in the village, though
perhaps this can hardly be called picturesque.

This is known as the "Village Hall," and is a large structure of
corrugated iron, the money, £1000, for which was the last gift of the
late Mr. John Cory to Mr. Charrington for his Osea Island scheme. In
his letter enclosing the cheque Mr. Cory said he hoped others would
follow his example.

I may perhaps be unduly prejudiced in favour of things Osean, but even
this corrugated iron structure, with its background of trees, has
mellowed and weathered itself into harmony with its surroundings.

The interior is panelled throughout, and lighted by lofty windows.
There is an excellent stage for concerts, and three extra rooms in
addition to the large hall. There is a billiard table there for the
men working on the estate, and for the use of the many camping parties
and others to whom I shall presently refer. In wet weather badminton
is played there, and the floor is arranged for roller-skating--let
those who think that Osea is without indoor attractions owing to the
absence of gin-shop or the theatre, pause!

Of course, upon my first drive to Osea I only took in a single eyeful,
as it were, for the carriage left the village and proceeded up a firm,
gravelled road to the "Manor House," Mr. Charrington's large and
beautiful home.

Another man than Frederick Charrington might well have said to
himself, when he purchased such a place as Osea, that he would build a
retreat from the harassing work of rescue upon which he was always
engaged. He might well have allowed himself to enjoy a little peace
now and then undisturbed by those cares for others which he has
sustained so nobly throughout his life. But there is nothing of the
sentiment uttered by the cultured man in Tennyson's poem. Mr.
Charrington had no thought of building himself "a lordly
pleasure-house, in which alone to dwell."

Osea was not only to be the one prohibition island in England. It was
not only to be an example and encouragement to others in this respect,
but it was also to be a means of helping and rescuing other and very
differently placed slaves to the Fiend Alcohol than those of the East
End. The "Manor House" was not from the first, is not now, merely the
great philanthropist's charming country house. It is also a retreat
for those members of the upper classes who have fallen into the drink
habit. Here they may come if they wish and live a quiet, well-ordered
life in a mansion which presents no essential differences either in
its appointments or way of life from the comfort of their own homes.
There is no restriction of any sort. Victims of drink or of drugs are
not kept within the imprisoning walls of some large garden misnamed a
"park." They have a whole kingdom of their own in which to enjoy every
form of healthy outdoor pursuit, they have a perfectly appointed house
in which to live.

The "Manor House" is a large building with many windows looking out
over the sea, charming octagonal rooms in two turrets with
steep-pointed roofs in the style of an old French chateau, a beautiful
lounge with large, open fireplace, where every one foregathers at all
hours of the day, a billiard room, dainty private sitting-rooms--all
that the most exigeant could possibly desire. Nor is the hospitality
of this delightful house offered only to sufferers from
self-poisoning. Many people requiring absolute mental rest and perfect
quiet, both men and women, make Osea Island their home for a time. And
this leaven of the outside world makes the life of the guests at the
Manor a singularly bright and cheerful one. I only know of the life in
the regular inebriate "homes" from hearsay. But from what those who
have confided in me have said, even the best of such places are
invested with gloom--a sense of the locked door, of being set apart
from the world, which is never absent.

[Illustration: TREE POINT, OSEA ISLAND

                                                  [_To face p. 256._]

In Mr. Charrington's country house there is nothing of the sort. I
myself have stayed there to write the greater part of this
book--_experto crede_. All sorts and conditions of men, in addition to
the more regular inhabitants, who remain for a period of not less than
nine months, have passed in and out of the hospitable doors of the
Manor House during the weeks I have been there. The experiences which
Dr. Waldo, the famous American evangelist, gave me of his work under
Mr. Charrington's banner, were told me in my private study at the
Manor House, while the tall, handsome man with the twinkling eyes of
merriment was staying in the mansion. I have watched one of the most
famous painters of the day, of international renown, making sketches
of the island, and chatted with him over an after-dinner cigar upon
the ethics of Art. At dinner, a week or two ago, out of the ten men
present, eight were members of famous public schools, four of the
great Universities, one an officer of high rank in the army.

It will be seen, therefore, that not only has Mr. Charrington provided
perhaps the truest and best means of escaping from bad habits that can
be found in Great Britain, but that he also lives, when upon the
island, in an environment no less suited to his personality than that
other and greater environment in which his whole life has been spent.

