Departure

CHAPTER I

"WHY WAS I BORN?"

I HAVE no distinct recollection of my birth, although I believe I was a prominent actor in the performance. The very first thing, or rather, circumstance that I remember, was the birth of my sister, when I was two years and five months old. Old Nanny Holland, who did duty as midwife, nurse and housekeeper, used to allow me to go out and play with the water and dabble in the mud; then she would call me in and smack me well and call me bad names, and shut me under the stairs until my pinafore was dry. I can quite well remember crying and asking myself, "Why was I born?" especially as old Nanny paid greater attention to me in this respect, than to any of my older brothers. Then, as I grew older, there was my father who thoroughly believed that the stick was a cure for all complaints, and acting upon King Solomon's advice, never spared the rod. On these occasions, I always asked myself the question, "Why was I born?"

As soon as old Nanny had gone out of the house, I asked my mother if it was likely that old Nanny would bring another baby next week; and when my kind and loving mother stroked my hair, and smiled and said "No," I was very soon out in the lane making bricks and building houses with mud. My mother did not smack me for this as old Nanny had done, but she would call me and speak to me about making myself dirty, and somehow, whenever she spoke she was always obeyed. She used to have me by her knee and teach me Dr. Watts's hymns. I have lived to hear those hymns scoffed at, but I still think they might do good to some young people. Now at the age of fifty I take great delight in the study of science and astronomy. Who shall say that my dear good mother did not lay the foundation stone, and set my young mind thinking of the wonderful works of God, by teaching me—

This hymn, and other precepts taught by my gentle mother, sank deep into my mind, and set me thinking and pondering over the works of God, and led me to ask all sorts of questions, and I might say that I received all sorts of answers, which made me still more inquisitive, until my father would tell me to hold my tongue. I do not wish it to be understood that my father was a wrong-headed man, far from it; for I am sure that he possessed some of the finest qualities that adorn human nature. He possessed, in the very highest degree, the qualities of truth, justice, honour, and honesty of purpose; he considered it an exceedingly bad practice to owe anything to anybody, so he rose very early in the morning and took rest late that he might maintain his children, in what he termed "poor independence." Moreover, he being the parish clerk and Sunday school master—there was no week-day school—he had a very high veneration for the Church. He was also choir master and organist. Therefore he was a power in the village, and used his stick accordingly. Woe to any bellringer who thoughtlessly entered the door of the church, without removing his hat from his head. "How dare you," he would say, "enter the sanctuary of the Lord in that heathenish manner?" and the men I know very highly respected him, and obeyed his orders without a murmur. He would never allow cider, which was the drink of the country, to be brought inside the church gate; it was consecrated ground and was not to be defiled.

He was like Job in one thing, he was the father of seven sons and three daughters.

The state of England at that time was very bad indeed, and the poor were really oppressed, especially in our remote part of the country. Well, my father had enough to do to make both ends meet, and how he and my mother slaved and toiled to keep out of debt! My brothers and myself were sent to work at a very early age, at whatever we could get, and at this period, when the oppression was so great, I was always asking myself, "Why was I born?"

In the year 1829, when I was four years of age, my father and mother had not heard of Dr. Jenner, and his plan of vaccination. If they had they would have surely fallen in with the idea, and would have acted upon it. It was the custom in those days that whenever small-pox made its appearance in the village, the mother of a family would take one of her children to the infected house, and place her healthy child in the bed of the person who had the malady. This was done so that the infection should not come upon her family unawares, but that she might be somewhat in a position to receive it, and with a little judicious management, generally to keep the disease under subjection; that is to say, she could generally manage so that only one of her children should be down with the small-pox at one time. Whereas, if she allowed the infection to come upon her in its natural course, probably all her children would be down at once with the disease.

Now there was a boy who was said to be dying of