Self Help

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Energy usually displays itself in promptitude and decision. When
Ledyard the traveller was asked by the African Association when he
would be ready to set out for Africa, he immediately answered, "To-
morrow morning." Blucher's promptitude obtained for him the
cognomen of "Marshal Forwards" throughout the Prussian army. When
John Jervis, afterwards Earl St. Vincent, was asked when he would
be ready to join his ship, he replied, "Directly." And when Sir
Colin Campbell, appointed to the command of the Indian army, was
asked when he could set out, his answer was, "To-morrow,"--an
earnest of his subsequent success. For it is rapid decision, and a
similar promptitude in action, such as taking instant advantage of
an enemy's mistakes, that so often wins battles. "At Arcola," said
Napoleon, "I won the battle with twenty-five horsemen. I seized a
moment of lassitude, gave every man a trumpet, and gained the day
with this handful. Two armies are two bodies which meet and
endeavour to frighten each other: a moment of panic occurs, and
THAT MOMENT must be turned to advantage." "Every moment lost,"
said he at another time, "gives an opportunity for misfortune;" and
he declared that he beat the Austrians because they never knew the
value of time: while they dawdled, he overthrew them.

India has, during the last century, been a great field for the
display of British energy. From Clive to Havelock and Clyde there
is a long and honourable roll of distinguished names in Indian
legislation and warfare,--such as Wellesley, Metcalfe, Outram,
Edwardes, and the Lawrences. Another great but sullied name is
that of Warren Hastings--a man of dauntless will and indefatigable
industry. His family was ancient and illustrious; but their
vicissitudes of fortune and ill-requited loyalty in the cause of
the Stuarts, brought them to poverty, and the family estate at
Daylesford, of which they had been lords of the manor for hundreds
of years, at length passed from their hands. The last Hastings of
Daylesford had, however, presented the parish living to his second
son; and it was in his house, many years later, that Warren
Hastings, his grandson, was born. The boy learnt his letters at
the village school, on the same bench with the children of the
peasantry. He played in the fields which his fathers had owned;
and what the loyal and brave Hastings of Daylesford HAD been, was
ever in the boy's thoughts. His young ambition was fired, and it
is said that one summer's day, when only seven years old, as he
laid him down on the bank of the stream which flowed through the
domain, he formed in his mind the resolution that he would yet
recover possession of the family lands. It was the romantic vision
of a boy; yet he lived to realize it. The dream became a passion,
rooted in his very life; and he pursued his determination through
youth up to manhood, with that calm but indomitable force of will
which was the most striking peculiarity of his character. The
orphan boy became one of the most powerful men of his time; he
retrieved the fortunes of his line; bought back the old estate, and
rebuilt the family mansion. "When, under a tropical sun," says
Macaulay, "he ruled fifty millions of Asiatics, his hopes, amidst
all the cares of war, finance, and legislation, still pointed to
Daylesford. And when his long public life, so singularly chequered
with good and evil, with glory and obloquy, had at length closed
for ever, it was to Daylesford that he retired to die."

Sir Charles Napier was another Indian leader of extraordinary
courage and determination. He once said of the difficulties with
which he was surrounded in one of his campaigns, "They only make my
feet go deeper into the ground." His battle of Meeanee was one of
the most extraordinary feats in history. With 2000 men, of whom
only 400 were Europeans, he encountered an army of 35,000 hardy and
well-armed Beloochees. It was an act, apparently, of the most
daring temerity, but the general had faith in himself and in his
men. He charged the Belooch centre up a high bank which formed
their rampart in front, and for three mortal hours the battle
raged. Each man of that small force, inspired by the chief, became
for the time a hero. The Beloochees, though twenty to one, were
driven back, but with their faces to the foe. It is this sort of
pluck, tenacity, and determined perseverance which wins soldiers'
battles, and, indeed, every battle. It is the one neck nearer that
wins the race and shows the blood; it is the one march more that
wins the campaign; the five minutes' more persistent courage that
wins the fight. Though your force be less than another's, you
equal and outmaster your opponent if you continue it longer and
concentrate it more. The reply of the Spartan father, who said to
his son, when complaining that his sword was too short, "Add a step
to it," is applicable to everything in life.