For, now that I come to speak of the man personally--as I know
him--the first thing that I wish to say is that he is a very
many-sided man.

I have told you in an earlier chapter of what he is in that supreme
Lighthouse of the East End, the Great Assembly Hall. You have
accompanied him with me into the foulest slums of the Mile End Road
district, but in his quiet country home upon the island he is quite as
much a part, and always a central part, of the picture, as he is in
London.

Frederick Charrington is essentially a man who is never "out of
drawing." Whether he is chaffing the son of a peer at Rivermere,
sitting in grave conference with some of the greatest men in England,
or walking through some slum with a little girl hanging to each hand,
he is always adequate, always at his ease.

Only the other day, for example, I heard in a roundabout fashion that
the little daughter of an East End tradesman who is a valued worker at
the Mission returned home for her birthday after a visit to a relative
in the country. Hearing that his little friend was coming home, Mr.
Charrington ordered a birthday cake for the child, with the words
"Welcome Ivydene" upon it in sugar. And not only this, but he himself
went to the little tea party and partook of his own cake.

I suppose, in common with every one else, there must have been moments
of deep depression in his life. I am equally sure that very few people
have been allowed to see them. He is always merry, though never
exuberantly so. His humour is quiet, but very real. There is nothing
of the dry or "pawky" order about it. It is simply an intense, an
almost childlike love of what is humorous. There is nearly always a
twinkle in his eye, and the racy stories of his experiences, told in
that low, musical voice of everyday life--which, nevertheless, has
rung with such a clarion call in so many great assemblies--would fill
a larger book than this.

There is a little humorous twitch of the mouth beneath the moustache,
the eyes light up, and then come the invariable words, "Oh, this was
rather a funny thing."...

I have never been much of a believer in photographs as being able to
convey any real idea of personality. Lots of people will differ from
me, but that is my own opinion. The portraits I have chosen to
illustrate this book are all excellent ones, as far as portraits go.
But to me, at any rate, they are only sketches and shadows of the real
Charrington. There is a painting of him when he was a very young man,
which hangs in his dining-room, and that does indeed catch something
of his spirit, and must represent him with considerable fidelity as he
was many years ago.

It was made by Edward Clifford, the fashionable portrait painter of
three decades ago, who also drew the pencil sketch which is the first
illustration in this volume. For nearly ten years this celebrated and
successful painter devoted his week-ends to helping at the Mission.

Unfortunately there is not, to my knowledge, a really good painting of
Frederick Charrington as he is to-day. Mr. Nicholson or Mr. Sargent
could do him justice, and, in passing, I would ask why there is no
authentic portrait of value? I know Frederick Charrington far too well
to suppose that he would for a moment spend--or, as he would say,
waste--the money necessary for a picture by a well-known artist,
but--and may these lines bear fruit!--surely there are hundreds of
people who would gladly join a movement which would result in some
such picture being obtained and placed in its natural home, the Great
Assembly Hall. As there is no such picture, and as photographs are
inadequate, I must do the best I can in a few words of prose, though
it is always a difficult thing to describe the appearance of any one
with whom one has lived and been in communion with for some
considerable time.

I think one would describe him as a tall, though not as a very tall
man. He is broad shouldered, but slender. Despite his sixty-two
years--and it is almost impossible to believe in his age when one sees
him--there is hardly a grey hair in his head. His hair, of a dark
brown, grows thickly. He wears moustaches and a very small imperial.
The eyes are of a deep steadfast blue, and have an extraordinary power
of penetration. I have met few people who look you so firmly and
directly in the face as Frederick Charrington. It is a steady, kindly,
unwavering regard, from the eyes of a man who has nothing to conceal,
and everything to give. The nose is straight and Grecian, the lips
tender and humorous--a singularly handsome man, in short. But the fact
that he has been blessed with good looks rather above the average
contributes only slightly to the sum of his extraordinary personality.

And yet, reading what I have written--a mere catalogue of features--I
realise how inadequate it is to present the man.

There is nothing in a mask, after all, whether it be made of painted
pasteboard or flesh. It is true that, in the case of the human
countenance, gross vices leave their marks upon it and nobility of
soul and rectitude of life inform it with a hint, a shadow, of the
soul within.

But that is when one sees a face with one's own eyes, hears a voice,
listen to the words. Nor is it always true even then.

