Amos Huntingdon Read online

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  PROGRESS.

  Mr Huntingdon's conduct toward Amos was a great grief to his sister,but she felt that she must not openly interfere, and that she could onlydo her best to make up to her nephew, as far as was possible, for hisfather's coldness, and look for brighter times, which she felt sure werecoming, though as yet scarcely the faintest streak of dawn could be seenon the horizon. The old butler also was a great comfort to his youngmaster, being most anxious to do everything in his power to undo anyevil consequences which his own abrupt outspeaking might have broughtupon Amos. So he encouraged him to persevere in his great purpose, withall his might, assuring him that things would come nicely round in time.Amos shook his head sadly, for he was naturally of a desponding turn;he could see at present little but clouds and thorns before him. Notthat he wavered in his purpose for a moment, or had the least thought ofholding back from the work he had set his hand to, even for a time. Buthis father's harshness and manifestly abiding displeasure towardshimself he found very hard to bear. Nevertheless he was comforted bythe reiterated affirmations of Harry that things were coming nicelyround.

  "Take my word for it," said the shrewd old man; "I knows the old masterand his ways better than you do, Master Amos, though you're his son andI ain't. But I've knowed him years longer than you have. Now he'sdispleased with you; but I'll tell you who he's more displeased with,and that's just his own self. I don't mean no disrespect to yourfather, Master Amos--he's as kind-hearted a gentleman and as good amaster as ever was, only a bit hasty sometimes; but then, which on usain't got faults of our own enough and to spare? But I'm sure of this,he has never been fairly satisfied with keeping the door shut agen dearMiss Julia as was, and he won't _be_ satisfied, depend on it, till she'sback again--I know it. You see, though there was a reg'lar flare upwhen I spoke up for you the other night, he has never said a word ofblame to me on the subject; and for why? I'll tell you--it's justbecause he knows and feels down in his heart of hearts as I were _not_to blame. But he must be angry with somebody--'taint pleasant to beangry with one's own self; he's never been used to be angry with MasterWalter; 'tain't no use being angry with Miss Huntingdon, 'cos she'd lookthe fiercest man as ever lived into a good temper--the mere sight of herface is enough for that, let alone her words. So master's just showinghis anger to you, Master Amos. But it won't last; it can't last. Soyou just stick to your work, and I'll back you up all in my power, andI'll keep my tongue inside my teeth for the future, if I possibly can."

  As for Walter, he felt thoroughly ashamed of himself, and tried in manyways to make up to his brother for his past unkindness, by variouslittle loving attentions, and by carefully abstaining from taunting andungracious speeches. This was very cheering to the heart of Amos, andlightened his trial exceedingly; but he felt that he could not yet takeWalter fully into his confidence, nor expect him to join with him in apursuit which would involve much quiet perseverance and habitual self-denial. For how were the banished ones to be brought back? Whatpresent steps could be taken for their restoration? Any attempt tointroduce the subject of his sister's marriage and present position inhis father's presence he felt would, as things now were, be worse thanuseless. Once he attempted to draw the conversation in that direction;but Mr Huntingdon, as soon as he became aware of the drift of his son'sobservations, impatiently changed the subject. On another occasion,when Walter plunged headlong into the matter by saying at tea-time tohis aunt, "Eh! what a long time it is since we saw anything of Julia. Ishould so like to have her with us again; shouldn't you, auntie?" hisfather, striking his clenched fist on the table, and looking sternly athis son, said in a voice trembling with suppressed anger, "Not a wordagain on that subject, Walter, unless you wish to drive me out of my ownhouse." So Amos's great purpose, his life-work to which he haddedicated himself, his means, his best energies, seemed hopelesslyblocked.

  The great hindrance was, alas! in that father whose heart must betouched and subdued before any effectual and really onward steps couldbe taken. But this barrier seemed to become daily more formidable."What am I to do, Aunt Kate?" Amos said, when discussing the matterwith Miss Huntingdon in private; "what can I do now?"