Napier took the right method of inspiring his men with his own
heroic spirit. He worked as hard as any private in the ranks.
"The great art of commanding," he said, "is to take a fair share of
the work. The man who leads an army cannot succeed unless his
whole mind is thrown into his work. The more trouble, the more
labour must be given; the more danger, the more pluck must be
shown, till all is overpowered." A young officer who accompanied
him in his campaign in the Cutchee Hills, once said, "When I see
that old man incessantly on his horse, how can I be idle who am
young and strong? I would go into a loaded cannon's mouth if he
ordered me." This remark, when repeated to Napier, he said was
ample reward for his toils. The anecdote of his interview with the
Indian juggler strikingly illustrates his cool courage as well as
his remarkable simplicity and honesty of character. On one
occasion, after the Indian battles, a famous juggler visited the
camp and performed his feats before the General, his family, and
staff. Among other performances, this man cut in two with a stroke
of his sword a lime or lemon placed in the hand of his assistant.
Napier thought there was some collusion between the juggler and his
retainer. To divide by a sweep of the sword on a man's hand so
small an object without touching the flesh he believed to be
impossible, though a similar incident is related by Scott in his
romance of the 'Talisman.' To determine the point, the General
offered his own hand for the experiment, and he stretched out his
right arm. The juggler looked attentively at the hand, and said he
would not make the trial. "I thought I would find you out!"
exclaimed Napier. "But stop," added the other, "let me see your
left hand." The left hand was submitted, and the man then said
firmly, "If you will hold your arm steady I will perform the feat."
"But why the left hand and not the right?" "Because the right hand
is hollow in the centre, and there is a risk of cutting off the
thumb; the left is high, and the danger will be less." Napier was
startled. "I got frightened," he said; "I saw it was an actual
feat of delicate swordsmanship, and if I had not abused the man as
I did before my staff, and challenged him to the trial, I honestly
acknowledge I would have retired from the encounter. However, I
put the lime on my hand, and held out my arm steadily. The juggler
balanced himself, and, with a swift stroke cut the lime in two
pieces. I felt the edge of the sword on my hand as if a cold
thread had been drawn across it. So much (he added) for the brave
swordsmen of India, whom our fine fellows defeated at Meeanee."

The recent terrible struggle in India has served to bring out,
perhaps more prominently than any previous event in our history,
the determined energy and self-reliance of the national character.
Although English officialism may often drift stupidly into gigantic
blunders, the men of the nation generally contrive to work their
way out of them with a heroism almost approaching the sublime. In
May, 1857, when the revolt burst upon India like a thunder-clap,
the British forces had been allowed to dwindle to their extreme
minimum, and were scattered over a wide extent of country, many of
them in remote cantonments. The Bengal regiments, one after
another, rose against their officers, broke away, and rushed to
Delhi. Province after province was lapped in mutiny and rebellion;
and the cry for help rose from east to west. Everywhere the
English stood at bay in small detachments, beleaguered and
surrounded, apparently incapable of resistance. Their discomfiture
seemed so complete, and the utter ruin of the British cause in
India so certain, that it might be said of them then, as it had
been said before, "These English never know when they are beaten."
According to rule, they ought then and there to have succumbed to
inevitable fate.