I knew a man--he died last year--who had the face of an angel. It was
so pure and beautiful that many spotless women of the most refined
perceptions and the loftiest minds, made this man their friend. His
open life was kindly, polished, cultured, and blameless. He _was_
kindly and cultured. But beneath it all, as very few people ever knew,
as very few people ever will know, this man lived a life of such black
shame that one can only hope and pray that his stained soul has not
gone to swell the red quadrilles of Hell.

No! It is in the living, breathing man that one discerns the truth,
and his face is only an index--a finger pointing towards it.

I have spoken of Frederick Charrington's personal appearance, of his
sense of humour, and of his voice. But there is still much to be
said.

One impression he gives me, and the testimony of all those who have
known him far more intimately than I have, and who have been with him
for many years, only confirms it. I would say that he is a man
pre-eminently born to lead, to _rule_.

I am entirely convinced that in whatever station of life he found
himself he would, as if of right, rise to the head. He is the least
conceited man I have ever met. He thinks nothing whatever about
himself. But there is a certain inward force, an unconscious
conviction, in him, which makes him naturally assume the generalship,
and so stand in the forefront of the battle.

The kindliest, quietest, most gentle-spoken of men, there is
nevertheless, underlying it all, a temperamental dignity, a
determination, rather than a desire, to be obeyed, which is the
backbone of the whole man. It has made him what he is--the most
self-sacrificing and practical philanthropist of his day. He impressed
the message of his personal renunciation upon his family when he was
little more than a lad. He went his own way, regardless of opposition,
and he did this, not because of any innate stubbornness or self-will,
but simply because he was absolutely certain and convinced that God
was leading him by the hand, that to him there was indeed a cloud by
day and a pillar of fire by night.

There is something paradoxical about him, and yet, as I said once
before in one of my novels, after all, paradox is only truth standing
on its head to attract attention. And the particular paradox in regard
to my friend is this: Himself the humblest-minded servant of God who
ever fought in the Great War, a subordinate position would have been
of no use to him, I do not mean to say that he would not have accepted
it. He would have done so if his duty had seemed to him to lie that
way, but he would certainly have been a failure.

It must be remembered that this type of character is extremely rare.
It is perhaps the rarest of all--and therefore it is frequently the
most misunderstood. But there are certain temperaments so inherently
royal in their nature, so born to kingship, that if circumstance
denies them action, they are never heard of and a great force is lost
to the world.

There are thousands upon thousands of men and women this day who may
thank God Almighty that the man who has rescued them from an utter
overwhelming of body and soul has been given the opportunity of
exercising the temperament with which he was born.

But, like all leaders, Frederick Charrington is adored by his
subordinates. He must lead, but he cannot be tyrannical. A kinder and
more considerate man never breathed. All sorts of little details in my
own pleasant friendship with him, not less than those things which men
who have known him for thirty and forty years have told me, go to
prove the indubitable fact.

As a novelist one is, first and foremost, intensely interested in
temperament and the psychology of the mind. I came to Osea Island to
study this man of whom I have been writing. I have done so to the best
of my ability, and I think that very little about him has escaped me.

I once saw him in a rage royal.

I cannot detail the circumstances, it would not be fair to the other
party concerned. It is sufficient to say that a young man of good
society was behaving himself in a thoroughly indefensible way. If this
young fellow had done what he proposed to do, and it was something
which Mr. Charrington had no legal right to restrain him from doing,
the result would have been disastrous.

The young man defied the elder one. Several people were present at the
scene, and the situation was becoming one of great tension.

As a man of the world I knew what nine out of ten men would have done
at the beginning of the incident.

I saw Frederick Charrington's face change to an almost steely
hardness. The provocation was enormous, be it remembered. His eyes
gleamed with a blue fire. The strong jaw set, the hands clenched
themselves--and then as suddenly unclenched. None of us knew what was
going to happen.

What did happen was this: Mr. Charrington, still in the quiet,
persuasive voice that he had used throughout, conquered by sheer
weight of moral force. He is a strong and athletic man himself. I
knew, as certainly as that I am writing this, that the natural Adam in
him would have simply rejoiced in the swift blow, the physical
rejoinder. Nothing of the sort happened, and a quarter of an hour
afterwards, as I was sitting with him in his motor-boat and we were
slipping over the dancing waves of the Blackwater, he was quietly
lighting his pipe and laughing over the whole incident. Not a great
thing, perhaps, you will say, but an indication of the man....

