{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_30205/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_30205","id":"gutenberg_30205","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30205","summary":null,"tags":["Blasphemy -- Great Britain","Bradlaugh, Charles, 1833-1891","Category: Biographies","Category: History - British","Category: Politics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Foote, G. W. (George William), 1850-1915","Free thought","Freethinker","Sedition -- Great Britain","Trials (Blasphemy) -- Great Britain"],"text":"REMINISCENCES OF CHARLES BRADLAUGH\n\nBy G. W. Foote\n\nPresident of the National Secular Society AND Editor of \"The\nFreethinker\"\n\nLONDON: PROGRESSIVE PUBLISHING COMPANY,\n\n1891.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nThe following pages are reprinted, with some alterations and additions,\nfrom the columns of the _Freethinker_. They are neither methodical nor\nexhaustive. I had the privilege of knowing Mr. Bradlaugh more or less\nintimately for twenty years. I have worked with him in the Freethought\nmovement and stood by his side on many political platforms. It seemed to\nme, therefore, that if I jotted down, even in a disjointed manner, some\nof my recollections of his great personality, I should be easing my own\nmind and conferring a pleasure on many readers. Beyond that I was not\nambitious. The time for writing Mr. Brad-laugh's life is not yet,\nbut when it arrives my jottings may furnish a point or two to his\nbiographer.\n\nG. W. FOOTE, March 30, 1891.\n\n\n\n\nREMINISCENCES OF CHARLES BRADLAUGH.\n\nWhen I came to London, in January, 1868, I was eighteen years of age. I\nhad plenty of health and very little religion. While in my native town\nof Plymouth I had read and thought for myself, and had gradually passed\nthrough various stages of scepticism, until I was dissatisfied even with\nthe advanced Unitarianism of a preacher like the Rev. J. K. Applebee.\nBut I could not find any literature in advance of his position, and\nthere was no one of whom I could inquire. Secularism and Atheism I had\nnever heard of in any definite way, although I remember, when a little\nboy, having an Atheist pointed out to me in the street, Naturally I\nregarded him as a terrible monster. I did not know what Atheism was\nexcept in a very vague way; but I inferred from the tones, expressions,\nand gestures of those who pointed him out to me, that an Atheist was a\ndevil in human form.\n\nSoon after I came to London I found out an old school-fellow, and went\nto lodge with his family: They were tainted with Atheism, and my once\npious playmate was as corrupt as the rest of them. They took me one\nSunday evening to Cleveland Hall, where I heard Mrs. Law knock the Bible\nabout delightfully. She was not what would be called a woman of culture,\nbut she had what some devotees of \"culchaw\" do not possess--a great deal\nof natural ability; and she appeared to know the \"blessed book\" from\ncover to cover. Her discourse was very different from the Unitarian\nsermons I had heard at Plymouth. She spoke in a plain, honest,\nstraightforward manner, and I resolved to visit Cleveland Hall again.\n\nThree or four weeks afterwards I heard Mr. Bradlaugh for the first time.\nIt was a very wet Sunday evening, but as 'bus-riding was dearer then\nthan it is now, and my resources were slender, I walked about three\nmiles through the heavy rain, and sat on a backless bench in Cleveland\nHall, for which I think I paid twopence. I was wet through, but I was\nyoung, and my health was flawless. Nor did I mind the discomfort a bit\nwhen Mr. Bradlaugh began his lecture. Fiery natural eloquence of that\nsort was a novelty in my experience. I kept myself warm with applauding,\nand at the finish I was pretty nearly as dry outside as inside. From\nthat time I went to hear Mr. Bradlaugh whenever I had an opportunity.\nHe became the \"god\" of my young idolatry. I used to think of him\ncharging the hosts of superstition, and wish I could be near him in the\nfight. But it was rather a dream than any serious expectation of such an\nhonor.\n\nWhen the new Hall of Science was opened I became a pretty regular\nattendant. I heard Mr. Charles Watts, who was then as now a capital\ndebater; Mr. G. J. Holyoake, Mr. C. C. Cattell, Mr. Austin Holyoake.\nand perhaps one or two other lecturers whom I have forgotten. Mr.\nAustin Holyoake frequently took the chair, especially at Mr. Bradlaugh's\nlectures, and a capital chairman he was, giving out the notices in a\npleasant, graceful manner, and pleading for financial support like a\ntrue man. He was working hard for the success of the enterprise himself,\nand had a right to beg help from others.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh, however, was the great attraction in my case. Perhaps\nI was more impressionable at that time, but I fancy he was then at his\nbest as an orator. In later life he grew more cautious under a sense of\nresponsibility; he had to think what he should not say as well as what\nhe should. He cultivated the art of persuasion, and he was right in\ndoing so. But at the earlier period I am writing of he gave a full swing\nto his passionate eloquence. His perorations were marvellously glowing\nand used to thrill me to the very marrow.\n\nGradually I began to make acquaintances at the Hall. I got to know Mr.\nAustin Holyoake and his charming wife, Mr. and Mrs. Bayston, Mr. Herbert\nGilham, Mr. R. O. Smith, and other workers. By and bye I was introduced\nto Mr. Bradlaugh and shook hands with him. It was the proudest moment of\nmy young life. I still remember his scrutinising look. It was keen but\nkindly, and the final expression seemed to say, \"We may see more of each\nother.\"\n\nIn 1870 I wrote my first article in the _National Reformer_. For a year\nor two I wrote occasionally, and after that with tolerable frequency. I\nwas also engaged in various efforts at the Hall; helping to carry on a\nSecular Sunday School, a Young Men's Secular Association, etc. Naturally\nI was drawn more and more into Mr. Bradlaugh's acquaintance, and when he\nfound himself unable to continue the Logic Class he had started at the\nHall he asked me to carry it on for him. Of course I was proud of the\ninvitation. But the Class did not live long. It was not Logic, but Mr.\nBradlaugh, that had brought the members together. Nor do I think they\nwould have learnt much of the art from Mr. Bradlaugh, except in an\nempirical way. He had a very logical cast of mind, but as far as I could\nsee he had little acquaintance with formal Logic as it is taught by\nMill and Whately, whom I select as typical masters of Induction and\nDeduction, without wishing to depreciate the host of other authorities.\nMr. Bradlaugh really gave his class lessons in Metaphysics; his talk\nwas of substance, mode, and attribute, rather than of premises and\nconclusions. Mr. Bradlaugh and I were brought into closer acquaintance\nby the Republican agitation in England after the proclamation of\nthe present French Republic. I attended the Republican Conference\nat Birmingham in 1871, when I first met my old friend Dr. Guest of\nManchester, Mr. R. A. Cooper of Norwich, Mr. Daniel Baker, Mr. Ferguson\nthe Glasgow Home Ruler, and other veterans of reform. We held our\nConference on Sunday in the old meeting-place of the Secular Society,\nwhich was approached by very abrupt steps, and being situated over\nstables, was not devoid of flavor. On Monday the Conference was\ncontinued in one of the rooms under the Town Hall. A long political\nprogramme was concocted. I was elected Secretary, and had the honor\nof speaking at the public meeting in the large hall. It was my first\nappearance in such a perilous position. I was apprehensive, and I said\nso. But Mr. Bradlaugh put his hand on my shoulder and told me not to\nfear. His kind looks and words were an excellent tonic. When I rose\nto speak I thought next to nothing about the audience. I thought \"Mr.\nBradlaugh is listening, I must do my best.\" And now as I am writing, I\nrecall his encouraging glance as I looked at him, and the applause he\nled when I made my first point. He was my leader, and he helped me in\nan elder-brotherly way. Nothing could exceed his considerate generosity.\nOther people did not see it, but I remember it, and it was typical of\nthe man.\n\nOne incident at the Conference is worth noting. It occurred in the\nafternoon, when Mr. R. A. Cooper (I think) was in the chair. The\nquestion of Free Education was being discussed. Mr. Bradlaugh did not\nquite like it, nor did I. He asked me to go with him into an ante-room\nand consider an amendment. What it was I can hardly remember, although I\nrecollect that Mr. Cooper was very sarcastic about it. Since then my own\nopinion has changed, as I dare say Mr. Bradlaugh's had changed; and the\nincident would not be worth recalling if it did not throw a light upon\nMr. Bradlaugh's philosophy. He was always in favor of self-help and\nindividual responsibility, and he was naturally hostile to everything\nthat might weaken those precious-elements of English life.\n\nDuring the years immediately after the opening of the Hall of Science,\nMr. Bradlaugh was there a good deal. Sometimes he attended the\nweek-night entertainments and gave a reading from Shelley or Whittier\nor some other poet. The audience applauded as a matter of course. They\nalways applauded Mr. Bradlaugh. But he was no reader. He delivered\nhis lines with that straightforward sincerity which characterised\nhis speeches. He cultivated none of the graces or dexterities of the\nelocutionist. Besides, he was too original to be a successful echo of\nother men. I think he only did justice to Shelley's lines \"To the Men of\nEngland.