  "Rather, dear Amos," replied his aunt, "must the question be, not somuch, `What can I do now?' as, `What must I do next?' Now it seems tome that the next thing is just prayerfully and patiently to keep yourgreat purpose in view, and to be on the watch for opportunities, and Godwill give success in due time.--Ah, here comes Walter." She repeated tohim what she had just been saying to his brother, and then continued,"Now here we may bring in moral heroism; for it is a very importantfeature in moral courage to wait steadily watching for opportunities tocarry out a noble purpose, and specially so when the way seemscompletely, or to a great extent, hedged up."

  "Examples, auntie, examples!" exclaimed Walter.

  "You shall have them," she implied. "I have two noble heroes to bringbefore you, and they both had the same glorious object in view, and wentsteadily on in their pursuit of it when everything before them looked asnearly hopeless as it could do. My two heroes are Clarkson andWilberforce.

  "I daresay you remember that there was a time when slaves were as muchproperty and a matter of course in our own foreign possessions as theywere a short time since in the Southern States of America. Socompletely was this the case, that when a slave was brought to Englandby one of our countrymen, he was considered his master's absoluteproperty. However, this was happily brought to an end more than ahundred years ago. A slave named Somerset, who had been brought by hismaster to this country, fell ill, and his master, thinking that he wouldbe of no more use to him, turned him adrift. But a charitablegentleman, Mr Granville Sharp, found him in his wretched state, hadpity on him, and got him restored to health. Then his old master,thinking that now he would be of service to him, claimed him as hisproperty. This led to the matter being taken up; a suit was instituted;and by a decision of the Court of King's Bench, slavery could no longerexist in England. That became law in 1772. The poet Cowper has somebeautiful lines on this subject:--

  "`Slaves cannot breathe in England: if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; They touch our country, and their shackles fall. That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it, then, And let it circulate through every vein Of all our empire, that, where Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.'

  "Still, we could hold, and did hold, slaves to a large extent in some ofour colonies. Now the great object of Clarkson and Wilberforce was toget slavery abolished throughout the British dominions all the worldover; in other words, that it should not be lawful for a slave to existas a slave in any of our possessions. But they had a hard and steadyfight for years and years in pursuit of their great object. Patience,faith, calm courage, perseverance, these were the noble constituents oftheir moral heroism. Thomas Clarkson, from youth to manhood, frommanhood to old age, devoted himself unreservedly to the one greatpurpose of obtaining freedom and justice for the oppressed negro. Hiswork was to collect information, to spread it on all sides, to agitatethe question of the abolition of slavery throughout the United Kingdomand the world. William Wilberforce's place in the work was different.His part was to introduce Clarkson's plans to the notice of Parliament,and to advocate them with his wonderful eloquence, and to persevere inthat advocacy with untiring zeal and love. When he called the attentionof the House of Commons to the question of the slave-trade in 1788 hewas met by the most determined opposition. Men's worldly interests werearrayed in arms against the abolition. The traffic in slaves broughtmillions of money to the British coffers. So the case appeared for atime to be hopeless. But this made no difference to Wilberforce--hiscourage never failed; his resolution never wavered; year after year hebrought forward the subject, and, though he experienced eleven defeatsin his endeavours to carry the measure, at last he triumphed. And theresult was the termination of slavery in the British dominions i
n August1834, and that, too, at a cost to the country of twenty millions ofmoney as compensation to those who, at the time, were holders ofproperty in slaves. All honour to Clarkson and Wilberforce, for theirswas a noble victory, a grand result of the unwavering, unflinching moralcourage of those two moral heroes."

  "A thousand cheers for them, auntie!" cried Walter. Then turning to hisbrother, he added, "So you see, Amos, you must not lose heart; indeed, Iknow you won't. Things will come nicely round, as Harry said. Myfather, I am sure, will understand and appreciate you in time; and Ishall have to erect a triumphal arch with flowers and evergreens overthe front door, with this motto in letters of gold at the top, `Amos andmoral courage for ever.'"