The greatest characteristic, indeed, of Frederick Charrington is his
courage.

That he possesses physical courage in a marked degree no one who has
read this life will be disposed to deny. Physical courage is a high
and noble quality, but it can be overrated. It is well for the
protection of society, and for the well-being of the social order,
that we decorate the soldier with the V.C., or the man who descends
into the burning mine with the medal. But at the same time, that
moral, or should we not call it _spiritual_ courage, for which there
is no decoration in this world, is surely a far rarer, far higher
quality? When the two are combined, welded and fused into one, as is
the case with Frederick Charrington, then, indeed, we meet with a
Michael of this world!

I suppose it is a fault in a biographer to be too enthusiastic. I can
even remember, some years ago, reviewing a certain biography in which
I felt constrained to point out that the writer had quite lost his
sense of proportion in admiration of his hero. I think, now, that
probably the writer was correct, and that it was only my prejudice
against the subject of the biography which led me to say what I did at
the time.

Yet, believe me, having met many good and eminent men, in many cities,
in many parts of the world--_I write with a glow!_

And it is not only because I _should_ not, but that I _could_ not, if
my words did not come straight from my conviction.

Thus Frederick Charrington as I see him in daily life.

I will say something of my stay on Osea Island, because it will
complete the picture of Mr. Charrington in his kingdom, and will also
give me the opportunity of completing my sketch.

I have hinted before of pleasant companionship, and the visits of
well-known people. But there is another side. The peace and calm which
falls upon the soul in this remote place, which, at the same time, is
so astonishingly near to London, is a thing incommunicable by words.
The only sounds I hear from my study window are the calls of the
birds, and the _lap, lap_ of the tide. The air is extraordinary.

Every one has his own pet watering-place. Every one supposes that the
air _there_ is finer than the air anywhere else. As a matter of fact,
I am inclined to think that from the mouth of the Thames as far as
Hull the air of East-coast watering-places is precisely
alike--wonderfully invigorating, full of the salt freshness it has
gathered in its progress over the German Ocean, with real healing upon
its wings.

And, just like any one else, I have _my_ own peculiar and particular
love. That is the air of Osea.

Let me proceed to prove to you why the air at Osea is better than air
anywhere else. It is because of the "saltings." Just as the sea itself
around the island is more salt than the sea of the free ocean owing to
the deposits left upon the mud at low tide, so the air is more heavily
charged with ozone. The other day an artist on the staff of _Punch_
visited me at Osea in his yacht, and spent a few hours on the island.
As he was getting into his dinghy in the evening, he said, "I do not
know Charrington, and he must be an odd sort of crank not to allow any
drinks here. Still, I suppose he justifies himself upon the principle
that his own private air is like champagne--it certainly is
marvellous!"

I am not puffing Osea as a residential quarter, but it is worth while
recording another tribute to this life-giving air, which I shall be so
sorry to leave for a time, when I have written the imminent last words
of this biography. The head of a great City company has been staying
here recently. He came down, in search of peace, at the end of the
London season. He told me, upon the night of his arrival, that he had
been unable to sleep for weeks, unable to eat properly, was thoroughly
unnerved. Two days afterwards, as we were walking upon the pier, he
turned to me in a transport of enthusiasm. "By Jove!" he said, "I have
never met anything like it in my life!"--and the man I refer to is one
of the best travelled persons of his day.

The silence, the huge arc of sky, the life-giving breezes, the perfect
and tranquil beauty--what more can the heart of man desire? Very
little, I think, and yet there is even more to be said about Osea.

Situated as it is in the middle of the Blackwater, it is naturally a
great yachting centre. At week-ends, moored off the island, there are
innumerable boats, from the little yawl with a single cabin and a crew
of two, to the stately cutter of a hundred tons, with its auxiliary
motor, and its spruce sailors.

There is a pier of about a hundred yards long stretching out into the
tideway, where there is always a vast stretch of deep water, and to
this pier twice or three times a day, from Maldon, comes Mr.
Charrington's own steamer, which runs for the convenience of the
island inhabitants and also of excursionists. Day by day this boat,
with its hundred or more people, makes a circuit of the island, and
proceeds onwards to the German Ocean.

Osea itself is well supplied with boats belonging to the Manor House.
There is a large motor-boat, which runs in and out at the disposal of
any one. There are sailing-boats, rowing-boats, fishing-boats, to suit
every taste, every accident of tide or weather.