\" But this is a piece of simple and vigorous declamation; very\nfine, no doubt but rather rhetoric than poetry.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh was anything but a cold man. I should say he was electric.\nBut his tastes, so far as I could discover, did not lie in the direction\nof poetry. Certainly I heard him once, in those old days, read a great\npart, if not the whole of Shelley's \"Sensitive Plant.\" He loved Shelley,\nhowever, as an Atheist and a Republican, and I suppose he took Shelley's\npoetry on trust. But I do not think, though I speak under correction,\nthat he cared very much for poetry _as such_. I could never discover\nfrom his conversation or writings that he had read a line of\nShakespeare--the god of Colonel Ingersoll. His mind was of the practical\norder, like Oliver Cromwell's. He had a genius for public affairs. He\nwas not only a born orator, but a born ruler of men. Naturally he had,\nas the French say, the defects of his qualities. And it may be that the\nterrible stress of his life tended to repress the poetical side of\nhis nature, and less developed his subtlety than his strength. Yet\nhis feelings were deep, and his heart was easily touched. When William\nO'Brien delivered that great speech in the House of Commons after his\nimprisonment by Mr. Balfour, with all its needless indignities, there\nwere two men who could not restrain their tears. One was an Irish\nmember. The other was Charles Bradlaugh. One who witnessed the scene\ntold me it was infinitely pathetic to see that gigantic man, deemed so\nhard by an ignorant world, wiping away his tears at the tale of a brave\nman's unmerited suffering.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh used to attend the social parties pretty often in those\nold days. He did not dance and he stood about rather awkwardly. It must\nhave been a great affliction, but he bore it with exemplary fortitude.\nOnce or twice I saw Mrs. Bradlaugh there. She had a full-blown matronly\nfigure. Miss Alice and Miss Hypatia came frequently. They were not\nthen living in the enervating air of London, and they looked extremely\nrobust. I also remember the boy Charles, of whom Mr. Bradlaugh seemed\nvery proud. He was a remarkably bright lad, and full of promise. But he\nwas carried off by a fever. Only a day or two after the lad's death Mr.\nBradlaugh had to lecture at the Hall. I was away, and I wondered whether\nhe would fulfil the engagement. He did fulfil it. A friend wrote to me\nthat Mr. Bradlaugh walked through the hall and mounted the platform with\na face as white and rigid as that of a statue. He made no reference or\nallusion to his loss, but all could see he carried a bleeding heart.\nHis lecturing in such circumstances was characteristic. Weaker men would\nhave indulged their grief; he was made of sterner stuff, and would not\nlet it interfere with what he deemed his duty.\n\nSplendid as was his eloquence at that time, Mr. Bradlaugh did not draw\nthe large audiences that flocked around him a few years later. The Hall\nof Science was at first but half its present size, the platform standing\non the right as you entered, with a small gallery on the opposite side.\nIts holding capacity could not have been more than half what it is at\npresent, yet I have seen the place far from full. But the audiences grew\nlarger and larger, and eventually the hall was increased to its present\nproportions, although for a long time there was not cash enough to put\non a proper roof, and the building was defaced by a huge unsightly beam,\non each side of which there was an arch of corrugated iron.\n\nThose were glorious times. Difficulties were great, but there was a\nspirit at the Hall that laughed at them. How the foremost men about the\nplace did work! Mr. R. O. Smith and Mr. Trevilion, senior, could a tale\nunfold. Whenever Freethinkers are at all dejected they should have a\nchat with one of those gentleman. Perhaps it would make them ashamed of\ntheir dejection, and fill them with the spirit of the heroic days.\n\nFriends have told me with what energy Mr. Bradlaugh fought the battles\nof the old Reform League. I _know_ with what energy he threw himself\ninto the Republican agitation that followed the downfall of Napoleon\nIII. He tried to get to Paris but failed. Jules Favre and his friends\ndid not want him. Favre himself was an eloquent historion, and no doubt\nhe felt afraid of a man like Mr. Bradlaugh. But if Mr. Bradlaugh could\nnot get to Paris he fought hard for France in London. Meetings at the\nHall of Science did not suffice. There was money from French sources and\nSt. James's Hall was taken for a big demonstration.\n\nThe Positivists shared in the proceedings. Their chief man was Mr.\nFrederic Harrison. Mr. Bradlaugh and he were a tremendous contrast. In\nfact a London paper (I think the _Echo_) remarked that Mr. Bradlaugh\nspoke as well as Mr. Harrison wrote, and Mr. Harrison spoke as badly\nas Mr. Bradlaugh wrote. There was some truth in this, though like most\nepigrams it was not all true. Mr. Bradlaugh was a born orator, but not\na born writer. Yet he often wrote with a forthright power, naked and\nunadorned, which could dispense with the aid of literary artifices.\nDuring this English agitation on behalf of France, held firmly under\nGerman feet, Mr. Bradlaugh came into contact with a French countess,\nwho, I believe, either supplied or was the channel of supplying the\nnecessary funds. As the lady is mentioned in Mr Headingley's _Life of\nCharles Bradlaugh_, which was published with Mr. Bradlaugh's sanction,\nthere is no reason why I should not refer to her. She came several times\nto the Hall of Science, and I was introduced to her. She had been a\nbeauty, and although time was beginning to tell on her, she retained a\ngood deal of charm and distinction, which, like a true Frenchwoman, she\nheightened by the art of dressing. Then as now, of course, foul tongues\nwagged in foolish heads, and Mr. Bradlaugh's enemies were not slow\nto point to the French countess with prurient grimaces. Unable to\nunderstand friendship between man and woman, owing to their Puritan\ntraining or incurable rankness, they invited the orthodox in religion\nand politics to note this suspicious connection. Something of this\nmalicious folly must have reached Mr. Brad-laugh's ears, but I imagine\nhe was too proud and self-contained to let it disturb him.\n\nAfter the Birmingham meeting, and the founding of the Republican League,\nof which Mr. Bradlaugh became president, and I secretary, he visited\nSpain on private business, taking with him a message from the Conference\nto Senor Castelar, the leading spirit of the short-lived Spanish\nRepublic. I remember writing out the message in a clear, bold hand, and\naddressing the foolscap envelope in the same way. When Mr. Bradlaugh\nfell among the Carlists he cursed my caligraphy. Happily, however, the\nofficer who scrutinised that envelope could not read at all, and Mr.\nBradlaugh escaped the consequences of being known to carry about letters\naddressed to the devilish Castelar.\n\nDuring Mr. Bradlaugh's first visit to America I was a frequent\ncontributor to his journal, and I corresponded with him privately. I\nwent down to Northampton and delivered a lecture at his request, under\nthe auspices of his electoral committee. The old theatre--a dirty,\nramshackle place as I recollect it--was crowded, and I had my first\ntaste of the popularity of Mr. Bradlaugh in the borough. Every mention\nof his name excited the wildest enthusiasm.\n\nWhile Mr. Bradlaugh was lecturing in the States a general election took\nplace in England. It was impossible for him to return in time, but his\nfriends looked after his interests. A committee was formed at the Hall\nof Science to raise the necessary funds, and Mr. Charles Watts and I\nwent down to Northampton to conduct the election. We addressed outdoor\nmeetings in the day, and crowded indoor meetings at night.\n\nAgain I saw what a hold Mr. Bradlaugh had on his Northampton followers.\nThey sang \"Bradlaugh for Northampton\" in the Circus with all the fervor\nof Scotch Covenanters on their hillsides \"rolling the psalm to wintry\nskies.\"\n\nMr. Watts and I did not win the seat for Mr. Bradlaugh, nor did he win\nit himself at the next election, but we managed to increase his vote,\nand he expressed his pleasure at the result.\n\nSoon after the election Mr. Bradlaugh returned to England. Mr. Watts and\nI went down with him to Northampton. There was a crowded public meeting,\nI believe in the Circus; and I saw Mr. Bradlaugh, for the first time,\nin the presence of his future constituents. They were simply intoxicated\nwith excitement. The shouts of \"Bradlaugh\" and \"Charley\" were deafening.\nHats and handkerchiefs were waved in the air. The multitude rose to\nits feet and gave its hero a splendid welcome. Then we settled down to\nspeech-making, but all that followed was somewhat tame and flat after\nthat first glorious outburst of popular devotion.\n\nThe next election came quickly. It resulted in the return of a Tory\nmajority for Benjamin Disraeli, and Mr. Gladstone went off to sulk\nin his tent. Two Tories were returned for Radical Northampton. Mr.\nBradlaugh let them in. He was determined to have one of the Northampton\nseats. To get it he had to make himself inevitable. He had to prove that\nif Northampton wanted two Liberal members, one of them must be Charles\nBradlaugh. It took him thirteen years to demonstrate this, but he\nsucceeded, as he succeeded in most things. At last, in 1880, he ran as\nofficial Liberal candidate with Mr. Labouchere, and both were returned.