While the issue of the mutiny still appeared uncertain, Holkar, one
of the native princes, consulted his astrologer for information.
The reply was, "If all the Europeans save one are slain, that one
will remain to fight and reconquer." In their very darkest moment-
-even where, as at Lucknow, a mere handful of British soldiers,
civilians, and women, held out amidst a city and province in arms
against them--there was no word of despair, no thought of
surrender. Though cut off from all communication with their
friends for months, and not knowing whether India was lost or held,
they never ceased to have perfect faith in the courage and
devotedness of their countrymen. They knew that while a body of
men of English race held together in India, they would not be left
unheeded to perish. They never dreamt of any other issue but
retrieval of their misfortune and ultimate triumph; and if the
worst came to the worst, they could but fall at their post, and die
in the performance of their duty. Need we remind the reader of the
names of Havelock, Inglis, Neill, and Outram--men of truly heroic
mould--of each of whom it might with truth be said that he had the
heart of a chevalier, the soul of a believer, and the temperament
of a martyr. Montalembert has said of them that "they do honour to
the human race." But throughout that terrible trial almost all
proved equally great--women, civilians and soldiers--from the
general down through all grades to the private and bugleman. The
men were not picked: they belonged to the same ordinary people
whom we daily meet at home--in the streets, in workshops, in the
fields, at clubs; yet when sudden disaster fell upon them, each and
all displayed a wealth of personal resources and energy, and became
as it were individually heroic. "Not one of them," says
Montalembert, "shrank or trembled--all, military and civilians,
young and old, generals and soldiers, resisted, fought, and
perished with a coolness and intrepidity which never faltered. It
is in this circumstance that shines out the immense value of public
education, which invites the Englishman from his youth to make use
of his strength and his liberty, to associate, resist, fear
nothing, to be astonished at nothing, and to save himself, by his
own sole exertions, from every sore strait in life."

It has been said that Delhi was taken and India saved by the
personal character of Sir John Lawrence. The very name of
"Lawrence" represented power in the North-West Provinces. His
standard of duty, zeal, and personal effort, was of the highest;
and every man who served under him seemed to be inspired by his
spirit. It was declared of him that his character alone was worth
an army. The same might be said of his brother Sir Henry, who
organised the Punjaub force that took so prominent a part in the
capture of Delhi. Both brothers inspired those who were about them
with perfect love and confidence. Both possessed that quality of
tenderness, which is one of the true elements of the heroic
character. Both lived amongst the people, and powerfully
influenced them for good. Above all as Col. Edwardes says, "they
drew models on young fellows' minds, which they went forth and
copied in their several administrations: they sketched a FAITH,
and begot a SCHOOL, which are both living things at this day." Sir
John Lawrence had by his side such men as Montgomery, Nicholson,
Cotton, and Edwardes, as prompt, decisive, and high-souled as
himself. John Nicholson was one of the finest, manliest, and
noblest of men--"every inch a hakim," the natives said of him--"a
tower of strength," as he was characterised by Lord Dalhousie. In
whatever capacity he acted he was great, because he acted with his
whole strength and soul. A brotherhood of fakeers--borne away by
their enthusiastic admiration of the man--even began the worship of
Nikkil Seyn: he had some of them punished for their folly, but
they continued their worship nevertheless. Of his sustained energy
and persistency an illustration may be cited in his pursuit of the
55th Sepoy mutineers, when he was in the saddle for twenty
consecutive hours, and travelled more than seventy miles. When the
enemy set up their standard at Delhi, Lawrence and Montgomery,
relying on the support of the people of the Punjaub, and compelling
their admiration and confidence, strained every nerve to keep their
own province in perfect order, whilst they hurled every available
soldier, European and Sikh, against that city. Sir John wrote to
the commander-in-chief to "hang on to the rebels' noses before
Delhi," while the troops pressed on by forced marches under
Nicholson, "the tramp of whose war-horse might be heard miles off,"
as was afterwards said of him by a rough Sikh who wept over his
grave.