Sea fishing can be had all the year round. I have not tried it,
personally, nor has Mr. Charrington himself much time to devote to
this form of sport, but the islanders assure me that all is as it
should be. In the official Maldon guide to Osea I read, and from it I
reproduce, as follows--

     "Spruling, or handline fishing, is the method most in vogue,
     using the common log- or lugworm for bait; this fine fellow
     lives in the sandy mud along the shore, but it is not easily
     dug by the amateur, although in many spots it is abundant;
     their local price is generally half-a-crown per quart. The
     best time for fishing is autumn and spring, but it is only
     for about two hours before and after low tide that it is
     possible to hold ground, the tide running too strong before
     and after; by spruling sufficient fish can often be caught;
     a party of four has caught as many as 400 good fish in about
     two hours. These are mostly dabs, plaice, whiting, codling,
     and the large-mouthed, voracious little father-lasher,
     locally called 'bull-rout,' which often gives good sport,
     but is otherwise very little use; occasionally a weaver,
     with its poisonous fin, or a red gurnard may be caught. A
     more successful method of fishing is by hoop-netting,
     baiting with the small shore-crab, but this is not permitted
     upon the ground of the Tollesbury and Mersea Oyster Fishery
     Co., which is well marked by the large beacons on each
     shore; the upper edge of the oyster ground is a very good
     spot for sport. Dabs, plaice, and similar flatfish are known
     as market-fish, scantlings and hoppers, according to size,
     the latter being the smallest; soles as soles, slips and
     tongues.

     "Spruling is best by night, especially in September and
     October for codling and whiting, and when lying quietly at
     anchor, possibly waiting for the tide to get slack enough to
     fish, we are sure to notice the tide leaving the mud, and
     then the drain heads, as they are called locally, make a
     noise like the tail of a mill when the wheel is in motion,
     or like the hum of a distant railway train. This is always
     especially noticeable just at dusk.

     "The variety of sport to be derived from sea-fishing is
     great, and its votaries will not need them to be
     particularised, while the amateur can learn best by
     following the instructions of his fellow-sportsmen. Bass are
     frequently caught up to 10 lb. in weight. Grey mullet are
     almost as big, but they are very agile and wary, jumping
     like hares over a peternet when shooting the creeks. Garfish
     are taken in plenty in early summer; they swim on the top of
     the water, and when present are sure to be seen in the sun
     jumping out and playing on the surface; when cooked, these
     little-known, long-nosed fish much resemble mackerel, but
     they are sweeter; a foolish prejudice exists against them
     because their bones are grass-green. It seems almost
     impossible to hook the wily and soft-mouthed mullet, but
     bass, garfish and other summer species may be taken by drift
     lines. Eels, which are abundant, but not so large as they
     used to be, are taken in quantities, but generally by the
     professional by babbing; this is practised from a punt in
     shallow water, by threading a bunch of logworms on worsted
     and sinking this to the bottom on a short line, with a six-
     to eight-foot rod. Anchor or moor the punt so that it does
     not sheer about with the tide. A bite is quickly felt, as
     the eel tugs very strongly, but to catch them all requires
     practice; flounders are often caught with the eels. Eel
     shearing or spearing on the mud, either when walking on
     splatches (flat boards tied on to the soles of your boots)
     or from a punt or boat, is seldom profitable to the
     amateur. Eel trawling with a very fine-meshed net, a most
     destructive operation, was first discovered by John Heard,
     of Tollesbury, when trawling for prawns on Mersea shore. To
     catch the eels it is necessary to have a tunnel in the trawl
     to prevent them coming back and escaping; they travel
     backwards.

     "The various kinds of net-fishing are too numerous to
     mention, but there are several of the Maldon fishermen who
     can be prevailed upon for a consideration to take a
     passenger or two for a day's trawling, if he be not too
     particular as to the luxury of his accommodation. The known
     fish fauna of the Blackwater is a rich one, and the
     occurrence of almost any British species in this fine
     estuary is possible. Salmon and trout are frequently taken."

There is a little shooting, but not much--I except always wildfowl.
For several years in the past the shooting has been let, but Mr.
Charrington has given up disposing of his rights, and in the season
such game as there is upon the island is always at the disposal of
sportsmen who are living there. Still, I think that fifty brace of
partridges would mean a very good year upon Osea.