  "I don't know," said his brother rather sadly; "I trust things may comeround as you say. But anyhow, I mean, with God's help, to persevere;and it is a great happiness for me to know that I have the sympathy ofmy dear aunt and brother."

  Not many days after this conversation, when the family were atbreakfast, Mr Huntingdon asked Walter when the steeplechase was comingoff.

  "Three weeks to-morrow, I believe," replied his son. "By-the-by, Ithink I ought to mention that Saunders wants me to be one of theriders."

  "You!" exclaimed his father in astonishment.

  "Yes, father; he says I am the best rider of my age anywhere round, andthat I shall stand a good chance of coming in at the head of them."

  "Very likely that may be the opinion of Mr Robert Saunders," repliedthe squire; "but I can only say I wish you were not quite so friendlywith that young man; you know it was he who led you into that scrapewith poor Forester."

  "Ah, but, father, Bob wasn't to blame. You know I took the blame onmyself, and that was putting it on the right shoulders. There's no harmin Bob; there are many worse fellows than he is."

  "But perhaps," said Miss Huntingdon, "he may not be a very desirablecompanion for all that."

  "Perhaps not, auntie.--Well, father, if you don't mind my riding thistime, I'll try and keep a little more out of his way in future."

  "I think you had better, my boy; you are not likely to gain much eitherin reputation or pocket by the acquaintance. You know it was only theother day that he helped to let you in for losing a couple of sovereignsin that wretched affair on Marley Heath; and one of them was lost toabout the biggest blackguard anywhere hereabouts. I think, my boy, itis quite time that you kept clear of such things."

  "Indeed, father. I almost think so too; and, at any rate, you won'tfind me losing any more sovereigns to Jim Jarrocks. But I'm almostpledged to Saunders to ride in this steeplechase. It will be capitalfun, and no harm, and perhaps I may never have another chance."

  "I had rather you didn't," said his father; "anyhow, your friendSaunders must find you a horse for I am not going to have one of minespoilt again, and your own pony would make but a poor figure in asteeplechase."

  "All right, father," replied Walter, and the conversation passed on toanother subject.

  The three weeks came and went; the steeplechase came off, and Walter wasone of the riders. The admired of all eyes, he for a time surmountedall difficulties. At last, in endeavouring to clear an unusually wideditch, he was thrown, and his horse so badly injured that the pooranimal had to be shot. Walter himself, though stunned and bruised, wasnot seriously hurt, and was able to return home in time for dinner.

  The party had assembled in the drawing-room, all but Mr Huntingdon.Five minutes--ten--a quarter of an hour past the usual time, but thesquire had not made his appearance. At last his step was heard rapidlyapproaching. Then he flung the door hastily open, and rushed into theroom, his face flushed, and his chest heaving with anger. Striding upto Walter, he exclaimed: "So this is the end of your folly anddisobedience. You go contrary to my orders, knowing that I would nothave you take part in the steeplechase; you ruin another man's horseworth some three hundred guineas; and then you come home, just as ifnothing had happened, and expect me, I suppose, to pay the bill. Butyou may depend upon it I shall do nothing of the sort."

  No one spoke for a few minutes. Then Walter stammered out that he wasvery sorry.

  "Sorry, indeed!" cried his father; "that's poor amends. But it seemsI'm to have nothing but disobedience and misery from my children."

  "Dear Walter," said his sister gently, "are you not a little hard uponthe poor boy?"

  "Hard, Kate?--poor boy?--nonsense! You're just like all the rest,spoiling and ruining him by your foolish indulgence. He's to be master,it seems, of the whole of us, and I may as well give up the managementof the estate and of my purse into his hands."