The siege and storming of Delhi was the most illustrious event
which occurred in the course of that gigantic struggle, although
the leaguer of Lucknow, during which the merest skeleton of a
British regiment--the 32nd--held out, under the heroic Inglis, for
six months against two hundred thousand armed enemies, has perhaps
excited more intense interest. At Delhi, too, the British were
really the besieged, though ostensibly the besiegers; they were a
mere handful of men "in the open"--not more than 3,700 bayonets,
European and native--and they were assailed from day to day by an
army of rebels numbering at one time as many as 75,000 men, trained
to European discipline by English officers, and supplied with all
but exhaustless munitions of war. The heroic little band sat down
before the city under the burning rays of a tropical sun. Death,
wounds, and fever failed to turn them from their purpose. Thirty
times they were attacked by overwhelming numbers, and thirty times
did they drive back the enemy behind their defences. As Captain
Hodson--himself one of the bravest there--has said, "I venture to
aver that no other nation in the world would have remained here, or
avoided defeat if they had attempted to do so." Never for an
instant did these heroes falter at their work; with sublime
endurance they held on, fought on, and never relaxed until, dashing
through the "imminent deadly breach," the place was won, and the
British flag was again unfurled on the walls of Delhi. All were
great--privates, officers, and generals. Common soldiers who had
been inured to a life of hardship, and young officers who had been
nursed in luxurious homes, alike proved their manhood, and emerged
from that terrible trial with equal honour. The native strength
and soundness of the English race, and of manly English training
and discipline, were never more powerfully exhibited; and it was
there emphatically proved that the Men of England are, after all,
its greatest products. A terrible price was paid for this great
chapter in our history, but if those who survive, and those who
come after, profit by the lesson and example, it may not have been
purchased at too great a cost.

But not less energy and courage have been displayed in India and
the East by men of various nations, in other lines of action more
peaceful and beneficent than that of war. And while the heroes of
the sword are remembered, the heroes of the gospel ought not to be
forgotten. From Xavier to Martyn and Williams, there has been a
succession of illustrious missionary labourers, working in a spirit
of sublime self-sacrifice, without any thought of worldly honour,
inspired solely by the hope of seeking out and rescuing the lost
and fallen of their race. Borne up by invincible courage and
never-failing patience, these men have endured privations, braved
dangers, walked through pestilence, and borne all toils, fatigues,
and sufferings, yet held on their way rejoicing, glorying even in
martyrdom itself. Of these one of the first and most illustrious
was Francis Xavier. Born of noble lineage, and with pleasure,
power, and honour within his reach, he proved by his life that
there are higher objects in the world than rank, and nobler
aspirations than the accumulation of wealth. He was a true
gentleman in manners and sentiment; brave, honourable, generous;
easily led, yet capable of leading; easily persuaded, yet himself
persuasive; a most patient, resolute and energetic man. At the age
of twenty-two he was earning his living as a public teacher of
philosophy at the University of Paris. There Xavier became the
intimate friend and associate of Loyola, and shortly afterwards he
conducted the pilgrimage of the first little band of proselytes to
Rome.

When John III. of Portugal resolved to plant Christianity in the
Indian territories subject to his influence, Bobadilla was first
selected as his missionary; but being disabled by illness, it was
found necessary to make another selection, and Xavier was chosen.
Repairing his tattered cassock, and with no other baggage than his
breviary, he at once started for Lisbon and embarked for the East.
The ship in which he set sail for Goa had the Governor on board,
with a reinforcement of a thousand men for the garrison of the
place. Though a cabin was placed at his disposal, Xavier slept on
deck throughout the voyage with his head on a coil of ropes,
messing with the sailors. By ministering to their wants, inventing
innocent sports for their amusement, and attending them in their
sickness, he wholly won their hearts, and they regarded him with
veneration.

Arrived at Goa, Xavier was shocked at the depravity of the people,
settlers as well as natives; for the former had imported the vices
without the restraints of civilization, and the latter had only
been too apt to imitate their bad example. Passing along the
streets of the city, sounding his handbell as he went, he implored
the people to send him their children to be instructed. He shortly
succeeded in collecting a large number of scholars, whom he
carefully taught day by day, at the same time visiting the sick,
the lepers, and the wretched of all classes, with the object of
assuaging their miseries, and bringing them to the Truth. No cry
of human suffering which reached him was disregarded. Hearing of
the degradation and misery of the pearl fishers of Manaar, he set
out to visit them, and his bell again rang out the invitation of
mercy. He baptized and he taught, but the latter he could only do
through interpreters. His most eloquent teaching was his
ministration to the wants and the sufferings of the wretched.