\nI assisted Mr. Bradlaugh during his second (1874) election. It was then\nthat I first saw Mrs. Besant. She had not yet taken to the platform,\nbut she was writing for the _National Reformer_, and her pen was active\nduring the contest. Mr. Watts was also there. Another figure I\nremember was Mr. George Odger, who labored among the Trade Unionists\nof Northampton in Mr. Bradlaugh's interest. George Odger was one of the\nablest of all the working-class leaders I have ever met. He came from my\nown county, Devonshire, being born at Horrabridge, on the road between\nPlymouth and Tavistock. He was honest to the heart's core, as well as\nvery able, but he was incurably indolent. You never could be sure of\nhim at a public meeting. He had to be looked up beforehand, or he\nmight forget the engagement and spend his time more agreeably. He was\npassionately fond of the theatre, and could talk by the hour on\nfamous performances of old actors and actresses. During the daytime at\nNorthampton I had long chats with him. He objected to fine hotels,\nand he objected to walking; so I had to sit with him in the garden of\na semi-rural public-house, where our conversation was altogether out\nof proportion to our liquor. Odger liked beer; not much of it, but\njust enough; it suited his palate and his purse; and as I drank next to\nnothing, the landlord must have thought us unprofitable customers.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh had rooms at the George Hotel. It was the Tory house, but\nhe preferred it, and Mrs. Besant, Mr. Watts, and the rest of us, fed and\nslept there during the election. This gave rise to a good deal of silly\ntalk among Mr. Bradlaugh's enemies.. One evening we were returning from\na Town Hall meeting, and the Tories had been holding a small meeting\nat the \"George.\" As we reached the foot of the stairs, we encountered a\nknot of Tories. One of them was Mr. Merewether, the Tory candidate.\nHe was nearly of the same height as Mr. Bradlaugh, and well built. His\nfriends were holding him back, but he broke from them, exclaiming,\n\"Hang it! I _will_ have a look at him.\" He stood at the very foot of the\nstaircase and looked hard at Mr. Bradlaugh ascending. His expression was\none of good-tempered insolence. After a long look at Mr. Bradlaugh,\nhe returned to his friends, shouting, \"Well, I'm damned if he's as\nbad-looking as I thought.\"\n\nI left Northampton before the close of the poll, Mr. Bradlaugh was\nleaving the same night for America, having barely time to catch the boat\nat Liverpool. I drove round with him before leaving, on a visit to some\nof the polling stations. He had paid me a modest sum for my services,\nbut he found he had hardly enough to take him across the Atlantic, and\nhe asked me to lend him what money I had. I fished seven or nine pounds\nout of my pocket--I forget which--and handed it to him. It was paid back\nto me by his order a few weeks subsequently; and the incident would\nnot be worth mentioning if it did not throw a light on the libellous\nnonsense of Mr. Bradlaugh's enemies that he was rolling in wealth.\n\nWhile at Northampton with Mr. Bradlaugh, and on other occasions, I\nsaw something of his personal tastes and habits. He struck me as an\nabstemious man. He was far from a great eater, and I never noticed\nhim drink anything at dinner but claret, which is not an intoxicating\nbeverage. On the whole, I should say, it is less injurious to the\nstomach and brain than tea or coffee. He was rather fond of a cup of\ntea seventeen years ago, and latterly his fondness for it developed into\nsomething like a passion. More than once I found him at St. John's Wood\ndrinking a big cup of pretty strong tea, and was seduced by his genial\ninvitation into joining him in that reckless indulgence.\n\nHe used to smoke too in the old days, but he afterwards gave up the\npractice for several years. About seven years ago, however, he resumed\nit. I do not think he ever attained to the dignity of a pipe. He smoked\ncigars. Some time in April, 1889, I spent an hour with him at the\nHouse of Commons. He got the Speaker's leave to take me into the lower\nsmoke-room, and we \"discussed\" a cigar and some claret while discussing\nsome Freethought business. The claret he seemed indifferent to, but he\npuffed the cigar with an air of enjoyment.\n\nDuring the Northampton election times I used to take a good stiff daily\nwalk. All through my youth I had plenty of exercise in the open air, and\nI still grow desperately fusty without a brisk tramp at least once\nin the twenty-four hours. Mr. Bradlaugh generally took a drive, and I\nremember telling him with youthful audacity that he ought to walk for\nhis health's sake. Of course it was difficult for him to walk in the\nstreets. His stature and bulk made him too noticeable, and mobbing was\nvery unpleasant. But he might have driven out of town and trudged a mile\nor two on the country roads. My opinion is that his neglect of physical\nexercise helped to shorten his life. Occasional bouts of fishing were\nvery well in their way, but _daily_ exercise is the necessary thing.\nI do not forget the tremendous labor, physical as well as mental, of\nlecturing on burning questions to large audiences. All that, however,\ngoes on in hot, crowded rooms, full of vitiated air; and it gives no\nproper exercise to the legs and loins or the lower vital organs. After\none of my remonstrances Mr. Bradlaugh invited me to play a game of\nbilliards. It was the only time I ever played with him. His style with\nthe cue was spacious and splendid; The balls went flying about the\nboard, and I chaffed him on his flukes. He had not the temperament of a\nbilliard-player. Still, I have heard that he played a fair game at St.\nStephen's; but I can hardly believe it without first-hand testimony.\nI am willing to believe, however, that he was a good chess-player.\nCertainly he had a head for it But chess is a vile game for a\nbrain-worker, whose recreations should never involve a mental strain.\n\nWhen I first knew Mr. Bradlaugh he was living at Tottenham. I never\nvisited him there, but I often called on him at his later lodgings in\nTurner-street, Commercial-road. He occupied the ground floor, consisting\nof two rooms. The back was his bedroom, and the front his library and\nworkshop. It was what the Americans call a one-horse affair. Shelves all\nround the room were filled with books. Mr. Bradlaugh sat at a desk with\nhis back to the fireplace. On his right was the door communicating with\nhis bedroom facing him the door opening on the passage, and on his right\n(? left) the street window. The room itself could hardly have been more\nthan twelve or thirteen feet square. I once told him he was too near the\nfireplace, and he said it was sometimes good to have the poker handy. At\nthat I stared, and he told me the following story.\n\nOne day a gentleman called on him and was invited to take a chair. He\nsat down facing Mr. Bradlaugh, and explained that he wanted advice on a\nvery particular matter. God Almighty had told him to kill someone, and\nhe had a difficulty in selecting a victim. Mr. Bradlaugh put his hand\nbehind him and quietly grasped the poker. The inspired gentleman put the\nproblem as a knotty one, and begged the assistance of the clever\nIconoclast. \"Well,\" said Mr. Bradlaugh, keeping quite cool, \"what do you\nsay to the Archbishop of Canterbury?\" \"The very man!\" exclaimed the\ninspired gentleman. He got Mr. Bradlaugh to give him the Archbishop's\naddress, and said, \"Good-day,\" with a profusion of thanks. Mr. Bradlaugh\nwent to the door to look for a policeman, but none was visible, and the\ninspired gentleman was soon out of sight.\n\n\"So you see,\" said Mr. Bradlaugh, \"It's good to have the poker handy. I\nnever saw or heard of the man again, and I knew he couldn't get near the\nArchbishop. There are too many flunkeys in the way.\"\n\nThose were my struggling days, and Mr. Bradlaugh was very kind to me. I\nremember the Sunday evening when I told him I thought of taking to the\nFreethought platform. He pointed out the hard and thorny path I should\nhave to tread, but when he saw I was resolved on the attempt, he put his\nhand on my shoulder and said, \"There is no young man in the movement I\nwould sooner welcome.\"\n\nIn the very same room, on another Sunday evening a little later, I\nfirst saw James Thomson. He came down to the Hall of Science with Mr.\nBradlaugh, in whose employment he then was, and I gave him the article I\nhad brought for the _National Reformer_. He shook hands very cordially,\nand I was delighted to meet one for whose poetry I had a profound\nadmiration.\n\nIt was also at the Hall of Science, about the same time, that I met the\neccentric Mr. Turberville, brother to Mr. Blackmore, the novelist. He\nwas a man of parts with a bee in his bonnet. He claimed kinship with\nTurberville, a minor poet of the sixteenth century, and he loved to\ntalk of poetry. His knowledge of Shakespeare was profound and minute.\nHe admired Mr. Bradlaugh's perorations immensely, as well as his bold\ndefence of Freethought. He made out a will in Mr. Bradlaugh's favor,\nbut he subsequently made another will, and died in circumstances that\nnecessitated an inquest. By agreement, however, Mr. Bradlaugh obtained\n\u00a32,500 from the estate, and the windfall came opportunely, for his\nstruggles and litigations had involved him in considerable debt. I\nknow he often had to borrow money on heavy interest. One day, at\nTurner-street, he told me that a creditor of this species had coolly\ninvited him to dinner. \"Hang it,\" he said, \"you can't dine with a man\nwho charges you sixty per cent.