  Miss Huntingdon ventured no reply; she felt that it would be wiser tolet the first violence of the storm blow by. But now Amos rose, andapproached his father, and confronted him, looking at him calmly andsteadily. Never before had that shy, reserved young man been seen tolook his father so unflinchingly in the face. Never, when his ownpersonal character or comfort had been at stake, had he dreamt of somuch as a remonstrance. He had left it to others to speak for him, orhad submitted to wrong or neglect without murmuring. How different wasit now! How strange was the contrast between the wild flashing eyes ofthe old man, and the deeply tranquil, thoughtful, and even spiritualgaze of the son! Before that gaze the squire's eyes lost their fire,his chest ceased to heave, he grew calm.

  "What's the meaning of this?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

  "Father," said Amos slowly, "I am persuaded that you are not doing fulljustice to dear Walter. I must say a word for him. I do not think hisgoing and riding in the steeplechase was an act of direct disobedience.I think your leave was implied when you said that at any rate he mustnot look to you for a horse. I know that you would have preferred hisnot going, and so must he have known, but I do not think that he waswrong in supposing that you had not absolutely forbidden him."

  "Indeed!" said Mr Huntingdon dryly and sarcastically, after a pause ofastonishment; "and may I ask where the three hundred guineas are to comefrom? for I suppose the borrowed horse will have to be paid for."

  "Father," said Walter humbly, and with tears in his eyes and a tremor inhis voice, "I know the horse must be paid for, because it was notSaunders's own; he borrowed it for me, and I know that he cannot affordthe money. But it's an exaggeration that three hundred guineas; thehorse was really worth about a hundred pounds."

  "It makes no matter," replied his father, but now with less ofirritation in his voice, "whether it was worth three hundred guineas orone hundred pounds. I want to know who is going to pay for it, forcertainly _I_ am not."

  "You must stop it out of my allowance," said Walter sorrowfully.

  "And how many years will it take to pay off the debt, then, I shouldlike to know?" asked his father bitterly.

  Again there was a few moments' silence. But now Amos stepped forwardonce more, and said quietly, "Father, I will take the debt upon myself."

  "_You_, Amos!" exclaimed all his three hearers, but in very differenttones.

  Poor Walter fairly broke down, sobbing like a child, and then threwhimself into his brother's arms and kissed him warmly. Mr Huntingdonwas taken quite aback, and tried in vain to hide his emotion. MissHuntingdon wept bright tears of gladness, for she saw that Amos wasmaking progress with his father, and getting nearer to his heart.

  "There, then," said her brother with trembling voice, "we must make thebest of a bad job.--Walter, don't let's have any more steeplechases.--Amos, my dear boy, I've said I wouldn't pay, so I must stick to it, butwe'll make up the loss to you in some way or other."

  "All right, dear father," replied Amos, hardly able to speak forgladness. Never for years past had Mr Huntingdon called him "dear."That one word from his father was worth the whole of the hundred poundsto him twice over.

  The squire had business with one of the tenants in the library thatevening, so his sister and her two nephews were alone in the drawing-room after dinner.

  "Aunt," said Walter, "look at my hands; do you know what this means?"His hands were
crossed on his knees.

  "I think I do," she replied with a smile; "but do you tell me yourself."

  "Why, it means this,--_I_ am going to bring forward for our generaledification an example of moral courage to-night, and my hero is no lessa person than Martin Luther; and there is _my_ Martin Luther." As hesaid this he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder, and looked athim with a bright and affectionate smile. "Yes, he is my Martin Luther:only, instead of his being brought before a `Diet of Worms,' a verysubstantial _diet_ of fish, flesh, and fowl has just been brought before_him_; and instead of having to appear before the Emperor Charles theFifth, he is now appearing before Queen Katharine the First of FlixworthManor."