On he went, his hand-bell sounding along the coast of Comorin,
among the towns and villages, the temples and the bazaars,
summoning the natives to gather about him and be instructed. He
had translations made of the Catechism, the Apostles' Creed, the
Commandments, the Lord's Prayer, and some of the devotional offices
of the Church. Committing these to memory in their own tongue he
recited them to the children, until they had them by heart; after
which he sent them forth to teach the words to their parents and
neighbours. At Cape Comorin, he appointed thirty teachers, who
under himself presided over thirty Christian Churches, though the
Churches were but humble, in most cases consisting only of a
cottage surmounted by a cross. Thence he passed to Travancore,
sounding his way from village to village, baptizing until his hands
dropped with weariness, and repeating his formulas until his voice
became almost inaudible. According to his own account, the success
of his mission surpassed his highest expectations. His pure,
earnest, and beautiful life, and the irresistible eloquence of his
deeds, made converts wherever he went; and by sheer force of
sympathy, those who saw him and listened to him insensibly caught a
portion of his ardour.

Burdened with the thought that "the harvest is great and the
labourers are few," Xavier next sailed to Malacca and Japan, where
he found himself amongst entirely new races speaking other tongues.
The most that he could do here was to weep and pray, to smooth the
pillow and watch by the sick-bed, sometimes soaking the sleeve of
his surplice in water, from which to squeeze out a few drops and
baptize the dying. Hoping all things, and fearing nothing, this
valiant soldier of the truth was borne onward throughout by faith
and energy. "Whatever form of death or torture," said he, "awaits
me, I am ready to suffer it ten thousand times for the salvation of
a single soul." He battled with hunger, thirst, privations and
dangers of all kinds, still pursuing his mission of love, unresting
and unwearying. At length, after eleven years' labour, this great
good man, while striving to find a way into China, was stricken
with fever in the Island of Sanchian, and there received his crown
of glory. A hero of nobler mould, more pure, self-denying, and
courageous, has probably never trod this earth.

Other missionaries have followed Xavier in the same field of work,
such as Schwartz, Carey, and Marshman in India; Gutzlaff and
Morrison in China; Williams in the South Seas; Campbell, Moffatt
and Livingstone in Africa. John Williams, the martyr of Erromanga,
was originally apprenticed to a furnishing ironmonger. Though
considered a dull boy, he was handy at his trade, in which he
acquired so much skill that his master usually entrusted him with
any blacksmiths work that required the exercise of more than
ordinary care. He was also fond of bell-hanging and other
employments which took him away from the shop. A casual sermon
which he heard gave his mind a serious bias, and he became a
Sunday-school teacher. The cause of missions having been brought
under his notice at some of his society's meetings, he determined
to devote himself to this work. His services were accepted by the
London Missionary Society; and his master allowed him to leave the
ironmonger's shop before the expiry of his indentures. The islands
of the Pacific Ocean were the principal scene of his labours--more
particularly Huahine in Tahiti, Raiatea, and Rarotonga. Like the
Apostles he worked with his hands,--at blacksmith work, gardening,
shipbuilding; and he endeavoured to teach the islanders the art of
civilised life, at the same time that he instructed them in the
truths of religion. It was in the course of his indefatigable
labours that he was massacred by savages on the shore of Erromanga-
-none worthier than he to wear the martyr's crown.