\"\n\nAnother recollection I have of Mr. Bradlaugh is in connexion with the\nfuneral of Mr. Austin Holyoake. The death of this gentleman was a great\nloss to the Freethought cause. He was highly respected by all who knew\nhim. The geniality of his disposition was such that he had many friends\nand not a single enemy. For some years he was Mr. Bradlaugh's printer\nand publisher, and a frequent contributor to his journal. He was\nforemost in every good work, but he was one of those modest men who\nnever get the credit of their labors. He died at 17 Johnson's-court,\nFleet-street, in an upstairs room above the printing office, where his\ndevoted wife had for many weeks nursed his flickering life. The funeral\nwas a notable event. Those of us who could afford it rode in the\nundertaker's coaches, and the rest walked in procession to Highgate\nCemetery. I can still see Mr. Bradlaugh in my mind's eye, bustling about\non the ground floor, taking everything as usual on his own shoulders. He\nsorted us in fours for the coaches, my _vis \u00e0 vis_ being James Thomson.\nAt the graveside, after the reading of Austin Holyoake's own funeral\nservice by Mr. Charles Watts, Mr. Bradlaugh delivered a brief address\nwhich he had written for the occasion. On the whole it was too much a\ncomposition, but one sentence was true \"Bradlaugh,\" and it sounds in my\nears still:--\"Twenty years of friendship lie buried in that grave.\"\n\nHow such scenes are impressed on one's memory! As I write I see the set\nface of Charles Bradlaugh. I behold the sob-shaken back and bowed\nhead of Herbert Gilham just in front of me. I hear and feel the cool,\nrustling wind, like a plaintive requiem over the dead.\n\nOnce again, years afterwards, I saw Mr. Bradlaugh in the same cemetery,\nsupporting the helpless figure of Mrs. Ernestine Rose as she left the\nopen grave of the dear partner of her long life of labor for the cause\nof human redemption.\n\nOwing to circumstances, into which I need not enter, I saw little of Mr.\nBradlaugh between 1875 and 1880. When he was returned for Northampton\nI rejoiced, and when he was committed to the Clock Tower I saw my duty\nsun-clear. It was to participate as I could, and might, in the struggle.\nMy contributions to Mr. Bradlaugh's journal were resumed, and I spoke\nat meetings in his behalf. In May, 1881, I started the _Freethinker_, my\noldest living child. Mr. Bradlaugh acted with his natural generosity.\nHe advertised my bantling gratuitously in his own journal, and gave it\nevery possible facility. This was not known at the time, but I ought to\nstate it now.\n\nThroughout that long, terrible struggle with the House of Commons I was\nwith Mr. Bradlaugh on every point. If he made a single mistake I\nhave yet to see it indicated. My article in the first number of the\n_Freethinker_ was entitled \"Mr. Bradlaugh's Advisers.\" Its object was to\nshow the absurdity of the plentiful advice offered him, and the absolute\njustice of the course he was pursuing.\n\nThree weeks afterwards the bigots convened a ticket meeting at Exeter\nHall. The chief promoters were Earl Percy, Sir Bartle Frere, and butcher\nVarley. Mr. Bradlaugh was afraid the meeting would have a pre-judicial\neffect on public opinion in the provinces. The fact of the _tickets_\nwould be kept back, and the report would go forth that a vote was\nunanimously passed against him at a big London demonstration. It was\nnecessary, therefore, that the meeting should be _spoiled_. And it\n_was_. Mr. Bradlaugh gave me the task of moving an amendment. We had\na chat in his library at St. John's Wood, and as we parted he said, \"I\nrely on you, Foote.\" He looked at me steadily, holding my eyes as though\nto read the depths.\n\nWe got tickets somehow. But the Protestant Alliance smelt mischief, and\nMr. Bradlaugh's supporters had to fight their way in. Two hundred and\nfifty police were not enough to keep them all out. I was naturally a\nmarked man, and fighting had to be supplemented by diplomacy. When\nthe noble Smithson (Earl Percy), had drivelled for a few minutes as\nchairman, and the resolution against Mr. Bradlaugh had been proposed\nand seconded by Sir John Kennaway and Canon Taylor, I rose to move an\namendment. But the amendment was refused. The resolution was put, and\nthe Christians stood up and voted, while the organ played \"God Save the\nQueen.\" Then, at a signal, our people jumped on the forms, and rent the\nair with cheers for \"Bradlaugh.\" At another signal they all trooped\nout, went off to Trafalgar-square with the big crowd outside, and passed\nresolutions in Mr. Bradlaugh's favor. The bigots' meeting was completely\nspoiled. They had to barricade the doors and keep out their own people\nas well as the enemy; the hall was never half full, and their resolution\nwas passed after refusing an amendment, amidst loud execrations. Such a\nlesson was taught the bigots that they never made another attempt. Mr.\nBradlaugh had trusty lieutenants and stern supporters, and the bigots\nknew he would spoil every _private_ meeting that professed to be\n_public_. He acted with wisdom and determination, and the result showed\nhe knew the stake he was playing for when he said, \"I rely on you,\" with\nthat steady Napoleonic look.\n\n*****\n\nMr. Bradlaugh's legal exploits, if properly recorded, would fill a\ngood-sized volume. When his life is adequately written, as it will be\nsome day, this department will have to be entrusted to a skilled lawyer.\nNo other person could do anything like justice to a most important part\nof the career of one whom the Tories used to call \"that litigious man,\"\nwhen they were trying to ruin him in the law courts and he was only\ndefending himself against their base attacks.\n\nThose who had only known Mr. Bradlaugh as a platform orator had some\ndifficulty in recognising him when they first met him in one of our\n\"halls of justice.\" His whole manner was changed. He was polite,\ninsinuating, and deferential. His attitude towards the judges was\nadmirably calculated to conciliate their favor. I do not mean that _he_\ncalculated. He had quite a superstitious veneration for judges. It was\nperfectly sincere and it never wavered. He would not hear a word against\nthem. When he pleaded before them his personal sentiments ran in a line\nwith his best interests; for although judges are above most temptations,\ntheir vanity is often sensitive, and Mr. Bradlaugh's manner was\nintensely flattering.\n\nHad he followed the legal profession, Mr. Bradlaugh would have easily\nmounted to the top and earned a tremendous income. I have heard some of\nthe cleverest counsel of our time, but I never heard one to be\ncompared with him in grasp, subtlety and agility. He could examine and\ncross-examine with consummate dexterity. In arguing points of law he had\nthe tenacity of a bull-dog and the keenness of a sleuth-hound. He always\nfortified himself with a plethora of \"cases.\" The table in front of him\ngroaned with a weight of law. Here as elsewhere he was \"thorough.\" An\neminent jurisprudist once remarked to me, \"there is little gleaning to\nbe done after Bradlaugh.\"\n\nAs a pleader before juries, however, I doubt whether he would have\nachieved a great success. He was too much of a born orator. He began\nwell, but he soon forgot the limited audience of twelve, and spoke to\na wider circle. This is not the way to humor juries. They like to\nfeel their own importance, and he succeeds best who plays upon their\nweakness. \"Remember,\" their looks say, \"you are talking to _us_; the\nother gentlemen listen accidentally; _we_ make you or damn you.\"\n\nMy first recollection of Mr. Bradlaugh in the law courts is twenty-two\nyears old. How many survivors are there of the friends who filled that\ndingy old court at Westminster where he argued before a full bench of\njudges in 1869? He was prosecuted for note giving sureties in the sum of\n\u00a3400 against the appearance of blasphemy or sedition in his paper. The\nlaw was resuscitated in his single case to crush him; but he fought, as\nhe said he would, to the bitter end, and the Gladstone Government was\nglad to repeal the obsolete enactments. The Crown retired from the\nsuit with a _stet processus_, and Mr. Bradlaugh was left with the\nlaurels--and his costs.\n\nI obtained an hour or two's leave from my employment, and heard a\nportion of Mr. Bradlaugh's argument It gave me a new conception of his\npowers. That is the only impression I retain. The details have dropped\nout of my memory, but there remains as fresh as ever the masterful\nfigure of Charles Bradlaugh.\n\nThe best view I ever had of Mr. Bradlaugh in litigation was in the old\nCourt of Queen's Bench on Tuesday and Wednesday, July 19 and 20, 1881,\nwhen he cross-examined poor Mr. Newdegate. For a good deal of the time\nI sat beside him, and could watch _him_ closely as well as the case. By\nraising the point whether the writ against him for penalties had been\nissued before or after he gave his vote in the House, he-was able to put\nall the parties to the prosecution into-the witness-box and make them\ngive an account of themselves. Mr. Newdegate was one of the victims, and\nthe poor man made confessions that furnished Mr. Bradlaugh with ground\nfor a successful action against him under the law of Maintenance. Mr.\nNewdegate was a hard-mouthed witness, but he-was saddled, bridled, and\nridden to the winning-post. His lips opened literally, making his\nmouth like the slit of a pillar-box. Getting evidence from him was like\nextracting a rotten cork from the neck of a bottle but it all came out\nbit by bit, and the poor man must have left the witness-box feeling\nthat he had delivered himself into the hands of that uncircumcised\nPhilistine. His cross-examination lasted three hours. It was like\nflaying alive. Once or twice I felt qualms of pity for the old man,\nhe was such an abject figure in the hands-of that terrible antagonist.