  Both his hearers laughed heartily and happily; then he added: "Now I amgoing to trot out my hero--nay, that word `trot' won't do; I've had toomuch of both trotting and galloping lately. But what I mean is, I wantto show you what it is that I specially admire in my hero, and how thisexactly fits in with my dear hero-brother Amos. Ah! I see he wants tostop me, but, dear Aunt Kate, you must use your royal authority and backme up; and when I have done, you can put in what notes and comments andaddenda and corrigenda you like, and tell me if I have not just hit theright nail on the head.

  "Very well; now I see you are all attention. Martin Luther--wasn't he agrand fellow? Just look at him as he is travelling up to the Diet ofWorms. As soon as the summons came to him, his mind was made up; he didnot delay for a moment. People crowded about him and talked of_danger_, but Luther talked about _duty_. He set out in a waggon, withan imperial herald before him. His journey was like a triumphalprocession. In every town through which he passed, young and old cameout of their doors to wonder at him, and bless him, and tell him to beof good courage. At last he has got to Oppenheim, not far from Worms,and his friends do their very best to frighten him and keep him back;but he tells them that if he should have to encounter at Worms as manydevils as there were tiles on the houses of that city, he would not bekept from his purpose. Ah! that was a grand answer. And then, when hegot to his lodgings, what a sight it must have been! They were crowdedinside and out with all classes and all kinds of persons,--soldiers,clergy, knights, peasants, nobles by the score, citizens by thethousand. And then came the grand day of all, the day after hisarrival. He was sent for into the council-hall. What a sight that musthave been for the poor monk! There was the young emperor himself,Charles the Fifth, in all his pomp and splendour, and two hundred of hisprinces and nobles. Why, it would have taken the breath out of a dozensuch fellows as I am to have to stand up and speak up for what I knew tobe right before such a company. But Luther did speak up; and there wasno swagger about him either. They asked him to recant, and he beggedtime to consider of it. They met again next day, and then he refused torecant, with great gentleness. `Show me that I have done wrong,' hesaid, `and I will submit: until I am better instructed I cannot recant;it is not wise, it is not safe for a man to do anything against hisconscience. Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise. God help me. Amen.'There, auntie, don't you agree with me in giving the crown of moralcourage to Martin Luther? It's an old story, and I've learned it quiteby heart, for I was always fond of it, but it is none the less true onthat account."

  "Yes, Walter, clear boy," replied his aunt, "I must heartily agree withyou, and acknowledge that you have made a most excellent choice of ahero in Martin Luther. Not a doubt of it, he was a truly great and goodman, a genuine moral hero. For a man who can be satisfied with nothingless than what is real and right; who is content to count all thingsloss for the attainment of a spiritual aim, and to fight for it againstall enemies; who does his duty spite of all outward contradiction; andwho reverences his conscience so greatly that he will face anydifficulty and submit to any penalty rather than do violence to it, thatis a truly great man, exhibiting a superb example of moral courage. Andsuch a man, no doubt, was Martin Luther; and I believe I can see why youhave chosen him just now, but you must tell me why yourself."

  "I will, Aunt Kate. You see we are in Worms now. This is the council-hall; before dinner to-day was the time of meeting; and my dear fatherwas in his single person the august assembly. Amos, the best ofbrothers to the worst of brothers, is Martin Luther. He might have kepthimself to himself, but he comes forward. It is the hardest thingpossible for him to speak; if he had consulted his own feelings he wouldhave spared himself a mighty struggle, and have left his scamp of abrother to get out of the scrape as best he could. But he stands up asbrave as a lion and as gentle as a lamb, and looks as calm as if he weremade of sponge-biscuits instead of flesh and blood. He ventures toaddress the august assembly--I mean my father--in a way he never did inall his life before, and never would have done if he had been speakingfor himself; but it was duty that was prompting him, it was love thatwas nerving him, it was unselfishness that made him bold. And so he hasshown himself the bravest of the brave; and I hope the brother for whomhe has done and suffered all this, if he has any shame left in him, willlearn to copy him, as he already learned to respect and admire him.There, Aunt Kate, I've been, and gone, and said it."