The career of Dr. Livingstone is one of the most interesting of
all. He has told the story of his life in that modest and
unassuming manner which is so characteristic of the man himself.
His ancestors were poor but honest Highlanders, and it is related
of one of them, renowned in his district for wisdom and prudence,
that when on his death-bed he called his children round him and
left them these words, the only legacy he had to bequeath--"In my
life-time," said he, "I have searched most carefully through all
the traditions I could find of our family, and I never could
discover that there was a dishonest man among our forefathers: if,
therefore, any of you or any of your children should take to
dishonest ways, it will not be because it runs in our blood; it
does not belong to you: I leave this precept with you--Be honest."
At the age of ten Livingstone was sent to work in a cotton factory
near Glasgow as a "piecer." With part of his first week's wages he
bought a Latin grammar, and began to learn that language, pursuing
the study for years at a night school. He would sit up conning his
lessons till twelve or later, when not sent to bed by his mother,
for he had to be up and at work in the factory every morning by
six. In this way he plodded through Virgil and Horace, also
reading extensively all books, excepting novels, that came in his
way, but more especially scientific works and books of travels. He
occupied his spare hours, which were but few, in the pursuit of
botany, scouring the neighbourhood to collect plants. He even
carried on his reading amidst the roar of the factory machinery, so
placing the book upon the spinning jenny which he worked that he
could catch sentence after sentence as he passed it. In this way
the persevering youth acquired much useful knowledge; and as he
grew older, the desire possessed him of becoming a missionary to
the heathen. With this object he set himself to obtain a medical
education, in order the better to be qualified for the work. He
accordingly economised his earnings, and saved as much money as
enabled him to support himself while attending the Medical and
Greek classes, as well as the Divinity Lectures, at Glasgow, for
several winters, working as a cotton spinner during the remainder
of each year. He thus supported himself, during his college
career, entirely by his own earnings as a factory workman, never
having received a farthing of help from any other source. "Looking
back now," he honestly says, "at that life of toil, I cannot but
feel thankful that it formed such a material part of my early
education; and, were it possible, I should like to begin life over
again in the same lowly style, and to pass through the same hardy
training." At length he finished his medical curriculum, wrote his
Latin thesis, passed his examinations, and was admitted a
licentiate of the Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons. At first he
thought of going to China, but the war then waging with that
country prevented his following out the idea; and having offered
his services to the London Missionary Society, he was by them sent
out to Africa, which he reached in 1840. He had intended to
proceed to China by his own efforts; and he says the only pang he
had in going to Africa at the charge of the London Missionary
Society was, because "it was not quite agreeable to one accustomed
to work his own way to become, in a manner, dependent upon others."
Arrived in Africa he set to work with great zeal. He could not
brook the idea of merely entering upon the labours of others, but
cut out a large sphere of independent work, preparing himself for
it by undertaking manual labour in building and other handicraft
employment, in addition to teaching, which, he says, "made me
generally as much exhausted and unfit for study in the evenings as
ever I had been when a cotton-spinner." Whilst labouring amongst
the Bechuanas, he dug canals, built houses, cultivated fields,
reared cattle, and taught the natives to work as well as worship.
When he first started with a party of them on foot upon a long
journey, he overheard their observations upon his appearance and
powers--"He is not strong," said they; "he is quite slim, and only
appears stout because he puts himself into those bags (trowsers):
he will soon knock up." This caused the missionary's Highland
blood to rise, and made him despise the fatigue of keeping them all
at the top of their speed for days together, until he heard them
expressing proper opinions of his pedestrian powers. What he did
in Africa, and how he worked, may be learnt from his own
'Missionary Travels,' one of the most fascinating books of its kind
that has ever been given to the public. One of his last known acts
is thoroughly characteristic of the man. The 'Birkenhead' steam
launch, which he took out with him to Africa, having proved a
failure, he sent home orders for the construction of another vessel
at an estimated cost of 2000l. This sum he proposed to defray out
of the means which he had set aside for his children arising from
the profits of his books of travels. "The children must make it up
themselves," was in effect his expression in sending home the order
for the appropriation of the money.

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