\nEvery card he held had to-be displayed. Finally he had to produce the\nbond of indemnity he had given the common informer Clarke against\nall the expenses he might incur in the suit; When this came out Mr.\nBradlaugh bent down to me and said, \"I have him.\" And he _did_ have him.\nDespite the common notion that the old law of Maintenance was obsolete,\nMr. Bradlaugh pursued him under it triumphantly, and instead of ruining\n\"Bradlaugh,\" poor Newdegate was nearly ruined himself.\n\nWhat a contrast to Mr. Newdegate was Mr. Bradlaugh! He was the very\npicture of suppressed fire, of rampant energies held in leash: the\nnerves of the face playing like the ripple on water, the whole frame\nquivering, and the eyes ablaze. It was wonderful how he managed to keep\nhis intellect alert and his judgment steady. Six hours of such work\nas he had in court that day were enough to tax the greatest strength.\nBefore it was over I saw bodeful blood-rims under his eyes. It did\nnot surprise me, on meeting him at the Cobden Workmen's Club the next\nevening, to learn that he had been frightfully ill. \"Mr. Bradlaugh,\" I\nwrote at the time, \"is a wonderfully strong man, but the Tories and the\nbigots are doing their best to kill him, and if this sort of thing is to\ncontinue very much longer they may succeed.\" Alas, they _did_ succeed.\nThat terrible struggle killed him. No man ever lived who could have\npassed through it unbroken.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh was clearly right on the point raised, but the jury went\nagainst him, apparently out of sheer prejudice. When he went out into\nWestminster Hall he was loudly cheered by a crowd of sympathisers, who,\nas the _Times_ sneered, \"applauded as lustily as though their champion\nhad won.\" Precisely so. Their applause would have greeted him in the\nworst defeat. He was not a champion on whom they had \"put their money.\"\nHe represented their principles, and the _Times_ forgot, if it ever\nknew, that men are devoted to leaders in proportion to the depth of the\ninterests they espouse. Conviction \"bears it out even to the edge of\ndoom.\"\n\nNow let me mention something that shows Mr. Bradlaugh's tact and\nconsideration. My work on the _Freethinker_ brought me no return. I had\njust read the proof of an article for Mr. Bradlaugh's paper. While we\nwere waiting for the jury's verdict he referred to the article, and\nguessing my need he said, \"Shall I give you the guinea now?\" My answer\nwas an expressive shrug and a motion of the eye-brows.\n\nTaking the two coins out of his pocket, he wrapt them in a piece of\npaper _under the table_, and presently slipped the packet into my hand.\nThe whole proceeding touches me deeply as I recall it. He might well\nhave thought only of himself in that time of suspense; but he thought of\nme too, and the precautions he took against being seen to pay me money\nwere expressive of his inbred delicacy. Reader do not say the incident\nis trivial. These little things reveal the man.\n\nLittle did I dream, as I watched Mr. Bradlaugh fighting bigotry in the\nlaw courts, that the time would come when he and I would be included in\na common indictment and stand in a criminal dock together. But as the\nFrench say, it is always the unexpected that happens. Early in July,\n1882, I was served with a summons from the Lord Mayor of London,\nordering me to appear at the Mansion House on the following Tuesday\nand take my trial on a charge of Blasphemy. Two other gentlemen were\nincluded in the summons, and all three of us duly appeared. We were all\nmembers of the National Secular Society, and Mr. Bradlaugh attended to\nrender any possible assistance. The case was adjourned to the following\nMonday, by which time a summons had been served on Mr. Bradlaugh,\nwho took his place beside us in the dock. After an animated day's\nproceedings we were committed for trial at the Old Bailey.\n\nThe object of this prosecution was, of course, to stab Mr. Bradlaugh in\nthe back. He had fought all the bigots face to face, and held them all\nat bay; so they put a stiletto into Sir Hardinge Giffard's hands, and\npaid him his blood-money to attack the hero from behind.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh had to play the fox again. He wanted to gain time, and he\nwanted to be tried, if at all, in the Court of Queen's Bench. He always\ntold me that being tried at the Old Bailey was going like a lamb to\nthe slaughter, and that a verdict of guilty there would certainly mean\ntwelve months' imprisonment. The obvious resource, therefore, was to\nobtain a writ of _certiorari_ removing our indictment to the superior\ncourt. Happily it was in the long vacation, and application had to be\nmade to a judge in chambers. By another piece of good luck, it was Mr.\nJustice Stephen who sat behind the table on the fatal morning when the\nwrit had to be finally granted or refused. It was obtained on July 29,\n1882. Poor Mr. Maloney, who represented the prosecution, was no match\nfor Mr. Bradlaugh, who treated him like a child, and only let him say a\nword now and then as a special favor.\n\nRoaming the law courts with Mr. Bradlaugh, I was able to see his\nintimate knowledge of legal practice. He threaded the labyrinth with\nconsummate ease and dexterity. We went from office to office, where\neverything seemed designed to baffle suitors conducting their own cases.\nOur case, too, was somewhat peculiar; obsolete technicalities, only half\nintelligible even to experts, met us at every turn; and when we got out\ninto the open air I felt that the thing was indeed done, but that it\nwould puzzle omniscience to do it in exactly the same way again. Seven\npounds was spent on stamps, documents, and other items, and securities\nfor costs had to be given to the extent of six hundred pounds. As I\nwalked home I pondered the great truth that England is a free country. I\nhad seen with my own eyes that _there is_ one law for rich and poor. But\nI could not help reflecting that only the rich could afford it, and that\nthe poor might as well have no law at all.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh next moved to quash the indictment. He argued that the\npublic prosecutor's fiat was bad, as it did not name the persons who\nwere to be proceeded against, and thus resembled a general warrant,\nwhich in the famous Wilkes case the judges had held to be invalid. On\nthis point, however, two judges, one of them being Sir James Stephen,\ngave judgment against him. The case was argued on Mr. Bradlaugh's part,\nthe judges said, with \"great power and learning.\" For my part, I think\nhe showed a greater knowledge of \"cases\" than both the legal luminaries\non the bench, who laid their heads close together over many a knotty\npoint of the argument.\n\nBeaten on the main issue, Mr. Bradlaugh was successful, however, on\nthe subsidiary one. Two counts were struck out of the indictment. The\nexcision made no difference to me, but a great deal of difference to\nhim. Two numbers of the _Freethinker_ were thus disposed of bearing\nthe imprint of the Freethought Publishing Company--under which name Mr.\nBradlaugh and Mrs. Beasant traded--and owing to the lapse of time it\nwas impossible to open a fresh indictment. Of course I saw what Mr.\nBradlaugh was driving at, and I could not but admire the way in which he\nmade light of this point, arguing it baldly as a formal matter on which,\nas their lordships would see at a glance, he was absolutely entitled\nto a judgment. They would see that he was still open to all the other\ncounts of the indictment, and therefore it might make very little\ndifference, but right was right and law was law. Under the spell of\nhis persuasive speech, it was amazing to see the judges smoothing their\nwrinkled fronts. I fancy they gave him his second point the more readily\nbecause they were against him on the first; indeed, they seemed to think\nit a pity, if not a shame, that all his learning and ability should be\ndisplayed for _nothing_.\n\nOur indictment went into the list of Crown Cases Reserved, and did not\ncome on for trial till the following April. Meanwhile I was prosecuted\nagain, and failing to get a writ of _certiorari_, owing to the flagrant\nbigotry of Baron Huddleston and Justice North, I was tried at the Old\nBailey, and sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment like a common\nthief--as Mr. Bradlaugh had predicted.\n\nDuring my trouble Mr. Bradlaugh lent me every assistance, furnishing\nme with legal books and advice and visiting me in Newgate between the\nfirst and second trials, while Judge North's underlings were preparing a\nmore pliant jury than the one which had declined to return a verdict of\nguilty.\n\nIn Holloway Gaol I lost sight of Mr. Bradlaugh and everyone else, except\npersons I had no desire to see. But one morning, early in April, 1883,\nthe Governor informed me that Mr. Bradlaugh was going to pay me a visit,\nhaving the Home Secretary's order to see me on urgent business. The same\nafternoon I was marched from my cell into one of the Governor's offices,\nwhere Mr. Bradlaugh was wailing. Compared with the pale prisoners I saw\nday by day, he looked the very picture of health. Fresh, clean-shaven,\nneatly dressed, he was a most refreshing sight to eyes accustomed to\nrough faces and the brown convict's garb. And it was a friend too, and I\ncould take his hand and exchange human speech with him. How vivid is\nmy recollection of him at that moment! He seemed in the prime of life,\nlittle the worse for his terrible struggles, only the gray a trifle more\ndecided about the temples, but the eyes full of light, and the mobile\nmouth full of vitality. And now he is dead! Dead! It is hard to realise.