I am tempted to catalogue the wild flowers, though I know nothing
about the details, except that all is beautiful. There are printed
authorities to consult upon the floral delights of Osea. And the
descriptive writer is too apt to catalogue the gutter, and think he is
writing of the street. Let all those things go. Let me rather tell in
a few final words of gentle evenings, August nights, and silver dawns,
in which I have talked of deep things with my host.

A world of physical and material beauty has its way in inducing high
and beautiful thoughts in the human mind. Charrington and I have sat
in the garden of the Manor House when a great round, red moon has hung
in a sky of black velvet, and the kissing night-breezes have filled us
with health and thrilled the blood. But it has not been only æsthetic
enjoyment of material perfection that irradiated the night. It has
been the stories he has told me in his low voice, while the red end of
his cigar--for, like Spurgeon, he is a great smoker--has pulsed and
glowed in the blackness--that have brought one's thoughts nearer and
nearer to the heavenly mysteries that dark and dawn have curtained
from the human sense.

I have listened to that slow, reminiscent voice, mingled with the
little breezes and the noise of the tide. I have heard, "Now, Thorne,
this is a little incident" ... or, "I expect this will strike you as
being rather funny" ... and the whole pathos of human life has become
part of the night.

I have turned towards my companion and said ... "Go on, tell me some
more."

And ever the subdued organ voice has continued, speaking of the great
work in the East End.

The whole gamut of life in its most revolting, and yet, sometimes, its
sweetest and noblest aspect, has been put before me through the quiet
hours of night in a series of flashing vivid pictures, which have
raised the soul to higher hope, have filled the heart and eyes with
tears, and have made one even more conscious of the certain presence
of God in the world than the summer night could show.

And all this without a note, without a single touch of self, on the
part of the narrator. It has all come out quite naturally and simply.
I have abstained from journalistic questionings. When he would be
silent I have not urged him to speak. When the mood was on him to talk
to me, I have listened.

All his life he has enjoyed good health, though living in the
congested East of London. Two serious illnesses alone have to be
mentioned: typhoid at one time--when it was touch-and-go with him,
another time serious influenza with some lung complication. His
doctors ordered him a year's travel, and he visited Australia, Egypt
and South Africa. He has, indeed, travelled very extensively.

He has never married. In early life, as I have said elsewhere, he
became convinced that his work would be better served if he remained
single. I think, however, that his somewhat monastic theories have
been softened by Time. At least I have heard him say that he does not
advise any one to follow his example!

There are a little cluster of us--I refer to people in the literary
and artistic world--who have come together and who are thinking of
building ourselves homes upon the shores of the island. I hope this,
for my friends and for myself, will soon come about.

Be that as it may, I shall never forget the days and nights I have
spent with Frederick Charrington when I have been endeavouring,
faithfully and without prejudice, to present his life as it has been,
and to show him to my readers through the medium of my mind.

I may have made a thousand mistakes in my view--I hope not. All I know
is, that I have tried to do my best.

All that I am certain is, that I have been privileged to tell the
story of a great spiritual force of this era.

In everything that he has done throughout his life he has always
proved himself a Christian and a Gentleman. Upon that day--many years
distant I hope and believe--when he is gathered up to be with Jesus,
he will leave behind him a legacy of good works, an inspiration to
other missionaries and evangelists of Christ, which will not easily be
forgotten.

Who of us can say that in our youth we turned away from all this world
has to offer and renounced enormous fortune and high place?

Who of us can say that since such a day we have lived wholly and
entirely for others, among the most appalling surroundings, with the
greatest courage?

To have held up the standard of our Lord in the very forefront of the
battle, never to have swerved so much as a hair's breadth from the
very thickest of the fight. To have kept the Faith always....

I will say no more.

The life of a good man, surveyed in its entirety, hushes the voice,
and stills the moving pen.

You, who have travelled with me thus far, if it seems good to you, and
for the sake of Jesus, and this man who has fought for Him so
valiantly and so long, _help him in his work_.

I bid you good-bye, as my friend also.

In the last words of this memoir, I like to think of him walking, as I
saw him not long ago, through horrible slums upon a certain Sunday
afternoon.

Clinging to each hand, trotting eagerly beside him, were two little
girls with eager, upturned faces and bright golden hair.

    _Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's note:

Archaic spelling and variations in spelling and hyphenation have been
retained except in obvious cases of typographical error.





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