\nBut I rang the muffled bell as he lay fighting his last battle, and I\nfollowed his corpse to the grave; and I know that the worm is busy about\nthose leonine features, and the rain trickles through with a scent of\nfaded flowers. Yes, it is true; he _is_ dead. Dead like the king and\ndead like the clown; yet living truly beyond the dust of death in\nthe lives of others, an inextinguishable light, a vivifying fire, a\npassionate hope, an ardent aspiration.\n\n                      Till the Future dares\n     Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be\n     An echo and a light unto eternity.\n\nOn the morning of April 10, 1883, I put on my own clothes and was driven\nin a four-wheeler from Holloway Gaol to the Law Courts, in company\nwith Warder Smith, who superintended the wing of the prison in which a\ngrateful country lodged and boarded me at its own expense. It was lovely\nspring weather, and I felt like a man new-born.\n\nInside the court where the great Blasphemy case was to be tried I found\nMr. Bradlaugh with his usual load of law books. The court was crowded\nwith friends of the defendants and legal gentlemen anxious to witness\nthe performance.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh applied for a separate trial, on the ground that as there\nwas no charge of conspiracy it was unjust to prejudice his case by\nevidence admitted against his co-defendants; and Lord Coleridge, who\nobviously meant to see fair play, granted the application.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh's position was, in one sense, the most perilous he had\never stood in. Just as his long litigation with respect to his seat in\nParliament was drawing to a close, and as he believed to a _successful_\nclose, he had to defend himself against a charge which, if he were\nproved guilty, would entail upon him the penalty of imprisonment. Of\ncourse it would not have been such imprisonment as I was suffering, for\nQueen's Bench prisoners are generally sent to the civil side of Holloway\nGaol. But _any_ imprisonment at such a moment gravely imperilled his\nprospects of success in the mighty struggle with wealth, bigotry, and\npolitical prejudice. A sense of this fact weighed heavily upon him, but\nit did not impair his energy or intellectual alertness; indeed, he was\none of those rare men whose faculties are sharpened by danger.\n\nI need not dwell upon the evidence of the prosecution. It was\nmost unsatisfactory, and failed to connect Mr. Bradlaugh with the\n_Freethinker_. Sir Hardinge Giffard, therefore, almost entirely confined\nhimself to playing upon the prejudices of the jury.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh was perfection itself in examining and cross-examining,\nand was soon on the windward side of the judge, but his address to the\njury was too boisterous. He _felt_ too much. His adversary was not\nunder this disadvantage, and Sir Hardinge Giffard's address to the\njury, considered merely as a tactical display, was better than Mr.\nBradlaugh's.\n\nOn the second day of the trial (it lasted for three days) there\noccurred a curious episode. Just before the adjournment for luncheon Mr.\nBradlaugh intimated that when the Court re-assembled he would call his\nco-defendants as witnesses. Lord Coleridge replied in a low, suggestive\ntone, \"Do you think it necessary?\" Mr. Bradlaugh rose and for the first\ntime I saw him tremble. \"My lord,\" he said, \"you put upon me a\ngrave responsibility.\" \"I put no responsibility upon you,\" said Lord\nColeridge, \"it is for you to decide.\" And the stately judge glided away\nin his robes of office.\n\nIf Mr. Bradlaugh put his co-defendants in the witness-box, one of two\nthings might happen. They might decline to give evidence, as every\nanswer would tend to criminate themselves; or they might exculpate Mr.\nBradlaugh and procure their own damnation.\n\nI do not blame Lord Coleridge for looking at the matter in this way.\nBut I naturally looked at it in a different light Mr. Bradlaugh was\nmy general, and I was his lieutenant, and it was clearly my duty to\nsacrifice myself. I could release him from danger with half a dozen\nwords, and why should I hesitate to say them or he to exact them? I\nwas already in prison, and another conviction could add little to my\nmisfortune, whereas he was still free, and his continued freedom was\njust then absolutely indispensable to our common cause. For my part, I\nhad not a moment's hesitation. But Lord Coleridge's words sank into Mr.\nBradlaugh's mind, and after luncheon he announced that he would _not_\ncall his co-defendants. His lordship looked pleased, but how he frowned\nwhen Sir Hardinge Giffard complained that _he_ was deprived of an\nopportunity! Lord Coleridge did not say, but he _looked_--\"Have you no\nsense of decency?\" Sir Hardinge Giffard, however, was thick-skinned. He\nrelied on Mr. Bradlaugh's sense of honor, and made it the basis of an\nartificial grievance. He even pretended that Mr. Bradlaugh was _afraid_\nto call his co-defendants. But he overreached himself by this hypocrisy,\nand obliged Mr. Bradlaugh to put his co-defendants into the witness-box.\nWe were formally tendered as witnesses, Mr. Bradlaugh going no further,\nand leaving Sir Hardinge Giffard to do as he would. Of course he was\nobliged to interrogate us, or look foolish after his braggadocio, and\nin doing so he ruined his own case by giving us the opportunity! of\ndeclaring that Mr. Bradlaugh was never in any way connected with the\n_Freethinker_.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh, of course, did not in any sense sacrifice me. It would\nhave been contemptible on my part to let him bear any responsibility for\nmy own deliberate action, in which he was not at all implicated, and\nif I had not been tendered as a witness I should have tried to tender\nmyself.\n\nAfter half an hour's deliberation the jury found Mr. Bradlaugh not\nguilty. Standing up for the verdict, with pale set face, the grateful\nlittle \"not\" fell upon his ear, and his rigidity relaxed. Tears started\nto _my_ eyes, and I saw the tears in _his_ eyes as I squeezed his hand\nin speechless congratulation.\n\nMy own trial followed Mr. Bradlaugh's, and I was not found guilty. Three\nmembers of the jury held out against a verdict that would have disgraced\na free country; and as the prosecution despaired of obtaining a verdict\nwhile Lord Coleridge presided at the trial, the Attorney-General was\nasked to allow the abandonment of proceedings. This he granted, the case\nwas struck off the list, and I returned to my prison cell at Holloway.\n\nLet me now go back to the crowning incident of that long struggle\nbetween Charles Bradlaugh and the House of Commons. On May 10, 1881, the\nHouse passed a resolution authorising the Sergeant-at-Arms to prevent\nMr. Bradlaugh from entering. On June 20, the jury gave a verdict in Mr.\nNewdegate's favor for the \u00a3500 penalty and costs. A motion for a new\ntrial failed, and Mr. Bradlaugh appealed to the country. Enthusiastic\nmeetings were held in his behalf, and he prepared a fresh _coup_. It had\nto be something striking, and it was. On the morning of August 3 Palace\nYard and Westminster Hall were thronged with his supporters. Every one\nwas armed with a petition, which he had a legal right to take to the\nHouse of Commons. Mr. Bradlaugh himself drove up in a hansom cab, and\nentered the precincts of the House by the private door. He made his way\nto the door of the House itself and tried to enter by a sudden effort,\nbut he was seized by fourteen officials and stalwart policemen, picked\nfor the work, and thrust back through the private passage into Palace\nYard. Not expecting such indignity, he contested every inch of the\nground. Inspector Denning said he never thought that one man could\nhave offered such resistance. The small muscles of both his arms\nwere ruptured, and a subsequent attack of erysipelas put his life in\njeopardy.\n\nWhen he was finally thrust on to the pavement in Palace Yard his coat\nwas torn and the rest of his garments were disarranged. His face was\nlivid with the intense exertion when I saw him a minute afterwards.\nThere he stood, a great mass of panting, valiant manhood, his features\nset like granite, and his eyes fixed upon the doorway before him. He\nseemed to see nothing but that doorway. I spoke to him, and he seemed\nnot to hear. I believe a mighty struggle was going on within him,\nperhaps the greatest struggle of his life. He had suffered a frightful\nindignity, he must have been tempted to avenge it, and he had but to\nhold up his hand to bring around and behind him the myriads who stood\noutside the railings. The action would have been impolitic, but what a\ntemptation he crushed down, and what an effort it necessitated. Never\nwas his heroic nature more sorely tried. He justified his mastery of\nothers by his mastery of himself. How small in comparison seemed the\nmob of his enemies! I never admired him more than at that moment. He was\nsuperb, sublime. They had wound their meshes about him, and the lion had\nburst them. One swift, daring stroke had frustrated all their plans. He\nwho was to be quietly suppressed by resolutions of the House had cut\nthe knot of their policy asunder, made himself the hero of the hour, and\nfixed the nation's eyes on his splendid audacity.\n\nReaction set in after that terrible struggle, and he accepted a chair\nthat was brought him. Several members passed as he sat there. One of\nthem was the coward, Frank Hugh O'Donnell. He had a lady on his arm,\nand he passed with her between himself and Mr. Bradlaugh, so that\nher dress trailed over the hero's feet. It was a wretched display of\ninsolence and cowardice. But the lady must be exonerated. She looked\nannoyed, her cheeks reddened, and her eyelids fell. It is so hard for\na woman to resist the attraction of courage, and the coward by her side\nmust have suffered in her estimation.\n\nThere was a crowded meeting that evening at the Hall of Science,\nat which I had the honor of speaking, Mr. Bradlaugh's greeting was\ntremendous. Two days afterwards he was seriously ill.\n\nDuring that great constitutional struggle I was present at many\n\"Bradlaugh\" meetings, and I never witnessed such enthusiasm as he\nexcited. No man of my time had such a devoted following.\n\nThe last \"Bradlaugh\" demonstration I attended was on February 15, 1883,\nin Trafalgar-square. Seventy or eighty thousand people were present.\nThere were four speakers, and three of them are dead, Joseph Arch being\nthe sole survivor. Mr. Adams, of Northampton, lived to see his old\nfriend take his seat and do good work in the House of Commons, became\nhimself Mayor of Northampton, and died universally respected by his\nfellow-townsmen; William Sharman, a brave, true man, is buried at\nPreston; and Charles Bradlaugh sleeps his long sleep at Woking.\n\nFor another twelve months I attended no public meetings except the\nsilent ones on the exercise ground of Holloway Gaol, But I saw Mr.\nBradlaugh at several demonstrations on various subjects after my\nimprisonment, and I could perceive no abatement of his popularity. He\nhad his enemies and detractors, but the spontaneous outburst of feeling\nat his death proved his hold on the popular heart.\n\nI must now leap forward to that dreadful illness which left him a\nbroken man. Years before, in 1882, when we were roaming the Law Courts\ntogether, he tapped his chest as he coughed, and seeing my anxious\nexpression he told me that he brought up a good deal of phlegm in the\nmorning, and that strangers who heard him clearing his chest would\nfancy he was very ill. But he looked so well that I soon dismissed the\nunpleasant fact, though it returned before his breakdown when I saw\nhe was obliged to cancel engagements. I heard in 1884, though not from\nhimself, that he had some heart trouble. But I was far from prepared for\nthe shattering illness that laid him low in October, 1889.\n\nWhen I called to see him after his partial recovery I was shocked by his\nappearance. He looked twenty years older, grey, and infirm. I sat down\nhalf-dazed. Theoretically I knew he was mortal, but I did not realise it\nas a fact until I saw him thin and pale from the valley of the shadow of\ndeath. His mind was clear enough, however; and although everything about\nhim was pathetic he was quite self-collected.\n\nOne thing he said to me I shall never forget. There had been talk of his\nwavering in his Freethought, and as he referred to this folly he spoke\nin grave impressive tones. Pointing to the humble bed, he said, \"When\nI lay there and all was black the thing that troubled me least was the\nconvictions of my life.\"\n\nWords and accents were alike solemn. The cold shadow of death seemed to\nlinger in the room. A moment or two later he said with a broken voice,\n\"The Freethought party is a party that I love.\"\n\nThe memory of that interview will always be a precious possession. I\ntreasure it with the sacred things of my life. I had seen and touched\nthe naked sincerity of a great soul.\n\nWhen Mr. Bradlaugh returned from India I called on him, and found him\ngreatly improved by his voyage. I waited for him a few minutes in his\nlibrary, as he was at lunch, and the doctors attached great importance\nto regularity in his meals. He came into the room with a most genial\nsmile. His air was fresh and buoyant, and he walked over to me quickly,\nholding out his hand all the way. I took it heartily, and had a good\nlook at him, which satisfied and yet dissatisfied me. He was certainly\nbetter, but I could not help feeling that his constitution was\nirrecoverably broken. Never again could I hope to see the grand\nBradlaugh of the old fighting days. His mind was as brave and alert as\never, but the body was too obviously disabled.\n\nHe showed me some of his Indian presents, of which he was justly proud,\nand then we sat down to chat. He was full of his voyage and the kindness\nhe had experienced on every side. His reception in India had exceeded\nhis highest anticipations, and he was looking forward to work in the\nHouse of Commons on behalf of our great Dependency.\n\nSpeaking of his financial prospects, he told me he had received offers\nof work from several magazine editors. But he added, \"one doesn't know\nhow long it will last; 'tis a precarious business.\" His face clouded for\na moment, and I saw he was more troubled than he cared to say.\n\nOne thing he told me which I had no right to repeat while he lived, but\nI may repeat it without a breach of confidence now that he is dead.\n\nDuring his brief stay in India he could have had plenty of money if\nhe had been less scrupulous. There was nothing very dishonourable in\naccepting money from rich Hindoos, for he was poor and broken in health,\nand he was fighting for their best interests. But he was too proud to\ntake it, and when wealthy natives were calling on him, he always took\nthe precaution to have an English friend in the room.\n\n\"No,\" he said to me, \"I cannot do that. I'll live like the old\nBradlaugh, or I'll go under.\"\n\nHe lived like the old Bradlaugh, and he went under. He took to the\nplatform again to earn a livelihood, and it killed him, as his doctors\nhad foreseen. I implored him at the time not to resume the lecturing. He\nwas going to fulfil an old-standing engagement at Manchester in the\nvast St. James's Hall, and I begged him to cancel it. He replied that he\ncould not afford to forfeit twenty pounds. \"What is that to your life?\"\nI asked. He only smiled grimly. His mind was made up, and he was not to\nbe bent by advice.\n\nOn Sunday morning, February 16, 1890, Mr. Bradlaugh resigned his\npresidency of the National Secular Society, which he had held for so\nmany years. The Hall of Science was packed with members, chiefly from\nthe London district, but many of them from the provinces.\n\nThe scene was infinitely pathetic. One sentiment reigned in every heart.\nThe Old Guard was taking leave of its General. Some of them had fought\naround him for thirty years, and the farewell was a mutilation of their\nvery lives. Tears were streaming down strong faces; and they coursed\ndown the strongest face of all, the face of Charles Bradlaugh, and\nplashed on the table before him. For a while he let them fall, and then\nhe controlled his grief and rose to speak. But the words would not come.\nHis frame shook with a great sob, and he sat down again. A second time\nhe rose and failed. But the third time his strong will prevailed, and he\nbegan to speak in low, trembling tones.\n\nNever was I so struck with his oratorical powers as on this occasion.\nWithout once lifting his voice above the note of conversation, he swayed\nthe meeting for a full half-hour, as easily and universally as the wind\nbillows a cornfield.\n\nIn resigning the presidency he thought it his duty to nominate a\nsuccessor, and his choice was ratified by the meeting. He handed me the\npresident's hammer after a solemn, impressive apostrophe, in which he\nexpressed his hope that he might thank me, after many years, for good,\nloyal work as leader; and when I had acknowledged the lofty honor he\nrose to vacate the chair. Naturally I declined to let him do anything of\nthe kind, and for a moment the two Presidents stood together in friendly\naltercation. But for once he gave way, and Charles Bradlaugh filled the\nchair to the last.\n\nResigning the Presidency did not mean retirement from the National\nSecular Society. At his own suggestion Mr. Bradlaugh was elected a\nlife-member. He was thus a member of the Society up to the last moment\nof his life. Nor was he an inactive one. I frequently had occasion to\nconsult him, and one of his last bits of work was the drawing up of a\nlong document for the Society on Secular Burials.\n\nMonths rolled by, and the evening came for the great debate on the Eight\nflours Bill between Mr. Bradlaugh and Mr. Hyndman. St. James's Hall was\npacked to suffocation. I sat on the platform near my old leader, and\nI saw how the effort was telling on him. His opponents in the meeting\nbehaved with incredible brutality. Some of them laughed aloud when he\nsaid, \"Believe me, this has tried me more than I had thought.\" But now\nthe hero they laughed at is dead, and they _know_ that he spoke the\ntruth.\n\nThe last time I saw Mr. Bradlaugh in public was on Wednesday evening,\nDecember 10, 1890, when he lectured at the Hall of Science on behalf\nof the Forder Testimonial Fund. I believe that was the last lecture he\ndelivered there, if not the last lecture he delivered anywhere. He dealt\nwith the Evidences of Christianity, in reference to Archdeacon Watkins'\nlectures on the Fourth Gospel, and assuredly he was as firmly sceptical\nas ever. At the close of the lecture he spoke of his theological\nposition, and declared that he could not conceive of any such change of\nmind as glib gossipers were asserting of him.\n\nThe weather was extremely foggy, and Mr. Bradlaugh was ill. He ought\nnot to have been there at all. After struggling painfully through the\nlecture, he sat down and waited for discussion. A Christian opponent\nrose, and Mr. Bradlaugh replied; but, being in the chair, I would not\nallow a second speech, and I was glad to see him well wrapt-up, and once\nmore in the care of his devoted daughter.\n\n*****\n\nHaving concluded my reminiscences of Charles Bradlaugh in relation to\nthe _events_ of his life, I shall wind up with a little personal talk of\na more general character.\n\nI have already referred to Mr. Bradlaugh's extraordinary knowledge\nof the law. This was strikingly illustrated after the so-called\nTrafalgar-square riots. The Tories made a wanton aggression on the right\nof public meeting in London, and found a ready instrument of tyranny\nin Sir Charles Warren. No doubt there is much to be said against\npromiscuous meetings in Trafalgar-square at all hours of the day and\nnight, but it was a high-handed act of brutality to prohibit _all_\nmeetings directly it was known that the London Radicals were convening\na Sunday demonstration on the Irish question. While the Radicals were\nchafing under this insult they held several stormy meetings to discuss\ntheir best policy, and at last a Committee was appointed to find out, if\npossible, the legal rights, of the people and the Crown. I was a member\nof that committee, and I am able to state that although we waited on\nseveral eminent lawyers, it was only from Mr. Bradlaugh that we obtained\nany light. The others talked vaguely about the right of public meeting,\nand the primary and secondary uses of public thoroughfares, but Mr.\nBradlaugh gave us the _facts_ of the case. Trafalgar-square was Crown\nproperty, its control was vested in the Commissioner of Works, and at\nany moment it could be absolutely closed to the British public.\n\nThis had escaped the other lawyers, who did not find it in the Statutes\nat Large, from which the Trafalgar-square Act, probably as being a\nprivate one, had been excluded. Nor was it known to the Government when\nSir Charles Warren issued his first proclamation, As Chief Commissioner\nof Police he had no authority-over the Square, and until he obtained\nthe order of its proper guardians, which he did a week later, his\nproclamation was only a piece of waste paper, Mr. Bradlaugh saw this,\nthough he said nothing, when the demonstration committee called upon him\na few days before Bloody Sunday. He told them that he had an\nengagement in the provinces on that day, but if they would postpone the\ndemonstration until the following Sunday he would himself lead it to\nTrafalgar-square. His offer was not accepted, however; for the committee\nresented the condition he stipulated, namely, that he should have\nabsolute control of the arrangements. They thought he was taking too\nmuch upon himself. They did not reflect that if he who takes power\nwithout responsibility is a despot, he who takes responsibility without\npower is a fool. It was their action, and not his, that lost the battle.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh made no public parade of his brave offer. It was not his\nway. But it is due to his memory that it should be put on record, so\nthat posterity may know the extent of his generous courage.\n\nThere can be no doubt, I think, that Mr. Bradlaugh was less popular with\nthe working-classes in London after he took peaceable possession of his\nseat in Parliament. The London masses love a fighter, and while he was\nbattling for his seat he was, in my opinion, the most popular figure in\nthe metropolis. The Radical workmen never tired of his demonstrations.\nHe could bring fifty or a hundred thousand of them together at a few\ndays' notice. And the other speakers were, for the most part, only\npadding to fill up the time. It was \"Bradlaugh\" the multitude came for.\nThey waited to hear him speak, they applauded him to the skies, and when\nhe had done they dispersed. And on such occasions he was magnificent. No\none can conceive the power of the man who never saw him at one of\nthese demonstrations. He stood like a Pharos, and the light of his face\nkindled the crests of the living waves around him.\n\nBut he was out of sympathy with the Socialist movement, which began to\nspread just as he took his seat; and being assiduous in Parliament,\nhe was drawn more and more from \"the Clubs,\" where his libellers\nand detractors wagged their tongues to some purpose. His strong\nindividualism, as well as his practical good sense, made him bitterly\nhostile to the mildest proposals for putting the people's industrial\ninterests into the hands of Government departments. And being a man of\nmost positive quality, it was natural that he should excite the hatred\nof the more fanatical Socialists; a sentiment which, I cannot help\nthinking, he exasperated by his apparent denial of the generosity of\ntheir aims. There are men in the Socialist camp (and I say it without\nbeing a Socialist) who are neither \"poets\" nor \"fools\"--though it is\nno disgrace to be the former; men who have studied with severity\nand sincerity, who have made sacrifices for conviction, and who were\nsometimes hurt by his antipathy. But, on the other hand, he was bitterly\ngoaded by Socialist adversaries, who denied his honesty, and held him up\nto undeserved scorn as the hireling of \"the classes\"--a charge which the\nmore sensitive among them must now repent, for his death has revealed\nhis poverty.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh was naturally irritable, but the irritability was only on\nthe surface. The waves were easily raised, but there was plenty of quiet\nsea beneath. Though giants are often phlegmatic, his big frame embedded\nhighly-strung nerves. When he was put out he could storm, and he was\nmisunderstood by those who took the mood for the man. Had they seen him\nin the melting mood they would have learnt that Charles Bradlaugh was a\nmore composite personality than they imagined.\n\nDuring the last year or two of his life he underwent a wonderful\nsoftening. A beautiful Indian-summer light rested upon him. He was like\na granite rock, which the sweet grass has overgrown, and from whose\ncrevices peep lovely wild flowers.\n\n*****\n\nAs President of the National Secular Society he did a great work. I do\nnot think he had a pronounced faculty for organisation. But he was a\nfirm, sagacious leader, with the personal magnetism to attract devotion.\nThat he was never overbearing I will not affirm. But it is easy to\norganise sheep. One good dog will do it. Mr. Bradlaugh had to hold\ntogether a different species, with leaping legs, butting horns, and a\nless gregarious tendency.\n\nHe was a splendid chairman to push through a mass of business, but he\nshone less on ordinary occasions. An ideal chairman, when not promoting\nhis own schemes, should be like a midwife; he should aim at a quick\ndelivery and a safe birth. Mr. Bradlaugh did not always observe this\nrule. But every man has the defects of his qualities, and even the sun\nmust be taken with its spots.\n\nMr. Bradlaugh's speeches at the annual Conferences of the National\nSecular Society are better reading than his political speeches. Being\nless in the world of practice there, and more in the world of principle,\nhe gave play to his ideal nature, his words took color, and metaphors\nflashed like jewels in the sword of his orations. It was a signal proof\nof his power, that after a whole day's exhausting work, both to himself\nand his audience, he never failed to rouse the wildest enthusiasm.\n\nNow that Mr. Bradlaugh is dead I do not hesitate to repeat what I said\nduring his lifetime, that his Freethought work was the most fecund and\nimportant. Even his great battle against the House of Commons was\nfor religious freedom against bigotry, and his one great legislative\nachievement was the Act dealing with Oaths and Affirmation. His\nstaunchest political supporters were his Freethought followers. His\nlectures, his personal influence, and his reputation, leavened the\npublic mind more than his orthodox enemies suspected, and he created\na vast quantity of raw material to be utilised by his successors in\nSecular organisation.\n\n*****\n\nIn the foregoing pages I have attempted no complete sketch of Charles\nBradlaugh. I have written, not a monograph, but a number of rough\njottings. Yet I hope I have conveyed an impression of the man, in some\ndegree faithful, to those who may have been imperfectly acquainted with\nhim; and I trust the features I have presented, however baldly outlined,\nwill be recognised by those who knew and loved him.\n\nWhen all is said and done, I think the final impression one retains of\nCharles Bradlaugh is his _heroism_. His was cast in a great mould of\nmind and character, as well as body. Like every hero the world has ever\nseen, he had his defects and failings, for it is given to no man to be\nperfect. But positive excellence, with all its drawbacks, is far above\nnegative merit. \"Thou shalt\" is loftier virtue than \"thou shalt not,\"\nand the hero is superior to the saint.\n\nCharles Bradlaugh was a colossus of manhood. He was one to design, and\ndare, and do. The beaten path of mediocrity had no attraction for that\npotent spirit. He belonged to the heroic type which seeks perilous ways\nand fresh conquests. Like the hero of one of Browning's poems, he was\n\"ever a fighter.\" In stormy times he naturally rose to the top. He was\none of the select few, not of those who enrich the world with great\ndiscoveries, or new principles, or subtle perceptions of beauty--but\nthose who appeal to the heroism of man's nature, without which he is\nat best but a splendid beast, and who minister to that sense of dignity\nwhich is the supreme necessity of our race.\n\n     The elements So mixed in him, that\n     Nature might stand up\n     And say to all the world,\n     \"This was a man!\"","title":"Reminiscences of Charles Bradlaugh","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":13455}